“We're here because I want to make a bet,” Zack says, looking from Creed to Zayd to Tristan. He pauses with his dark brown gaze hooked on Tristan's cold gray one. “The three of you. Let's hit up a table and talk.” He gestures with his chin and walks away, but according to him, and the rules of the Infinity Club, when someone challenges you to a bet, you're required to at least hear them out.
“This shit is so fucked-up,” Zayd murmurs as he rises to his feet, raking his fingers through his hair. Creed says nothing as he, too, stands up. Tristan is the last one to get up, but as he moves away, he brushes his shoulder against mine, and I swear I see stars. He stops suddenly, like he didn't expect that. Low, almost inaudibly, I hear his voice near my ear.
“You are unfrigging believable,” he murmurs, and I can't quite decide if that's an insult or a compliment. I watch the four boys move away before taking Tristan’s seat at the table.
“You are not a part of the Infinity Club,” Ileana snaps at me, curling her gold painted lips up over her teeth. She's right: that tattoo on my hip burns as if it's being freshly etched into my skin. I am not a part of the Infinity Club and I never will be. Thank God.
“No, but I'm here as a sponsored guest. I can make a bet, too.” I fold my arms on the table, careful not to touch any of the knuckle bones. If there was some way for me to take them, and donate them to a museum or give them a proper burial or something, I would. As things stand, all I can do is throw out a silent apology to the souls that used to belong to these bits of ivory. “And trust me: you're gonna want to make this bet.”
“Really?” Harper drawls, leaning her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand. Her blue eyes sparkle with hate as she takes me in. “And why exactly would I want to do that? I could simply … call my family’s medical center and tell them to stop treating your father. Basically, bitch, you're mine.”
My heart stops, and I feel this cold fear creep over me. But I suspected this; I knew this was coming. Hell would freeze over before Harper would help me willingly.
I sit still, keep smiling, and refuse to show my cards.
“How about this,” I start, meeting her eyes and refusing to acknowledge the other two girls. She'll love that, the self-professed queen of the school. “I'll make you a bet: if I win, you give my dad the same medical care that you’d give to your own father.” I pause for a minute. “No, you give my father better medical care than you’d give your own father. The best of the best, spare no expense. If you win, I will get on my knees before you in front of the entire school and tell everyone that you were right, that I'm worse than a Pleb, or that I'm a whore, whatever. I'll kiss your feet, and I'll pack up and leave the academy and you'll never have to see me again.”
Harper's leaning forward now, her eyes shining, her sociopathic tendencies showing all over her face. I'm not sure that I've ever really known what the word hate means until now. I don't think I hated the Idol guys, not even after what they did to me. Pretty sure I hate Harper du Pont right now.
“I'm listening …” She purrs, her voice like needles as it digs into my eardrums. She reeks of peaches too, and I decide the scent is now entirely ruined for me. Every time I smell it, I'll think of her and that disgusting smile.
“If I lose, you can pull my father's medical care completely. But for now, you keep treating him.” Harper narrows her eyes, but at least she’s still listening. “Here's the bet: by the end of the year, I make Tristan, Creed, and Zayd fall in love with me.” Her eyes widen in disbelief, and the look of glee that flashes over her face tells me that she already thinks that she's won, that what I'm proposing is an impossibility. I keep talking. “But you are all forbidden from telling them about this bet. If I get them to come with me to the second-year graduation getaway, that counts, and I win.”
“You could just trick them into driving with you or something,” Becky sneers, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. “No, they have to show up, with you or not, but they all have to think that you're going to be their date to the party that night. They have to want you to be their date.” She smirks at me, and I purse my lips, but I nod anyway.
“They come with me to the graduation getaway at the lake, and I win. If they don't, at the party that night, I'll do what I said. I'll give in, I'll give up, and I'll leave. You'll win.” Harper considers this for a moment, rolling one of the knuckle bones around on her palm.
“Fine. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop tormenting you.” She smirks at me again, and I just know she's already got something planned. “There is no truce between us, but I'll let your pathetic father beg scraps from my medical clinic. When I win,” she continues, and her use of the word when does not escape me, “I want your humiliation filmed, and you are going to be the one who posts it on YouTube from your own account.”
My nostrils flare, but I nod anyway, and reach out to take her hand. We shake on it, while Becky and Ileana exchange looks.
“Don't think you’re getting out of this bet,” Ileana sneers, and I'm surprised to see how well she fits into this pit of snakes. She might be a first year, but she's just as vicious as the other two Idols. “My father has a team of secret police, and I'm not afraid to use them.”
Her threat does not go unnoticed, but I ignore her as I rise to my feet, head off in search of Zack, and hope that the Idol guys turned down whatever ridiculous bet that he came up with. If they realize it’s a ruse, too bad. If the girls tell, Harper automatically loses.
“Oh by the way,” Harper calls out, and I turn around. She lifts her left hand and flashes me a massive rock on her ring finger. The ring that she's wearing, I bet its worth is in the millions. The necklace I wore tonight to piss Tristan off feels like a cheap trinket from Claire's in comparison. I manage to keep my expression calm, my face schooled, even though on the inside I feel like I might puke. “Tristan and I are engaged now. Thought you might want to know that.”
She, of course, waits until after I make the bet to throw out that bit of information. That sneaky, psycho bitch. But you know what? The best revenge of all is that I'm still not worried. If I want Tristan, I can fucking get him.
Without saying a word, I turn and walk away, a new plan hatching in my mind.
Not only is my bet with Harper part of my revenge plot, but for my father, I’d do anything. There’s more riding on all of this than just my damn pride.
The ski lodge is a mess of duffel bags, backpacks, and milling students. Everyone is dressed to suit the weather in beanies, scarves, ski pants, and boots. Miranda looks absolutely gorgeous in a head to toe lavender look, while I rock a pink outfit that she purchased for me as a surprise. I couldn't even begin to tell her how thankful I was; if she hadn’t gotten this for me, I would be wearing jeans and a hoodie.
Jessie and Andrew sip hot chocolate on the large couch while the staff check us in, and start handing out room assignments. Me, I'm too busy watching the double doors with the deer carved into them. Zack seems to realize that I'm waiting for someone, but he doesn't say anything, pulling his beanie low over his ears and watching me. The way his eyes follow me across the room makes my body ache and throb with the memory of our kiss and the hardness between his thighs.
I wonder what it would've felt like to reach down and cup it …
My cheeks flame, and I adjust my own pale pink beanie as Zayd’s howling laughter fills up the entire room with its soaring ceilings and wood beams. There's a fire crackling in the fireplace, the one that’s so big that five students could stand inside of it comfortably. It should be homey in here, but it's difficult to enjoy it with the Bluebloods around.
I sit down on an armchair while Miranda tells a story to Jessie and Andrew, gesturing so wildly with her hands that within a few minutes, she’s got a good dozen people listening and chuckling. Creed watches his twin like a man starved, desperate for her affection and still denied it. That's my continuing revenge on him. As long as he continues to be a dick, his mom and sister are on my side.
Tristan, on the other hand, is about to get a huge slap to the face.
I'm so busy watching that door and waiting, that I don't notice Zack is gone until he comes back, offering me up a cup of hot chocolate and a smile.
“Here,” he says as he hands it over to me, a dollop of whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles on the top. I cover it with my hands, grateful for the warmth after being outside. It was a long walk from the parking lot to the lodge's front door. “Revenge requires sustenance after all.”
I grin at him as I take a sip, his huge body perched on the arm of the chair I’m sitting in. I'm tempted to lay my hand on his knee, but why? What would that even mean? So instead I keep my hands cupped around the hot chocolate, and sip slowly.
Mrs. Amberton hands me a key to room 301 and tells me that Miranda and I will be sharing. The whole school knows by now that Miranda and Jessie are dating, so Jessie is put in a room with a random Pleb girl I've never seen before. Andrew and Zack are paired up, and my palms start to sweat as I notice Tristan heading up the stairs toward his room. I'm not ready for him to leave yet. Not just yet …
As if she's taken classes on how to make a grand entrance (as far as I know, maybe she has), the double doors fly open with a swirl of snow and in walks Lizzie, dressed head to the toe in designer athletic wear, her red and black plaid jacket slightly unbuttoned, just a hint of cleavage showing.
She sees me right away and I stand up, handing my empty hot chocolate to Zack before she throws her arms around my neck and gives me a huge hug. Last night, I messaged her to make peace. In reality, I've added her name to my list and crossed it off in the same go around.
Based on the conversation I had with Lizzie last night—most of which consisted of her profusely apologizing to me and begging for my forgiveness—she doesn't know Tristan is engaged. I can tell by the way she talks about him, that she’s still in love with him. When I glance over my shoulder and see him frozen on the stairs, one hand white-knuckled on the banister, his eyes all for her, I know he's in love with her, too.
A few of Lizzie's friends are with her, all of them wearing matching Coventry Prep beanies, the school crest sewn into the side. It's a little cliquish for my taste, but it's nice to see a swarm of queen bees sweep into the room that are actually on my side. It has not escaped my notice that the Bluebloods are bristling.
Lizzie's guardian approaches the counter and starts up a conversation with some of the Burberry Prep staff, wrapping her arms around Ms. Felton. A smile works its way onto my lips before I turn back to Lizzie herself.
“Our school doesn't do second-year trips, so it was a nice surprise to get your invite,” she says, her own engagement ring sparkling as she reaches up to tuck her black curls behind one ear. She turns her amber gaze over to Zack, and they both smile sheepishly before turning their attentions back to me.
The last time I was in the same room with the two of them, I was having my heart broken in two. This is so much better because this time, it's Tristan and Lizzie who are going to feel that pain. Part of me aches at the idea of Lizzie getting hurt; she's so sweet and genuine. It's impossible to imagine her making that bet with Zack way back when. Either the two of them have changed immensely since then, or else they're as full of shit as the rest of the Bluebloods.
“I'm glad you're here,” I tell her, and I mean that, even if it is all a part of my plot. Ugh. It shouldn't be this hard for me to extract vengeance. I'd rather just be a naïve, happy chick with no vendettas. I decide that once I graduate from Burberry Prep, I'm done with revenge plots forever. “I don't ski, and I hear learning isn't exactly easy. I need you guys to take turns babysitting me in the lodge.”
Lizzie chuckles, and it's such a gentle, cultured laugh. She's pretty, too, and nice. I'm damn near positive she's as close to perfect as any human being ever gets. That is, if you ignore the bet she made with Zack,
Like a viper, Harper slithers over to us, flashing her own ring in Lizzie's face.
“What … are you doing here?” Harper grinds out between her perfect, white teeth. She flashes me a look of pure venom that I pretend not to notice. Lizzie's face shuts down as soon as she sees that ring, and a tension creeps into the air that has nothing to do with me. I'm not even involved in their resulting stare down.
“I was invited,” Lizzie says, managing to maintain a fairly neutral expression. Impressive considering Harper's devolved into an ugly monster in the same span of time. Right on time, Tristan appears on Harper's left, his gray gaze focused on Lizzie. But only for a second … He then moves his attention over to me, and I'm almost startled by it.
“Oh, honey,” Harper purrs, latching onto Tristan's arm. The way his mouth wrinkles into a sneer when she touches him tells me all I need to know. He doesn't like her, never will. Not that it matters. He'll marry her anyway if it's what'll give him the most money and power. My stomach twists into an infinity-shaped knot. “The Working Girl invited your old girlfriend to ski with us. I'm not impressed.”
“What do you want me to do about it?” he snaps at her, his face impassive. “I can't exactly kick Lizzie and Charity out into the snow, now can I?” Harper gapes at him, flicking her tongue against the side of her mouth and leveling her glare on Lizzie. I may as well be invisible. After all, it's not me that her fiancé’s in love with.
Not yet, anyway.
In my heart though, I wonder if I'll ever be able to wedge Lizzie out of that special place in Tristan's chest. She could very well lose the bet for me. I exhale sharply, and Zack reaches down to take my hand, giving it a squeeze.
“You're engaged?” Lizzie whispers after a second, looking at Tristan from hurt baby doe eyes. I feel like I might cry for her. Damn it. Damn, damn, damn. Well, I'm glad I already crossed her name off the list. This is too much. “You … could've told me.”
“Publicly? At a party? Like how you told me?” Tristan snaps, his nostrils flaring. He's trying to maintain his composure and failing miserably. Harper looks gleeful right about now. I want to beat her up for them both. “Why should I? What are we to each other? Clearly, not friends.”
Lizzie's eyes blur with tears, and I grimace, squeezing Zack's hand back for comfort.
“You're right,” she whispers, “we're not friends. But that's okay: I didn't come here for you.” She reaches down to take my hand, notices Zack's curled around it, and raises her brows. I quickly shake him off and grab onto her, pulling her away from the crowd and up the stairs.
I think that's enough revenge for us both.
This time, however, it doesn't taste quite so sweet.
Lizzie falls asleep on my bed, so I take hers, and Miranda ends up staying with Jessie. I wonder if they're um, sleeping together, but I'm too nervous to ask, so I don't say anything. We spend the next morning sitting in the lodge and eating from the buffet, sipping hot cocoa, and talking about the summer.
Most all the Bluebloods have houses in the Hamptons and spend a good portion of their summer there. Lizzie and her friends cut them out of most of the important social engagements, and refused them entry into any of their parties. Even as she's describing her shadiness, she's trying to be nice about it.
“I mean, we didn't hurt anybody …” she adds, but I'm already smiling as I imagine Creed's, Zayd's, and Tristan's faces as they show up at the place of a supposed party with their entourage, and find nothing and nobody. Amazing.
Tristan comes in the door covered in snow and sweating. When he sees Lizzie and me in the lodge, he scowls, storms up the stairs, and slams his door. While Lizzie's discomfort brings me zero joy, I quite like seeing Tristan throw tantrums like a child.
It gets a little weird though on Sunday when his father shows up.
I come to find out that Mr. Vanderbilt owns the place. Fantastic.
Now, when he sees Lizzie, me, Andrew, Miranda, and Zack eating lunch in the restaurant the next day, there's this look that crosses his face that scares the crap out of me. William Vanderbilt could have me assassinated, and then cover it
all up. That's how freaking rich he is. And clearly, he doesn't like me. Pretty sure he doesn't like Lizzie either, based on the way his eyes travel over our group, dismissing everyone but the two of us.
For dinner that night, outdoor heaters are set up, and food is served on the patio. Surrounded by snow and glistening with twinkling white lights, it's magical. It’s no accident that I slip into the shimmery black dress that Tristan sent me for the graduation gala last year. Or … the jewelry I so carefully select.
Adjusting the watch on my right wrist, I step confidently outside and pass right by William's table. His eyes immediately catch on the red and black Rolex that he gave to Tristan. If I could only use one word to describe his expression, it would be annihilation. I've blown his mind.
Tristan sees me a moment later, and this lick of fear takes over his face as he glances from me to his dad. Either William will think Tristan gave me the watch or else he'll have to come clean about throwing it in the trash.
He grabs my wrist as I pass by, and heat shoots up my arm and spears me in the chest with flames. I meet his gray eyes without fear.
“What the hell are you playing at?” he asks, looking from the necklace to the watch, and then back to my face. “What is it that you want?”
“I want you to realize that what you did to me was wrong. I want you to treat people better in general. I want you to know that your money doesn't mean you can get away with murder.” I shake his grip off and shoulder past him, heading over to Lizzie's table. She watches me as I sit down, her brow scrunching slightly. “You okay?” I ask, and she nods, spinning her engagement ring around on her finger.
Andrew is watching her, too, and there's a dark melancholy to his expression that I wish I could wipe away. He doesn't want to be engaged at all, let alone to a girl. I feel sick with sadness for him.
Bad, Bad Blu Bloods Page 17