“He's … a character,” I say, but my mind is wandering back to that moment in The Mess, that kiss, the way he grabbed my tie, and all the things I said before that. “Love. It’s possible for someone to love you for you, Tristan. Trust me, I know: I was there.”
My face turns six shades of red, and I move around behind Creed, putting my palms on his back and pushing him right out the door. He's so surprised, he just lets me move him around. When he turns to look at me, his expression of confusion morphs into one of smug, self-assuredness.
“Oh, Marnye,” he starts, but I'm already slamming the door in his face.
“Get dressed!” I shout out, and then I turn and put my back to the door, close my eyes, and sink to the floor.
It's going to be a long, hot summer, that much I know for sure.
I'm the last one to get downstairs, dressed in an outfit I bought for myself when Miranda and I went shopping yesterday. Her eyes glittered when she saw me in, but still, I feel a tad self-conscious …
“Holy shit,” Zayd says as I come down the first curve of the staircase and pause on the landing. I feel like Janey Briggs in Not Another Teen Movie, when she makes a slo-mo appearance on the stairs and then falls through them. Yep, that'd be me for sure. I should never have let Miranda make us watch that damn movie. “Charity, you clean up good.”
“Don't call her Charity,” Zack growls, his brown eyes narrowed as he takes in the rock star with no small amount of distaste.
“As long as it's in jest, I don't mind,” I say, continuing down the steps as Miranda and Andrew exchange a knowing look and then smile at me. Creed is lounging on the couch, draped over it like a boneless king. He pretends not to be looking, but I can feel his gaze like it's made of flames.
Tristan, meanwhile, is standing in the open front door with his back to me, having a low conversation with Myron Talbot. Myron is broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and several inches shorter than Tristan. Despite that, he's got a lean, muscular build, and a shadowed expression that makes me believe all the things that Zayd said about him.
Lizzie is standing nearby, her arms crossed over her chest. As soon as she lifts her gaze and sees me, she smiles big and pushes between the two boys.
“Leather pants? Girl, that ass.” Lizzie skips over, throws her arms around me, and gives me a huge hug. She pulls back, her dark curls frothing around her shoulders, her amber eyes sparkling. She's dressed in denim short-shorts, and a loose yellow tank with big arm holes. Underneath, I can see her black bikini top.
“It's a bit out of my comfort zone,” I hedge, wondering where Windsor is. He's such a big presence that when he's not in the room, there's this noticeable absence. “Do I look okay? I know leather pants and beach parties don't exactly go …”
“But look at these zippers,” Miranda crows, appearing beside me and grabbing the zipper at my hip. Before I can stop her, she's grabbed it and dragged it halfway down, the leather peeling apart and my entire thigh and left butt cheek showing. All the guys notice.
I make a choking sound, and snatch it back from her, zipping myself into the leather again.
“What do you think, Tristan?” Miranda asks, turning to look at him as he steps back into the house with Myron on his heels. I elbow her because, like, why is she drawing his attention my way?
Tristan's gaze rakes over me, over my white Burberry Prep tank covering my new swimsuit, the leather pants underneath, and the wedge sandals that I'm sure will be the death of me. If I end the night without a twisted ankle, I'll be shocked. But I want to make an appearance tonight, stand up to Harper and … A cold chill sweeps over me as yet again, I think about how badly things could've gone. This isn't a game anymore. Maybe it never was?
“You look nice,” Tristan says, and his voice is beyond bland. He may as well be looking at a freshly painted wall or something. My gaze locks on his gray one, and he holds it without shame. There's a darkness there, behind his eyes, that catches my attention anyway.
“Nice?” a voice calls out, just before Windsor appears from the direction of the kitchen. He has what looks like a strawberry daiquiri in his hand that he presents to me. “You're a fucking vision, Marnye Reed.” He hands the drink over with a bright grin. “A virgin daiquiri for the virgin girl.”
“Jesus,” I choke, but I take the drink anyway as Windsor's hazel eyes sweep me up and down, and he leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek.
“You're so rude,” Miranda says, hooking her arm through mine as Windsor presents her with a second drink. “But I forgive you since you mixed drinks for everyone.”
“It's one of my passions,” Windsor says, stepping back and putting his hands on his hips as he looks me over yet again. He's dressed in white shorts, a white tank, and black sandals. His red hair seems even brighter paired with the monochrome outfit. “If I weren't a royal, I'd have been a bartender. Even Mum agrees.”
“Fascinating,” Zack says with a roll of his eyes. He's wearing bright red shorts and absolutely no shirt. His hair is wet and slicked back, like maybe he's already gone swimming today. We look at each other, and my heart skips a few beats. Fight for me, I think as I exhale. But even then, I'm confused.
I've never had crushes on more than one guy at a time. Now … my heart doesn't know what to do. I feel pulled in several different directions, and the angst feels like it's going to kill me already.
“I'm glad you're here,” Zack says, reaching out to give my hand a squeeze. I smile, and when he lets go, I curl my hands around my drink, so I don't have to feel them tingling. Zayd watches our entire interaction, and then exhales sharply, his jaw tightening, like he's just made a decision about something. I have no idea what that is because Tristan's just stepped forward, and without having to say a thing, he's drawn everyone's attention his way.
Well, everyone but Windsor. The prince dances back into the kitchen and appears with more drinks, passing them out to Lizzie and Andrew first, and then grudgingly to Myron, the Idols, and Zack.
“Harper and the rest of the Bluebloods will be at the party tonight,” Tristan says, and I can tell by the way his eyes narrow that he's thinking about that night at the Royal Pointe lodge. At the end of this year, we'll have another school-sponsored trip back to that same lake. Closing my eyes, I suck in a deep breath and try not to think too hard about it. “We don't talk to them, and we don't acknowledge them.”
“How, exactly, will that help?” Windsor inserts as I look around and realize that the people gathered here, don't have much of a connection. Or if they do, not much of a good one. Lizzie and Tristan are exes with unresolved feelings, Windsor hates the Idols and vice versa, Andrew was kicked out of the Bluebloods, and Zack is an outlier that most of them have hated from day one.
What a group of misfits we are.
“They're dead to us. Everyone needs to know that. The rest, we deal with later.” Tristan turns to go, and I grab onto his arm. He pauses and looks down at me for a second before threading his arm through mine. I'm so completely and utterly shocked that my mouth drops open and I nearly let my drink slip from my fingers. “Don't stray too far, and I'll keep you safe.”
Okay, now my mouth is basically on the floor.
“Who are you and what have you done with Tristan Vanderbilt?” I choke out, but all he does is look at me, and then starts to walk, dragging me along with him. We all end up outside, finishing our drinks and leaving the glasses on the patio table.
“Mom and Dad are out dancing. They won't be back until nearly dawn; I'll clean these up when we get home.” Miranda waves her hand dismissively, and we all take off down the beach with Tristan leading the way.
Glancing back, I see Lizzie watching us, and I feel this tightness in my stomach that I can't put words to.
“Does she know you called off your engagement?” I whisper, and Tristan goes completely stiff beside me. Holding onto him like this reminds me of our time in France, the way he let me cuddle up to him at Disneyland, or how he stopped so suddenly outside the Eiff
el Tower and looked at me like he had something important to say.
“I have no idea,” he says in that cold, dark voice of his, like a sheet of ice sliding over my heated skin. “I haven't told her, if that's what you're asking.”
My lips purse. I can feel the others watching us, not just Lizzie but Miranda and Andrew, the other two Idols, Zack, Windsor. Only Myron seems totally uninterested.
“Are you going to? I bet she'd like to hear it from you.”
“What do you care about my relationship with Lizzie?” Tristan hisses, his voice drowned out by the crash of the ocean waves against the shore, and the distant laughter of party guests. My cheeks flush, and I'm not sure how to respond to that. And then—I'm going to blame Windsor's strange honesty gathering capabilities—I just blurt something out.
“Sometimes, when I look at the two of you, I think you're still in love with each other.” My voice cracks a little, and my heart pounds, but as soon as I say it, I feel a little better. Tristan stops walking, and I think for an instant there that I might get something real out of him.
But then his face shutters and darkens, and his eyes narrow.
For a split-second, I'm afraid I've royally pissed him off, but then I turn and spot Harper, Becky, and Ileana on the beach, surrounded by adoring fans. My throat gets tight when I see Greg, John, and that new guy, Ben, nearby. Ben was a fourth year, so he shouldn't have been on the school trip to Lake Tahoe. At the very least, he won't be at Burberry Prep next year.
“We have to get Ben before the summer is over.” My voice comes out thin and reedy and tinged with fear. I don't like that. I'm not afraid of Ben or John or Greg or anyone else. I turn to Tristan and catch his gray gaze. “He's not going to be at Burberry next year. We have to get him here, in the Hamptons.”
My hand tightens on the handle of my beach bag. Inside, there's a brand-new list. I felt like the last one was getting too cluttered, so I started over. I'm not ready to show the Idols this, not yet. But maybe one day.
Closing my eyes briefly, I can see it in my head. Everyone that was on that boat has their name written down all over again. What they did to me … I owe them all a lot more than I gave last year. Vengeance is due in spades.
Revenge On The Bluebloods of Burberry Prep
A list by Marnye Reed
The Girls: Harper du Pont, Becky Platter, and Ileana Taittinger
Their Cronies: Anna Kirkpatrick, Ebony Peterson, Gregory Van Horn, Abigail Fanning, John Hannibal, Valentina Pitt, Sai Patel, Mayleen Zhang, Jalen Donner, Kiara Xiao, and Ben Thresher
The Plebs
Tristan exhales, nostrils flaring, and then takes off down the small rise, dragging me with him. Everyone else follows, a little entourage of bluebloods-that-aren't-technically-Bluebloods, if you know what I mean. Windsor and Zack have the money, the looks, and the popularity to be in the Inner Circle. Hell, they have enough charisma to be Idols. And then there's Miranda and Andrew who used to be Bluebloods, but got kicked out, even though they're more worthy than any other person on that beach. And Lizzie … Lizzie would be a female Idol if she went to Burberry Prep, that's for damn sure. From what Zack tells me, she's the Queen of the Coventry Prep Elite.
The crowd on the beach hushes and goes still as we approach the bonfire together. All eyes are on Tristan as he heads over to one of the logs next to the fire, gestures for me to take a seat, and then leans down in front of me, so close that our mouths nearly touch.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asks as Harper scoffs and makes her way over to us. I'm so focused on Tristan though that I can barely look at her.
“Soda,” I whisper, and when he lifts one brow, I get more specific, “cherry Coke and a cup with ice and a straw?” Tristan leans in close and presses his lips to my cheek, leaving me with this hot, tingling sensation and literally no clue as to what's actually happening here.
Are we friends now?
“Done.” Tristan stands back up and turns, putting himself chest-to-chest with Harper as Zack sits down on one side of me, and Zayd sits down on the other. Double Z-boys. I almost smile, but then I see Greg and John watching me, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. John was undoing his pants. I'm pretty sure he …
“Hey,” Zayd whispers, drawing my attention over to him. “Don't look at those assholes.”
We stare at each other, his lip and eyebrow rings catching the flickering light from the bonfire. He really has a beautiful face, meant for stardom. And that voice … It's no wonder his personal net worth is around twelve million. His dad's net worth is close to four hundred million, but it's Zayd's grandmother, who started a rental car business in the sixties who's worth the most: at around six billion.
“What the fuck, Tristan?” I hear Harper spit out, and even though I'd much rather look at Zayd, I end up turning to glance in that direction. Miranda is right there. Creed, too. Lizzie and Myron as well.
Windsor stands back, sipping from a red plastic cup. How he's managed to get a drink in his hand so fast is just a testament to his party boy skills. He notices me looking at him and gives a dramatic little wink.
Tristan reaches out for Harper's bare shoulder, and then pushes her to the side. Not forcefully or anything, just enough to get her out of the way. He funnels between Ileana and Becky as they gape at him, and the others follow.
“Who invited Coventry Prep?” Becky says, at a volume that's clearly meant to carry. “This is a Burberry party.” She steps in front of Lizzie and gives her a little shove in the chest.
“Don't test me,” Lizzie says, just as loudly. “You saw what happened last year when you tried.”
Becky pushes her again, this time with two hands.
Lizzie stumbles back, and then Tristan's there, hauling Becky up and away, and tossing her to the sand.
“Do not touch my people, Platter,” he says, pointing at her. His face is dead serious. Without having to try, his voice cuts through the murmuring and the whispering. There are Plebs everywhere, watching us. I rise to my feet, sensing violence. Back at Ileana Taittinger's party, when I dumped the cars in the pool, I could see factions forming in the audience. The same thing is happening here.
Tristan versus Harper, King versus Queen.
"If you keep talking, I’ll toss you right out of this limo, and we’ll find out if the Plebs enjoy their queen better … or their king. Don’t test me, Harper.”
Looks like we're about to find out.
“Don't think anything's changed at the academy. I'm still an Idol. Creed, Zayd, and I still have an Inner Circle.” Tristan swings his arm to indicate our little group. “You're looking at them. Hands off.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Ileana squeaks behind him, but he's ignoring her completely. She's a vicious little rat, but that's all she is: vermin. Harper and Becky are the ringleaders, and those boys are their pets. I swallow hard and Zack reaches down to take my hand. As soon as he touches me, I feel warmth surge up my arm and into my chest.
Tristan lifts his head, and I swear to god, it's the cockiest, most arrogant thing I've ever seen, the way he pushes raven-black hair from his face. His gray eyes sparkle as he sneers.
“Burberry Prep has a new queen.”
“Lizzie?” Harper screeches, trying and failing to toss back what's left of her brunette hair. Hah. Go Windsor.
“No,” Tristan says, pointing back at me. “Her.”
“The Working Girl?” Harper blurts, and suddenly, all eyes are on me.
I don't know why, but I stand up.
My heart is pounding so fast that I feel dizzy, but I hold my ground.
“What makes you think you control the academy?” Becky sneers, taking Sai Patel's hand so he can pull her to her feet. The Bluebloods assemble like an army behind the three Idol girls.
“Think?” Tristan echoes, scoffing like Becky's a brainless idiot. I mean, I'm pretty sure she is, but he definitely puts that feeling into his voice in a way I'm not sure I could. “I don't think anything. I am in charge o
f the academy.”
He turns and starts to walk away when Harper grabs onto his arm, digging her nails into his rounded biceps.
“I haven't told William that we broke up yet,” she says, her voice just this side of pleading. “He doesn't have to know.” I glance over at Lizzie and see that her shoulders have gone completely stiff. She's staring at Tristan with this mix of want and confusion that makes my chest hurt. Maybe … now that he's broken up with Harper, now that he's trying to change his ways, she might want him?
I step forward without meaning to, and both Zayd and Zack stand up behind me.
“I've already told him,” Tristan says, shaking her off. “Stop your groveling. It's pathetic. Nobody here likes you enough to see your vulnerable side and still want to hang out with you. If you want to keep any of your friends, then step down willingly and fade into the background. I have two years left at Burberry to make your life miserable.”
Harper spits in his face, and Tristan scowls, swiping his hand across his face to wipe it off. He keeps walking, heads right over to the refreshments table and gets me the drink that I asked for. While the entire beach watches, he turns back around and delivers it straight to me.
“I won't kiss you with that girl's filth on me, but give me a chance to wash off.” I take the soda, doing my best not to gape, and turn to watch as Tristan heads to the edge of the beach, tears his shirt over his head, kicks off his sandals, and wades in.
The buzzing sound of conversation starts up again, like the chirping of insects, as I turn to Zayd and look at him with a million questions bobbing in my eyes.
“Zayd Kaiser, please explain to me what's happening here,” I whisper as I meet his eyes, and he nods once, briskly.
“I promise I will,” he says, tracing the infinity symbol tattoo over the fabric of his shirt. “Just not here. Before you leave the Hamptons, okay?”
The Envy of Idols Page 4