by Sofia Daniel
While the head of the Board of Governors explained that they had considered options for the school, including closure, I relaxed my legs and let Blake’s fingers make a slow descent up the inside of my thighs. He used the most delicious of featherlight touches, pausing to rub small circles that made my core twitch.
Blake’s hot breath tickled the side of my neck. “I’m going to stick my fingers in you and make you suck on them. Right in front of the governors.”
I bit down on my lip and stifled a moan. The asshole would do anything to make me cry out and humiliate myself, and the worst part was that I didn’t want him to stop. An ache formed in my core, which built and built the closer his clever fingers reached their destination.
My legs parted a fraction wider, and the pulse between my legs pounded in time with the throbbing of my nub. Blake’s fingers meandered upward at a maddening pace that made slick heat gather between my folds.
“Hurry up,” I whispered between clenched teeth.
A deep chuckle reverberated in his throat, and he leaned over to murmur, “As you wish.”
When his fingertips brushed over my panties and grazed my slit, pleasure rippled through my core, and my nipples tightened. I let out a shuddering breath, loud enough to catch the attention of Henry at my other side.
Henry huffed a laugh, grabbed my wrist, and placed my hand on his crotch.
I gripped his hot, hardening bulge and squeezed. Hard.
He doubled over and groaned, “Oh, fuck!”
Everyone in the auditorium turned in our direction, but Henry composed himself, while Blake slid his hand back and turned to look at the row behind us. Snapping my legs shut, I placed my hands onto my lap and schooled my features into a semblance of innocence.
Mr. Weaver paused in his speech and glared up at the back of the room, where we sat. “Discipline is something else we will review within the academy. It’s my understanding that the previous headmaster allowed the return of expelled students in exchange for donations, but that practice ends now.”
I slid down my seat. He was most likely referring to me and how Rudolph had bribed Mr. Chaloner to allow me back to exact my revenge.
Henry leaned into me and whispered, “You’ll pay for this when we get you in private.”
“I look forward to it,” I whispered back.
Our first class of the afternoon was English Literature. I sat next to Henry, behind Edward and Blake, and behind us sat Coates, that rugby player from earlier, with Duncan, the boy with the thick glasses who seemed to have subscriptions to every British newspaper.
“I say, Coates,” Duncan said in a very loud voice. “Can you believe Bourneville and Simpson-West were having it off with each other?”
I turned around and gave Duncan a sharp look. What the fuck did he think he was saying?
Coates’ thick brows drew together. “What?”
“Have you not seen the photos?” asked Duncan.
I turned to Henry, who froze. It could only mean the stills Rudolph had used to blackmail Mr. and Mrs. Bourneville into returning his million dollars were still floating about on the internet.
“What photos?” asked Coates.
Duncan reached into his pocket. “Here, let me show you.”
“I’d like to see what’s on your phone, too,” I said loud enough to attract Miss Oakley’s attention.
The old woman strode across the room, lips pursed. Her black robes billowed around her like she was an avenging academic. “Who is playing with mobile telephones in my class?”
I gave Duncan a pointed look. “No one, Miss.”
The teacher stretched out her hand. “Give it here.”
Duncan cocked his head to the side and gave me a narrow-eyed stare that asked what the fuck I thought I was doing. In the previous term, we had become friends of sorts, but I couldn’t let him show anyone the stills from the Valentine’s party. He pulled out his smartphone and handed it to Miss Oakley, who walked across the room and placed it in her drawer.
I turned back to Henry and mouthed, “What are you going to do?”
He mouthed back, “I don’t know.”
“What was this photo you wanted to show me?” asked Coates.
Miss Oakley’s shrill voice rang out. “Two demerits each. Silence in class!”
My efforts to quash the photos were futile. By the end of the day, most sixth-formers had seen them, saying they couldn’t believe Henry and Blake were lovers. Alice and the doppelgängers were the biggest distributors of the photos, and they didn’t care who saw them. It was probably their revenge for the triumvirate treating them like they were their own personal conveniences.
Later, Edward and I strolled along the magnolia tree path under a riot of white and pink blossoms. The sweet scent of citrus wafted down from the breeze, reminding me somewhat of Henry. Up ahead stood Elder House in its ancient glory, and I sighed. So far, the triumvirate’s wrath hadn’t been nearly as terrible as I had imagined. It probably helped that they still wanted me back.
A gaggle of girls giggled from behind. I glanced over my shoulder to find Alice and the doppelgängers leading a group of younger, female students. “Did you hear he was also in on the act? That’s why the trio treated girls so badly.”
Patricia sniggered. “They were too much in love with themselves!”
I broke away from Edward, fists clenched. “A few drunken fumbles doesn’t make for a relationship. You should know that by now.”
Patricia’s gaze flickered up and down my form. “What are you? Their beard? With a straight-up-and-down boyish figure like yours, it explains a lot.”
I tilted my head to the side and mirrored her eye movement. “Now that Charlotte’s gone, you look far less voluptuous. Did you stop stuffing your bra with socks?”
“Did I say you had a boyish figure? I meant that you were a boy.” She turned to Wendy, Alice, and the younger students. “Come along, girls. Let’s not chat with boys who bat for the other team.”
The procession of gossipers walked past with their noses in the air and headed toward the tuck shop. Alice glanced over her shoulder and gave me an apologetic smile.
I shrugged. If she wanted to return to a group of girls who had cast her out once before, who was I to judge? I was firmly entrenched with a gang of bastards.
Edward placed a hand around my waist. “I appreciate your defending our honor, but it’s unnecessary. Squabbling over such trivialities will only fuel the rumors.”
“Sorry.” I huffed out a frustrated breath and met his ocean-blue eyes. “But something about those girls makes me see red.”
“I didn’t treat them well, and they’re lashing out.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, eyes shining with compassion. “Just as you did, last term.”
Hope swelled in my heart, and a breath caught in my throat. Had Edward already started to forgive me? “I’m sorry things went that far.”
He patted me on the backside. “Not as sorry as we’re going to make you. Come on, let’s go to my study.”
Over the next hour, Edward and I sat side-by-side at his desk on leather office chairs working on our prep in companionable silence. I stole a glance at his face. Tendrils of mahogany-brown hair hung over his brow, softening his stern features.
Last term, we had grown so close, and I had seen a glimpse of the kind, sensitive soul beneath the haughty exterior. Now, I couldn’t work him out. He delivered his threats so mildly, it seemed like he was just paying lip service to exacting his revenge. And when we were alone, he was his usual, gallant self, albeit a little more reserved. I ached to know how he really felt, but the thought of breaking the peace by bringing up what I had done made my stomach clench.
Later, Blake and Henry knocked on the door. “Dinner?”
Edward shut his book. “Why not?”
I stuffed my books into my satchel, hoping they might allow me to go upstairs later and study on my own. Then we walked in formation through the hallway to the dining room with Henry and Edward in front
and Blake taking up the rear with me.
Both Henry and Edward halted at the doors, making us bump into their backs.
“What’s happening?” I stood on my tiptoes and looked over their shoulders. At the head table sat Coates and a trio of rugby players with Wendy, Patricia, and Alice.
“What is the meaning of this?” Edward stepped inside.
A hush spread over the entire room, punctuated only by the movements of the servers.
“You heard Mr. Weaver,” said Coates. “The school governors want to stamp out all signs of corruption, and that starts with you.” The bulky boy folded his arms across his broad chest. “We thought you were arseholes all along, but we went along with you because everyone else did. But last term proved that you’re no better than any of us.”
“I see.” Edward’s voice shook with banked rage. “Is that why you saw fit to sit in our seats?”
“That, and we don’t like homos lording it over us.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. Wendy, Alice, and Patricia gave the boys triumphant smirks. They had probably goaded the rugby players into taking over the head table. I shook my head. Each of the girls up there should have been able to vouch for one or most of the boys, but they remained silent. My gaze flickered to Blake, whose handsome features clenched into a scowl, and Henry, whose body seemed to expand in anticipation for a fight.
“Get out of our seats,” said Edward, his voice soft.
With the loud scrape of his chair, Coates stood. “Are you going to make me?”
“If I have to.”
Coates walked around the table and swaggered over to meet us at the doorway. From the way the rugby player pulled back his shoulders and thrust out his square shin, he meant business. I darted into the dining room and stood to the side in case the boys came to blows.
Coates squared up to Henry, his captain. The two boys were of equal height, both broad, but Coates had an unattractive bulkiness where Henry was defined. Up close, the rugby player’s nose wasn’t just flat, it twisted to the side and back again.
“Let’s face it, boys.” Coates rubbed his cauliflower ear. “Mercia is the heir to a bankrupt duchy that’s only worth something because of the academy’s ground rent payments. Bourneville will soon become the heir to nothing when his parents discover he’ll be producing no little heirs of his own, and Simpson-West is only relevant because his mother is the trollop who landed herself the second in line to the throne.”
Blake pushed through Edward and Henry, and swung at Coates, only for the larger boy to grip his fist in one hand and twist him into a wrist lock. I clapped my hands over my mouth and gasped. Henry stepped forward, pulled his arm back, and jabbed Coates in the middle of his flat face, who let go of Blake.
“Of course you’d come to your boyfriend’s rescue,” Coates said between bloody teeth.
Henry punched him in the gut. “Fuck you.”
The other boy doubled over. “You wish!”
Blake punched Coates hard across the face.
Soon, other boys stood from their seats at the head table and rushed over. It would be three against four if Edward decided to fight. Those odds weren’t great, considering the boys approaching us were hulking rugby players. I picked up my phone, and with shaky fingers, called campus security.
Chapter 6
The fight finished as quickly as it had started because some of the rugby players were loyal to their captain and broke up the fight before campus security arrived. Coates and his friends returned to the head table and wouldn’t budge. Technically, it was the table for the housemaster and his staff, so no student had the right to it.
Edward tapped something on his smartphone and stormed out with Henry and Blake on his heels. A pang of sympathy struck my heart, but I remained at the doorway and didn’t rush out to give them my support. The only reason those photos were even circulated was that the Bournevilles had lied about the amount of ransom they had paid the supposed kidnappers and made Rudolph pay double to drop the charges against me. When Rudolph approached them with blackmail material, Henry’s parents had refused to repay Rudolph, even with the knowledge that Henry was behind the whole scam.
Ignoring the watchful eyes of the other diners, I walked around the room along the ten-foot-tall mahogany wall panels to the table where Rita sat with the scholarship students. One of them had joined Rita and me in the dance lessons the triumvirate had held in the first term, and she gazed up at me with a sunny smile.
I gestured at the seat opposite Rita. “Mind if I sit here?”
“Sit next to me,” said a girl from the next table I recognized from the gauntlet. Her hazel eyes sparkled with curiosity.
Rita gestured for me to sit, her brows drawn together with worry. A server rushed over and took my order for a quiche Lorraine and salad.
The hazel-eyed girl leaned toward us on the back legs of her seat, salivating. “Is it true what they’re saying about the boys?”
“No,” I said.
“But the photos are—”
“You just asked if it was true,” I snapped.
She pouted. “I got off with Blake last year, as did most of the girls on this table. I just want to know if he’s a homo. I mean, do I have anything to worry about?”
“What do you mean?” I narrowed my eyes.
The girl lowered her gaze and mumbled something incomprehensible. I curled my lip. She was an idiot. A stupid sheep who followed whoever barked the loudest. And right now, it was Coates and the doppelgängers.
“Use your brain,” I spat. “In one breath you tell me that you’ve all fooled around with Blake, and in another, you’re asking if he’s gay? It’s this kind of attitude that makes people afraid to come out.”
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I thought you might know the facts, seeing as you’re their girlfriend or something.”
I was about to rant at her when Rita spoke. “Let’s not gossip about people behind their backs.”
Everyone around the table murmured their agreement and continued eating. I lowered myself into the seat and caught sight of a limo whizzing past the side windows. The boys were either going to Edward’s house or to Jean-Paul and Françoise’s restaurant to plan their next course of action. A chill ran down my back. I really hoped I didn’t factor in any of their schemes.
The next day, the head table was removed from the dining room, leaving everyone to eat in the general area. No matter how much Coates tried to assert his dominance and get it reinstated, it didn’t work. Each mealtime, the staff laid special table linen and silverware over whichever table the triumvirate chose, thwarting Coates and the doppelgängers’ attempts to appear special.
Over the next few weeks, the triumvirate quashed any attempts by other boys to victimize them by escalating even the smallest of provocations to violence. Soon, everyone, including Coates, knew not to make sly comments within the earshot of Blake, Henry, or Edward unless they were prepared for a fight and the subsequent detentions and demerits.
One morning at breakfast, Coates sauntered up to our table, holding a folded up copy of a tabloid. “Looks like you made the papers, boys.”
“What are you rambling about now?” asked Henry.
Coates smoothed out a double-page spread of a pair of the photos that had been circulating on the internet. It had been taken moments after I had left the boys alone on the four-poster. Above them was the headline, SIMPSON-WEST GAY ROMP.
I held my breath. Would this result in another fight, or would the boys shrug it off?
Blake stared down at the paper and pursed his lips. “If I had known I would end up in the news again, I would have worn something a little more dignified than the gladiator outfit.”
Henry folded his arms across his chest. “I told you to come as a matador.”
“Next time, I’ll dress as a tango dancer,” he replied. “Something to pay homage to my Argentinian roots.”
I exhaled my relief. It looked like violence wouldn’t break out, after all.
&n
bsp; Coates’ thick brows drew together. “Don’t you care that they’ve published a picture of you kissing another boy?”
“Why would I?” Blake’s brows rose. “You and I both know I’ve had more girls than you.”
The rugby player’s face reddened. He turned to me and spat, “How could you hang around with them after what they did?”
I picked up a slice of toast from the silver rack and dipped my knife into the butter dish. “What I don’t get is why you’re so interested. Are you curious or something?”
Coates’ face twisted and he glared from Edward, to Henry, to Blake, and then to me. “Trollop.”
I mimed a yawn. “At least I’m getting some, unlike you.”
“She’s got you there, Coates.” Edward raised his glass of orange juice to his lips. “Don’t save the image for those long, lonely nights. I doubt that my friends would appreciate the unwanted attention.”
The rugby player’s nostrils flared, and his lips drew back, revealing clenched teeth. My stomach tightened, and I waited for him to strike, but he crumpled up the paper, threw it on the ground, and stormed back to the table he shared with the doppelgängers.
Because the boys weren’t denying the kiss or reacting to the pictures, the gossip quickly died down within the school. But the tabloids continued to post rehashed articles about the Bourneville department store, using the images and news of Henry’s faked kidnapping as a segue to attack his parents’ business practices.
Things came to a head one Sunday morning, two weeks after the article about Henry and Blake, when Duncan strolled over to our table, holding a one-page announcement in The Times with the Bourneville crest. It declared that Jonas Bourneville, the current Director of Operations in the Middle East, would be groomed to take over the leadership of the Bourneville Group and not the owner’s son, Henry Bourneville.
Silence broke out across the dining room. I bit down on my bottom lip and glanced at Henry.
He skimmed the paper and said, “So?”