“I'm okay,” Lizzie replies with a long exhale. We both watch as William summons his son to his side. Harsh, low words are spoken before Mr. Vanderbilt reaches out and grabs Tristan by the wrist so hard that his son cringes. My heart thunders, and I almost stand up. Lizzie puts her hand over mine. “If you go over there, you'll make things worse.” Her voice comes out in a near whisper as William drags his son into the lodge.
I can't help it.
I force myself out of my chair and weave through the crowd to the door, slipping inside and catching a glimpse of the two men moving in the direction of the VIP room on the opposite side of the lodge from the bar.
I'm not sure what I'm doing exactly, but I sneak over anyway. The door is closed, but I can hear voices coming from inside.
“… the commoner wearing your watch.”
Tristan is dead silent.
“And Lizzie Walton? I've forbidden you from seeing her. Do you think these secret trysts of yours are going to amount to anything but a bastard heir and a teen whore I'll have to pay off? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“A bastard like me, you mean? Am I such a goddamn disappointment?” My mouth drops open at the vitriol in Tristan's voice. There's the sharp crack of flesh on flesh, and I cringe, trying the door knob. It's locked.
There's a long silence, like maybe they're waiting to see if whoever's on my side of the door will try it again. Finally, Tristan speaks up, his words mollified.
“It won't happen again,” Tristan says, his voice low and hoarse. “Marnye must've … thought it was okay to wear the watch after we slept together.” Slept together?! Gross. But I guess it's as plausible a lie as anything else.
“You are engaged, son, to a du Pont. Do I need to remind you how important that is? The company is going under. Without their money, we lose everything. If you'd like to live in the trailer next door to your whore, then by all means, keep defying me.” William pauses and sighs. “And don't let me see you around Lizzie Walton again. This time, I'm giving you a warning. You won't like what I do next time.”
I scramble out of the way before the two of them come back out.
I do not miss the blood on Tristan's mouth this time.
When I get back to the room that night, I cross his name off my list, and feel fucking sick about it. I will never use William Vanderbilt against his son again. Never.
But in my phone, there's a recording with his voice on it.
Try me, asshole. Try me and see what happens.
The rest of winter break is uneventful. Dad doesn't invite Jennifer over again although he does bring her up a few times. Zack stops by on Christmas day with gifts for me and dad. Charlie gets a pair of new boots, a Carhart jacket, and a shiny new tie. Me, I get keys in an envelope, and give Zack a look. There's the address for a storage unit on the other side.
“What is this?” I ask, but he just shrugs, wishes us happy holidays, and leaves.
The next day, Dad and I drive to the storage place, find the unit that Zack's written down, and unlock it with the keys. Inside, there's a golden pedal harp.
My phone drops to the ground, and I clap my hand over my mouth.
The instrument that's sitting in that unit is worth over thirty-thousand dollars.
“How are we going to get this home?” I choke out, once I've finally fought back tears and found my breath. Sitting down in the wooden chair next to it, I strum my fingers across the strings and sigh at the beautiful notes. “Where are we going to put it?”
“We'll figure it out, Marnye-bear,” Charlie says with a soft smile. And the next day, he shows me the cute little two bedroom house in Grenadine Heights that he's rented for us.
Pretty sure that's the best Christmas I've ever had.
The wind teases my skirt, making it billow around my thighs just enough that my garters show. I ignore it, leaning against the wall of Tower Two with my shoulder. My pulse is racing with nerves, but I’m excited to do this, to be the new student’s guide. And I guarantee I’ll do a hell of a lot better at my job than Tristan Vanderbilt did for me. I hadn’t expected to get called into Principal Collins’ office so bright and early, but that’s the life of a student mentor. Guess they’re going to actually make me earn those credits. And hey, maybe the new kid won’t be as big of a dick as all the others?
First day back at Burberry Prep Academy, and I’ve already had a note shoved in my locker telling me to kill myself (so original, been there, done that, asshole). There was a dildo on the floor in my room, but I’ve now got footage from my cameras showing Sai Patel and some of his own personal cronies putting it in there, and then taking turns snapping photos with my panties.
It’s fine though. I don’t even need those pictures to destroy him. Miranda was right: I’ve got pictures of Sai and Abigail making out at the lodge. All I have to do is show those to Greg, and it’s game over.
I watch the horizon, waiting for the shiny black academy car to crest the hill. Standing up straight, I approach the front steps and wait as it rolls around the circular drive, and comes to a slow stop, wheels crunching over the gravel. It feels like forever before the driver finally gets out and moves around to open the back door.
My breath stops in my chest.
One long leg extends from the back, cloaked in perfectly creased white slacks. A long, lithe form follows, tall and handsome and wearing a bright, white grin.
I’d almost forgotten all those news articles Miranda shoved in my face. If she hadn’t sent me the link to yet another exposé on the guy, I would’ve forgotten about him completely. The world’s youngest billionaire. Tenth in line to the throne. Great-grandson to the Queen of freaking England.
Windsor York.
A freaking prince.
“Well, hello there,” he says, tilting his head to one side, his hazel eyes glimmering with color. There are specks of gold, green, and brown swimming in a blue-gray gaze. I’m immediately mesmerized by the color. His red hair is short, but playfully mussy, tousled and dark, almost crimson. And that smile … it’s impossible to look away from. “Windsor York, at your service. You must be Marnye Reed?”
I nod, but my throat is suddenly dry, and there are no words.
The prince adjusts the lapels of his second-year jacket and looks around, taking in the courtyard and the fountain with mild interest. He then adjusts his gaze to me, and mild interest turns to piqued curiosity. Windsor’s eyes take me in, inch by inch, absorbing my appearance from head to toe. He seems to like what he sees, too, which makes my cheeks flush pink, and sends my heart racing.
The new student I’ve been asked to mentor is … a prince. A prince. A freaking prince?!
“You’re quite the pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice crisp with an English accent. If I said I wasn’t into it, I’d be lying. His grin sharpens up and he extends an elbow for me to take. “I assumed they’d be sending some crusty old school marm to give me a tour. This is much, much better.” He holds out his arm for me to take, and I just stand there like an idiot, staring. After a moment, he cocks his head to one side and makes this cute little moue with his mouth that sends my hormones into a frenzy. “You don’t want to escort me, milady?” he asks, milking his accent for everything it’s work. Swallowing hard, I take the prince’s arm, and shivers crawl up and down my spine—good ones, too. Oh no. I feel like I crush far too easily on hot guys. It’s a habit I really need to break. Who’s to say this guy isn’t as snooty, self-absorbed, and cruel as the rest of them?
Bet he’s worse.
“Do I …” I start and then my throat gets so dry that I have to pause and swallow before continuing. “I mean, should I call you prince?” I ask, and Windsor pauses for a moment before chuckling, this happy little sound that’s pretty much the antithesis of all the other guys at this school—even Zayd. It’s pretty refreshing actually.
“You know who I am? That’s bloody fantastic. But prince? God no. Call me Windsor. Or Wind. Or even Windy, but preferably not if you’re
interested in dating me as that’s what my grandmother calls me.” He pauses and flashes another grin, whistling as we make our way through the courtyard. I’m not quite sure how to respond to that, so I say nothing. After a minute, Windsor glances down at me with a slight frown and a single cocked brow. “You don’t then, I take it?”
“Don’t what?” I ask and he laughs at me again, but not like he’s teasing, more like he finds me amusing.
“Don’t want to date me?” he clarifies, and my flush intensifies. I look straight ahead, down the corridor toward the stained glass doors.
“I’m not about dating anyone at this moment,” I say, and the words come out so cryptic and full of meaning that both of Windsor’s brows go up this time. Crap. He looks intrigued now, and I don’t particularly want to be intriguing to anyone, not even to a gloriously handsome prince.
“Shame,” Windsor says, but at least he says it with a smile.
We push through the doors to the chapel building … and come to a grinding halt.
The Bluebloods are standing just inside the door, with Tristan and Harper at the front, Zayd, Becky, Creed, and the new girl, Ileana, just behind them. The rest of the Inner Circle is fanned out behind them. When Tristan sees me with Windsor, something dark lights up his eyes, and his frown pulls down the edges of his mouth.
“Are you Windsor York?” Ileana Taittinger asks, twisting her dark hair around a finger. The way she looks at the prince is terrifying, like she very well might eat him for breakfast. Her uniform top is unbuttoned, all the way to the scalloped black edges of her lacy bra. I glance at Windsor, expecting his eyes to drop right to her cleavage. Instead, he focuses on Tristan and smiles brightly.
“Windsor York, at your service. Please, call me Wind. And you are?” He tugs me forward with his hold on my arm, bringing me in close proximity to the Bluebloods. The way Becky glares at me, I can almost feel her hatred burning holes in my skin. Her hair is pulled up into a bun, and hair-sprayed to high hell, but there’s no missing the giant chunk I cut off, not today. A smirk teases the edges of my mouth, and she notices.
“Have you introduced yourself to the prince properly yet,” she schmoozes, miming a blow job with her hand, her tongue poking at the inside of her cheek.
“Well, I haven’t asked him yet if he wants a blow job, but he already seems more interested in me than Zayd was in you. Once this is over, let’s go back to my room and I’ll suck you off,” I coo, imitating her nasally voice. “I can say with all honesty: I’ve never been brushed off quite so thoroughly as you.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Becky screams, launching herself forward. Zayd grabs her around the waist and hauls her back. I hate that watching him touch her upsets me so much. His green eyes meet mine, and he grits his teeth as he yanks her back in line. “As soon as I found out that Becky had hit you, I haven't touched her. I just couldn't.” Zayd’s words sound loudly inside my head, and I smile. It’s not a nice smile either.
“Bloody hell, you Americans are crazy. We’ve just met and you want to kill me?” Windsor asks, cocking his head to one side. He reaches up and adjusts his tie with his left hand, one single brow raised in question. Becky is panting now, and she shakes Zayd off to turn and glare at me again.
“Not you, the little whore next to you. That’s our resident Working Girl. If you want a cheap fuck, you can visit her in the Brothel. Otherwise, you’re better off sticking with us.” Becky sneers at me, the expression twisting her pretty face into something horrible. I raise my chin and then flip her off. There’s just something wrong with the chemistry between us; it doesn’t work. “You bitch.” She sneers and tries to come at me again, but Tristan holds out a hand and the Bluebloods freeze. Well, everyone but Creed. He leans back and rolls his eyes before yawning.
Tristan, though, is most definitely their king.
His blade gray gaze burns with fury as he looks at me standing there with the prince. His mouth is downturned, his expression as dark as his hair. He looks like he wants to kill someone. Maybe me, maybe Windsor, I’m not sure.
“Welcome to Burberry Prep,” Tristan says, his voice cold and threaded with steel. “You have a choice to make: come with us or fall with her.” He gestures in my direction with his chin, and I hold my breath, eyes sliding over to Windsor York. He’s been to schools like this before, elite boarding facilities all over Europe. Surely, he’ll know how the hierarchy works. I don’t stand a chance.
I move to take my arm from his when he tightens his grip on me, throwing a blinding smile in the direction of the Idols and their Inner Circle. Creed’s eyes meet mine, half-lidded and lazy as usual. But there’s a tightness to his chest and shoulders that I can’t possibly miss.
The tension stretches out between us and them, this thread that’s pulled so taut I can hardly breathe.
And then Windsor laughs. The sound is light and airy and fluffy. It almost makes me smile. Almost. But then I catch Zayd’s look, this muddied, confused sort of expression that tears at me. I could feel bad for getting his off-campus privileges revoked and ruining his music career, but then I think about the way he curled his arm around Becky’s waist while I stood there dripping red paint and holding back tears.
“For you all to have such a vendetta against this girl, she must be pretty damn special.” Windsor shrugs his shoulders, the stark white of the jacket highlighting how colorful his eyes are, how red his hair. He’s freaking gorgeous, I think, but then maybe it’s just because he’s defending me against them? I have no idea. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll take my chances with the most beautiful girl in the room.” He grins as Tristan frowns, and Harper steps forward, tossing her glossy brunette waves over one shoulder. Since I cut that hunk off of Becky’s hair, she’s been extremely careful to stay away from me. I’m going to have to come up with another plan. “Besides, when I set my sights out to destroy someone, I like challenging targets. You all will do quite nicely, I believe.”
“You’re making a huge mistake,” Harper purrs, sauntering forward with her hips swaying. She’s supposed to be with Tristan, but it looks like she’s making the moves on Windsor York. Guess she’s spotted an upgrade? I noticed that after Lizzie showed up at the lodge, she spent the rest of the trip avoiding her fiancé like the plague. “We own this school, Wind.” She smiles coquettishly and takes another step closer as Windsor raises his eyebrows. They’ve only just met two seconds ago, and she’s already calling him by his nickname. How cute. “Choosing the Working Girl over the school’s elite is a mistake that’ll haunt you way past your days at this academy.” She reaches up to touch his lapels, and his smile curves up in an inviting way. I see him lean toward her, like a flower straining for the light of the sun, and my heart sinks.
On the plus side, I see Tristan’s frown turn into an outright scowl.
Harper is going to get it for this stunt later on, and I didn’t have to lift a finger.
Windsor puts his mouth right up close to Harper’s and breathes on her lips. She sighs and practically falls into him.
“Darling,” he purrs, his voice like silk on the skin. I shiver as the syllables fall over me like a caress. “I’m the Duke of Westminster, the great-grandson of the Queen of England, and in possession of a fortune worth over nine billion British pounds. Whatever you have to say, whoever you are, it means quite literally nothing to me.” He pushes Harper back with a single finger on her chest and she stumbles, mouth gaping open.
Windsor smiles; it’s not pretty anymore.
Uh-oh.
He lifts his eyes up and rakes them over the group of Bluebloods, like he’s searching for something. Clearly he doesn’t find it because a huge grin appears on his face, and then he’s turning to me, eyes sparkling. I’m going to have to be careful with this guy; he is not as nice as he seems.
Hmm.
Somehow, that makes it easier for me to smile back.
“Bunch of self-important arseholes,” Windsor says with a shrug of his shoulders. “I can trace my
bloodline back for centuries; I don’t need to prove myself. And you,” he looks me over carefully while the collective whole of the group bristles, “are clearly quite easy on the eyes, and quite right in the head to avoid these assholes. Shall we go then?”
“I’d love to,” I say, a new idea blooming in my chest.
The Bluebloods now hate Windsor; Windsor hates the Bluebloods.
This could work.
“This is a mistake you’re going to regret,” Tristan warns as we move past, but his voice is hot with anger and his dark gaze is quite clearly focused on Harper. Good. My plan all along was to let their own weaknesses, mistakes, and sins burn them from the inside out. The way Tristan treated Harper in the limo was my first clue that their relationship isn’t as peachy as Harper wants it to be.
“I think it’s a bold career move that’s going to bring me hours of entertainment.” Windsor produces his schedule with a flourish and passes it over to me, and we move on down the hall, leaving the Idols and their Inner Circle safely behind us.
“I love you so much! If I were attracted to boys, I’d be all over you,” Miranda whispers, her voice harsh, eyes brimming with happy tears. Windsor smirks, and pushes some loose hair from his forehead with his palm. It sticks straight up in the front, like a little cowlick or something. “Seriously, I’ve been following you on the news since forever. And when I heard you were coming to America, I knew. I just knew you would come to Burberry Prep.”
“I’ve received quite a mixed bag of welcomes today,” he says with a grin, reaching out to ruffle up my hair. I’m so stunned by the action that I just stand there. Zack narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his broad chest, taking in the prince like he’s not particularly impressed. “Those blokes near the front door,” he continues, gesturing with his thumb in the direction of the courtyard. “They your ex-boyfriends or something?”
“Huh?” I choke, and both Jessie and Miranda crack up. “What? No. No. Ew. No.” But also, maybe, kind of, sort of … Windsor cocks his head to one side and studies me before giving this loose, easy shrug of his shoulders that says he could give two fucks less, and was mostly just curious. “Why?”
Bad, Bad Blu Bloods Page 18