by Sofia Daniel
Jackie slid back into her seat and shot Rudolph a pleading look.
The wretched old man puckered his lips. “Return to the academy, gather more information about those kids, and I won’t tell your mother you’re in a relationship with three boys.”
“Tell her,” I snapped.
He turned his sharp, silvery eyes on me and stared.
“She hasn’t responded to any of my texts.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my smartphone. “Maybe she’ll remember she has a daughter if she finds out I’ve turned to boys to fill the maternal gap.”
His silent stare continued for so long, my stomach twisted. I pressed my lips together and held his gaze. A tactic like that probably intimidated a whole bunch of people in the business world, but so what? His disapproval was nothing compared to the crowd of violent assholes at Mercia Academy who would bay for my blood when they discovered what I’d done to their precious school.
Nobody in the room spoke. My heart pounded in synch with Jackie’s drumming of the pads of her fingers on the wooden desk, and one of the personal assistants standing behind us shifted on her feet. The silence built and built like a pressure cooker about to explode. Rudolph showed no signs of wanting to speak to me, so I caved.
“Did you know Headmaster Chaloner cornered me this morning and nearly had me arrested by two police officers? Or that he’s insane enough to kick a door off its hinges? And the first term, a whole hall of people attacked me because they hate Americans? You want to send me back to that, after what I’ve done to the academy?”
Jackie cleared her throat. “The headmaster was arrested earlier today. I doubt the police will let a criminal return to a school full of children.”
“No, but Edward Mercia just worked out that I’m the leak.” I pointed at the door. “Ask your interns if you don’t believe me. They’ve seen the recordings. Don’t you think he’ll make sure everyone knows about this? With my cover blown, no one will trust me enough to say anything incriminating.”
Jackie glanced down and didn’t reply. Probably because I’d won the argument.
Rudolph stroked his chin. “It’s that or military school.”
“Where?” I asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Which school?” I snapped. “If it means not going back to Mercia Academy, I’ll do it. But when I eventually catch up with Mom, I’ll tell her I did everything you asked of me and more, yet you put me in military school because you didn’t care what the boys would do to me if I returned.”
It was his turn to flare his nostrils. “Very well. If you want to go somewhere else, you’ll have to fund it yourself.”
Blood drained from my face and settled into my frantic heart. “Y-you would leave me stranded in England?”
“There’s a place for you at Mercia Academy.” He folded his arms over his chest and stretched out his legs in a display of nonchalance.
I pulled myself out of my seat and walked out on shaky legs. There was no point in continuing this conversation. Until I could accrue enough allowance to buy a plane ticket to New York, I had no choice but to return to Mercia Academy. To the triumvirate’s wrath.
My legs felt like wooden pegs as I walked out of the building, and my insides felt raw and hollow, as though someone had scooped them out with a rusty knife. How could Rudolph be so ruthless? Black cabs zoomed past on the red stretches of roads reserved for busses, and I closed my eyes and inhaled cool, spring air laden with exhaust fumes.
“Emilia?” asked a familiar voice.
I turned toward the road. Peeking through the limo window was Marissa, the assistant of the assistant who had escorted me on my first day of the academy.
“What are you doing in London?” She poked her long-nailed hand out of the window and beckoned. “Shouldn’t you be at that school?”
“I had to leave.”
“Couldn’t stand the people?” she asked.
“Something like that.” I leaned my hand on the roof of the limo. “Have you seen my mom?”
“She flew across with us but went onto Paris to meet a girlfriend.”
My heart sank into my loafers. Why would Rudolph treat me like I was anything but expendable when my own mother didn’t give a shit? “Right. Could you tell her I’ll be in London for the next few weeks? It’s school holidays right now, and I’d love to see her.”
Marissa grinned. “Of course, honey.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t hold out any hope that Mom would get in touch. The lifestyle of being the wife of a multimillionaire had clearly gone to her head, and she wouldn’t let something as trivial as motherhood spoil her fun. “See you.”
As I headed down Fleet Street toward St. Paul’s station, I glanced at the buildings of various other British newspapers. None of them would allow an underage girl on an undercover mission, much less force her to return once her cover had been blown. The phone buzzed again. It was probably Edward, telling me I was a bitch.
I pulled it out and gazed at the message on the screen. Father has been arrested on suspicion of money laundering. FATHER! I hope you’re proud that your machinations have brought both the school and the duchy into disrepute. Return to the academy, NOW.
Guilt gnawed at my insides like a colony of maggots. Even if I replied to explain that I hadn’t meant for any of this to affect Edward’s poor father, my words would be meaningless. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and waited in line to buy an Oyster card. There was only one person in the world who might be able to give me refuge, and I hoped he was still in London.
Chapter 2
Sergei might let me sleep on his sofa until my allowance arrived. It would mean going out with him in the evening as his beard, but by the time the triumvirate found pictures of me in the society pages, they would already hate me for being the leak.
Seconds after I reached the front of the line for the ticket machine, the buzzing of my phone gave me a jolt. My hand twitched toward my pocket. I had to know if there was an update about Edward’s dad. The poor man had to be frightened out of his wits to have been arrested. With his dementia, he probably didn’t even know why the police had taken him away.
I wrapped my hand around the phone and glanced at the screen. It was a long message from Rita, asking if I had boarded the plane yet. A breath of relief slid from my lungs. She seemed quite excited that I was leaving the country, as opposed to harassed that the triumvirate had stormed our room, demanding answers.
A sharp finger prodded me in the lower back. It belonged to a middle-aged man dressed in a charcoal, pin-striped suit. His sharp features were a younger version of Rudolph’s which reminded me of the unfair ultimatum.
His pale, blue eyes flashed. “Are you going to buy a ticket or send text messages?”
“My smartphone is a payment device.” I let my gaze flicker down his thin form. “We’ve moved on from money orders. And from poking girls in the ass.”
His cheeks turned red, and he spluttered, “I did no such thing!”
“Why poke a girl at all?”
Breathing hard, he glanced from left to right before storming to another ticket line. I turned around and bought an Oyster card. Since I planned on spending time in London, it made sense to save money buying an electronic, rechargeable ticket.
After paying, I stood at the wall between the ticket machines and sent Sergei a text. I’m stranded in London. Do you have a spare couch? :)
Seconds later, the phone buzzed. This is Andreo. Sergei is playing at the South Bank Center until 23h. Can you get to Sloane Square station?
Yes. I replied.
One of the guards will meet you outside and take you to our apartment.
The tightness around my neck and torso that I didn’t notice before melted away, and I leaned against the wall and exhaled a noisy breath of relief. Thank you! I’ll get there as soon as I can.
The sun had set by the time I stepped out into Sloane Square, and one of the bodyguards was already waiting. He gave me a nod of greetin
g and gestured at a street of Victorian mansion apartments overlooking the river. Street lights lit our way, and I breathed hard, trying to imagine which one of these buildings was Sergei’s.
Sergei’s apartment was a duplex with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a suspension bridge lit up by a thousand lightbulbs with views of a park on the other bank of the River Thames. It had an open-plan living area with a kitchen, diner and a bank of leather sofas with views of both a projector TV and of the magnificent vista. The bodyguard showed me to a room the size of my dorm, which he assured me in broken English was unoccupied.
I sat on the bed, pulled out my smartphone, and sent a message to Rita. My ticket to New York got canceled, and I’m staying with Sergei.
She replied with, What about the school in NY your stepfather promised??
A lump formed in my throat. If I’d allowed Rudolph to send me to military school, I wouldn’t be in this mess. He wants me to return to Mercia and spy.
They’ll kill you.
My heart sank. I know. Edward and Blake would restart their campaign of vicious pranks, and Henry would give me disapproving glares if he didn’t join them. But at least I have all of Easter break to work out a way to avoid going back.
Rita didn’t reply. Maybe because I was a lost cause. I stared at Edward’s last message. He hadn’t messaged again with news about his father, and I doubted that he would give me any updates. I had never meant for my actions to hurt a widower who required round-the-clock care for dementia. Edward had to know that.
I hope you’re proud that your machinations have brought both the school and the duchy into disrepute.
My heart spasmed. He had to be feeling as betrayed as I had during my captivity in that basement room. At first, I had been confused that anyone would think me capable of kidnapping Henry, but with Blake’s prompting, I had worked out that they had framed me. The pain of that treachery had been unbearable and still stung even today. This morning, I had convinced Edward that I wasn’t the leak, gotten a confession of love, then seduced him, only to disappear while he slept.
I had to be the world’s biggest bitch.
Rita texted later to say that she’d had to delete my messages because Blake knocked on the door and demanded to see her phone. Hours later, the apartment filled with the sounds of male voices. I stepped into the hallway, padded down the stairs, and hovered by the end of the banister.
Sergei walked through the doors, wearing a black tuxedo with a matching vest and a silver bowtie. His black hair had grown a few inches and hung past his collarbone. He furrowed his brows and stared at me with worried, aquamarine eyes. “Emilia?”
I rushed into his arms. “I’m sorry, but I had nowhere else to go!”
He guided me to the sofas and sat me down. “What happened?”
The entire, sorry tale blurted out. He already knew about the events of the end of my first term, but I told him how I’d gotten revenge on the boys and a few others by revealing their secrets to the Saturday Correspondent. Sergei listened without interruption or judgment, and when I finished by telling him that I’d lost my virginity earlier in the day, he wrapped his arms around me.
“I am so sorry,” he murmured into my hair. “These people are continuing to make you suffer.”
I drew back and stared into his bright eyes. “Huh?”
“You feel guilty, even after everything they did to you.”
“But Edward’s father got arrested—”
“Which would have happened eventually when someone else exposed the headmaster.”
My mouth dropped open, and a gasp caught in my throat. Sergei was right to some extent. It hadn’t been like I was manufacturing stories. Everything I’d shared with the Correspondent had happened of its own accord, but I was still eaten up by guilt. “Friends don’t report friends to the papers.”
Sergei clasped my shoulders with both hands and gave them a gentle squeeze as though telling me to wake up. Two lines appeared on his brows as he drew them together. “And friends do not frame friends for their own crimes.”
“Thanks.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I really needed that.”
Later that evening, my phone buzzed as I was dozing off. I rolled over to the bedside table and glanced at the screen. Edward’s text said, I suppose you’ve left the country.
The lack of anger or recrimination in his message made my heart sink. It was as though realization had finally dawned, and he’d resigned himself that I had gone. I closed my eyes and tried to fall back into slumber, but my mind kept dredging up images of Edward’s blue eyes, filled with wonder as I surrendered my virginity to him.
My eyes opened, and I bolted upright, pressing a palm over my aching chest. I hadn’t counted on hurting him that much, and when the Saturday Correspondent published an article on the papers he had entrusted to me, it would rip out what was left of his heart. I clenched my fists and let out a frustrated breath. If I kept letting thoughts of Edward haunt my mind, sleep would evade me for an eternity.
Mom used to give me a glass of milk when I couldn’t sleep. Maybe a drink might clear my mind. I slipped out of bed, padded across the little room, and opened the door.
The mezzanine was dark with only the barest of light at the lower level. As I reached the bannister, a low, male chuckle resounded from below. I peered down to find a shirtless Andreo lying on the sofa with his head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut. Sergei straddled his thighs, clad in a black robe that exposed his muscular back.
My lips parted, and every ounce of my attention fixated on the two men.
Sergei kissed a path along Andreo’s jawline, then sucked on his lover’s neck. He held the larger man down by the wrists, making him writhe and strain against his hold. Andreo’s low, resonant moan sent tingles between my legs, and I swallowed hard. This was unbelievably hot.
The lower Sergei kissed, the more he exposed of Andreo’s tanned, muscular body, and the more those muscles bunched and strained against Sergei’s hold. Andreo clenched his teeth and forced out some words in strained Russian. From his tone and the way he bucked against Sergei, he probably wanted an end to the slow teasing.
Sergei chuckled and shuffled further down Andreo’s body, revealing the other man’s collarbones and muscled pecs. I bit my lip and stifled a moan.
This was so much like the Valentine’s party with Henry and Blake. Except they wouldn’t have objected to me gaping at them. Sergei pinched Andreo’s nipples, making the other man suck in a breath through his teeth and hiss something out in French.
One of Sergei’s hands reached down between their bodies, and Andreo let out a sigh of both pleasure and relief. I gripped the bannister and squeezed my thighs together. At any moment, Sergei would go down on his lover, and I’d intrude further on their private moment. I had to leave. Now.
When Sergei’s arm started moving, I released my grip on the wood and backed away. I stepped into my room and eased the door shut, careful not to make a sound and let them know I’d been watching.
The drapes of my room were open, revealing the suspension bridge in its illuminated splendor. Its lights reflected on the river, but I couldn’t focus on the magical view. Not when I’d seen Sergei and Andreo together. Not when they reminded me so much of Henry and Blake.
I flopped on the bed, a mass of frustration and need. After what I’d just seen, I would never get to sleep. Each breath, every movement, brushed my hardened nipples over the cotton of my nightgown and sent tiny thunderbolts of arousal between my legs. One thigh crossed over the other, and hot pulses of pleasure rippled through my core.
“This isn’t working.” I parted my thighs and pulled my nightgown up to my hips.
Cool air swirled between my legs, over my clit, reminding me of the wetness in my core. I groaned and reached between my thighs. The tip of my finger skimmed my throbbing nub, and I drew in a breath between my teeth. Even though Sergei and Andreo had triggered this arousal, it seemed rude to think of them while I masturbated, so I
cast my mind back to what I’d seen at the Valentine’s party.
Cast my mind back to Blake, sprawled beneath a half-naked Henry, kissing him with abandon.
I dipped the pad of my fingertips into my sopping core and gathered enough moisture to let them glide over my throbbing clit in little circles. My nipples tightened, demanding my attention, and I rolled my right one between my fingertips and rubbed harder on my twitching nub.
Blake, with his hands on Henry’s tight, muscled ass, invaded my thoughts.
I parted my legs as far as they would go, remembering now the two boys had knelt in front of me, servicing my needs with their fingers and tongues. I increased the pressure on my clit and bit down hard on my bottom lip, imagining the finger belonged to someone else.
In my mind’s eye, Blake’s full lips wrapped around Henry’s length, making the other boy moan and shudder and groan.
The muscles of my core tightened with each stroke of my clit, and pleasure built to the rhythm of my movements. I squeezed my eyes shut and tweaked my nipple, just as Edward had done the day the triumvirate thought they’d seduced me into forgiving them.
Pleasure coiled around my core like a snake, and the world disappeared. There was no more Edward or Henry or Blake. No more double-dealing and treachery. It was just me and my fingers and my quivering core. My fingers continued moving over my clit, and the images in my head jumbled into a mass of muscular bodies quaking with pleasure, just like me.
Then as I pictured my own lips closing over the head of Edward’s beautiful, pink penis, my pleasure spiked, and a climax seized my body in a torrent sensations. Every spasm of my core forced out wave upon wave of pleasure, making me moan and shudder until all thoughts of men and the triumvirate retreated to the back of my mind.
Chapter 3
The next morning, a knowing smile curved Sergei’s lips as he and Andreo sat opposite me at breakfast. One of the bodyguards had brought apricot pastries, and I could barely eat, knowing that Sergei or Andreo had spotted me watching them.