The Envy of Idols

by Stunich, C. M.

  Although … I’m starting to.

  How long can I date all of these guys without hurting them?

  How can I pick one without destroying the others?

  That is not a question I’m eager to find the answer to.

  Spring break gives me another chance to talk to Charlie about my new boyfriends. I’m planning on it, but when I get home, the first thing he does is tell me he’s transferred his care from Harper’s family’s medical center to … somewhere else.

  The first person I call in a panic is Windsor, hiding in the corner of my room near the closet and hoping Dad can’t hear me talking on the phone.

  “Wind, he move treatment centers,” I choke out before the prince even has a chance to say hello. There’s a long pause, and the slow easy chuckle of a man who knows he owns the world.

  “Yes, I know. I was going to talk to you about that when I stopped by.”

  “Stopped by?” I ask, and Wind laughs again.

  “I have nowhere to stay for Spring Break, so I thought …” I narrow my eyes and lean my back against the wall. This is typical Windsor York behavior right here, acting innocent while really, he’s been calculating all along.

  “You thought you’d stay here again?” I stare at myself in the vanity mirror across the room, at my big, wide brown eyes, full of fear for Charlie. I can’t lose him. I can’t fucking lose my dad or else this shiny newness I feel when I’m around the boys, it’ll just fade away into dull background noise. My whole world will fall apart.

  “Only if you’re okay with it,” he says, and I hear the sound of a mattress creaking as he adjusts himself. “I was going to tell you that despite Club rules, I don’t trust Harper and her family. I moved your dad to an even better medical facility that a friend of my mother’s owns.”

  “You moved my dad’s treatment center without telling me?” I ask, and there’s a long, long pause. I’m not mad, exactly, but this is a perfect example of why, although I trust Wind, I just … don’t know how to feel about him. On the one hand, I’m elated, but on the other, I just wish he’d consulted me.

  “It was a last minute thing,” he says, sounding suddenly tired. And that’s weird. Because Windsor York, he’s never tired. “I didn’t mean to undermine your decision making with your father, I’m just … overwhelmed and trying to get things done without hitches in the programming, if you know what I mean.”

  “You?” I choke out. “You’re overwhelmed?”

  “It happens, once in a blue moon,” he says, gathering some of his usual royal confidence back in his voice. “A lot of bullshit happens behind the scenes of the Infinity Club, you know. When you finally say yes to marrying me, and join up, you’ll find out for yourself.”

  “I’d rather die than join that Club,” I say cheerfully, and Windsor laughs.

  “I figured as much, love. That’s why I joined for you.”

  There’s a long pause as I slide down the wall in relief and lean my head back against it. Dad’s still being taken care of. Okay. That’s good. He doesn’t look great, but he swears this new pot tincture that Mrs. Fleming keeps bringing over is doing wonders for him. He seems happy, at the very least.

  “You can come over and have dinner with us on Friday,” I tell Wind, already sort of wishing it was Friday, so that I could see him. He makes me happy when he’s around. Even if he’s weird, and does questionable things, he’s got a charisma that’s like a drug. I just want more of it. “Bring some of that sparkling non-alcoholic cider for my dad—he likes the bubbles.”

  “And you? Another pair of panties?”

  “If you bring them, I won’t wear them,” I quip, and then when he’s silent, I realize how that sounded.

  “Good. I’ll bring several pairs, and maybe you can go knicker-free for days.” Windsor hangs up before I get a chance to retaliate with some (probably not so) witty banter of my own.

  Windsor York shows up with a giant wooden box full of fancy non-alcoholic ciders from all over California that my dad practically drools over.

  “He’s my favorite friend of yours,” he whispers as he opens in the kitchen and runs his fingers over the labels on the bottles. I stand there for a moment, looking at Charlie’s back, and then—because Windsor has that magical honesty-gathering quality—I just blurt it out.

  “I’m dating him.”

  Dad pauses and then glances over his shoulder, blinking away his surprise before he turns around to face me.

  “You are?” he asks, and I nod. Dad reaches up to adjust his hat and whistles. “Okay, wow. I mean, I wasn’t expecting that, but he seems polite and well-groomed, and at least he’s not a bully.” Oh, Dad, if you only knew: Windsor York is a bully of bullies. He enjoys hurting people who enjoy hurting people. I mean, it’s not as bad as what the Harpies do, but still …

  “You’re not … mad?” I ask, and Dad gives me this soft, sweet sort of smile that scares me. I don’t want to see smiles like that, smiles that say one day I won’t be here, so you need to learn from me while you can. I hate it.

  “Marnye-bear, you’ll be eighteen in less than half a year. You’ve got excellent grades, ambition a guy like your old man could only dream of, and a bright future. If you like this boy, I trust your judgment. Besides, you’re far past the point in your life where I can micromanage every little thing you do.”

  I smile at him, and he smiles back. When we hug, I almost blurt the rest of it out, about the other four boys. But then the bathroom door opens and Windsor’s footsteps pause in the entryway to the kitchen.

  “Is there anything I can do to help with dinner?” he asks, rolling up the sleeves of his white and blue pinstripe shirt. His red hair is a little longer on top now, and he’s got it all tousled and sexy looking. “Perhaps I could pour you a glass of cider, and you could sit outside and relax?” Windsor raises his red brows, and my dad gives him an I’m impressed, son sort of a look.

  “That’d be … amazing actually,” Charlie says, chuckling gruffly at gesturing at all the food laid out on the counter. We went shopping for our favorite vegetable stew stuff today, and there’s a lot of chopping that needs to be done. “I had a long day at work, and I’d love to kick up my feet.”

  “Consider your meal cooked,” Windsor says, and Dad gives me a little wink as he moves over to the sliding glass door, opens it, and steps out into the warm spring sunshine.

  “Do you know how to make vegetable stew?” I ask, and Windsor turns his hazel eyes on me, moving over to stand in front of me as I lean back against the counter. He puts his hands on either side of me and grabs the loose ties of my apron, turning them into a pretty little bow before a cavalier little smile lights up his face and he puts his lips against my cheek.

  “I figured you’d be the head chef, and I’d be your sous chef. After all, I don’t mind a little power play. Tame me, mistress.” He kisses me so softly that I almost wonder if I imagine it, pulling back, and then digging into the pocket of his white shorts for a pair of new panties that he cucks my way. These one says Princess on the cheeks. My eyes narrow to slits. “Now, you promised you’d go commando if I brought these along. And remember, those were your rules: no lies.”

  “Hah.” I flip him off and put the panties in my room, coming back to the kitchen to find Wind in Dad’s apron, pouring a generous glass of cider and taking a sip. He sighs, and then pours a second glass to take outside to Charlie. When he comes back in and closes the sliding door against the heat, I give him a look. “You ready to work? Because good food doesn’t make itself, despite what you may have thought growing up. People actually work behind the scenes in those kitchens.”

  “No, you don’t say,” Windsor says, narrowing his eyes on me in challenge. “You know I never back down from a fight. Direct me, milady.”

  We work together to chop all the good stuff—potatoes, mushrooms, celery, onions, carrots, garlic, rosemary, thyme, and tomatoes—and then work on getting it all in a pot to simmer. After that, we have a little while to relax, and D
ad’s now on the phone with his friend, Mack, from college, so we head into my room and Windsor immediately makes himself comfortable on my bed.

  He pats the spot next to him, and even though I’m not entirely sure this is a good idea, I sit down.

  He sweeps an arm around my waist, and nuzzle up against my back.

  “Thank you for having me over all the time, crashing your personal time with Dad.” He says the words against my bare skin, his lips moving sensually against that little bare stripe of flesh between the top of my sweatpants and the bottom of my tank top.

  “Is there a reason you like coming over here?” I ask, wondering if he’s like Tristan, escaping an abusive parent or something.

  Windsor sits up, propping himself on an elbow, and looking at me from irises flecked with gold, green, silver, brown, and amber. It’s like all the colors in the world are contained in those eyes.

  “I just like spending time with you,” he tells me, and my heart thumps so violently it feels like I might have hiccups. “And I like your dad. Mine’s dead. I miss him sometimes.” Wind pauses and then sits up, pulling me into the circle of his arms until we’re cuddled together in a way that Charlie might not appreciate if he were to show.

  Still … it feels so good, I tell myself just another minute or two can’t hurt. When Dad gets on the phone with Mack, they can talk for hours sometimes.

  “You brought your suitcase with you,” I say, and feel Windsor smiling against my neck.

  “I’m going to stay at that awful B&B again, the haunted one with the bad customer service.”

  “They don’t have bad customer service, they just don’t kiss,” I say, feeling an irritational need to defend the Bayside Bed and Breakfast against this spoiled little rich kid. “But the ghost thing, that’s true. In 1902, a woman—” Windsor turns my head just enough that he can lean forward and kiss me over my shoulder, dropping both of his hands to my breasts and squeezing them just hard enough to make me moan.

  He moves back suddenly, releasing me and exhaling sharply, like even he wasn’t quite aware of what he was doing.

  “Bloody fucking hell, Zack’s right. You start talking historical facts, and it’s just … it must be the passion in your voice.” For once in his life, Windsor sounds a bit startled.

  “Wind,” I start, because my heart is aching. I turn around to look at him, and I see it. It’s been there this whole time, from moment one. He’s been my friend since he set foot on the academy campus, but he’s also had a crush on me. A real one. “Are you even allowed to date to peasant girls?”

  He raises a red brow and then reaches out to stroke some of my hair back.

  “I told you: I’m probably the least obligated boy you’re dating right now. Milady, consider it: marry me.”

  “Stop joking around,” I say, slapping him in the chest and sighing. “Even if I were interested in marrying someone, someday, I’m going to college first. Bornstead, if I can.”

  “I’ll have my mother write you a recommendation letter,” Windsor says absently, but even though I get really excited at the prospect, I’m not sure I can accept that. No, I want to accomplish this on my own merit. Wind pauses and seems to notice the expression on my face. “Or at the very least, let me help pay for your schooling. Your mind is beyond brilliant, love.” He reaches out and touches a finger to the center of my forehead. “You’ll do great things one day.”

  I smile, and then hear the sound of the glass lid on the pot clinking, pushing up from the bed to go and check on it.

  After the stew’s done, Windsor and I sit outside with Charlie, and I very casually suggest that the prince stay the rest of the week with us, so we can all go fishing together, and maybe try another round of bowling. Wind says he likes a challenge, right? My dad is boss when it comes to bowling.

  Oddly enough, Charlie agrees (although the open door rule still applies), and Wind blends so seamlessly into our little family, that I almost forget I have four other boyfriends waiting for me back at Burberry Prep.

  Almost.

  Creed and I are sitting in the gazebo in the rear courtyard. He’s studying like crazy, and I’m looking at my revenge list and crossing names off. I’m here in case he needs me, but he’s been trying so much harder lately that I don’t think he’s going to have a problem pulling all As and Bs in his classes.

  I am going to whoop your ass, Tristan Vanderbilt, I think as I stare at the names on the notebook paper I stole back from him.

  Revenge On The Bluebloods of Burberry Prep

  A list by Marnye Reed

  The Harpies The Girls: Harper du Pont, Becky Platter, and Ileana Taittinger

  The Company 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

  After a moment of careful consideration, I decide to finally cross Plebs off my list. First off, we’ve completely taken over the school and I’m now being worshipped as an Idol. If that doesn’t count as revenge, I don’t know what does. Second, forgiveness is the focus of my journey right now, and I can’t possibly locate all the idiots who dumped condoms on my doorstep or spray-painted insults on my door.

  So, I cross that off, and it feels freeing as hell.

  I’m also glad to see Greg and John bite the dust. They are gone from Burberry Prep—permanently. And the nude photos that got circulated included both girls and boys from their own group. Talk about a double whammy.

  Still, there are a lot of names on that list, and even though they’ve gotten their fair share of just desserts, I’m not crossing them off until they’re either gone, or I no longer perceive them to be a threat.

  Harper and Co. is most definitely still a threat.

  “Done,” Creed says, pushing his tablet toward me, so I can check his answers.

  Every single one is right, and I look up with a grin. He gives me a lazy housecat smile in response, and before I even know what’s-what, I’m in his lap and kissing him like my life depends on it. I’d like to do this every day, please and thank you.

  “Hey,” Zayd says, panting as he runs up to us, leaning over and putting his hands on his knees for a moment, so he can catch his breath. He turns his green gaze up to look at the two of us, and a flicker of jealousy shadows his eyes for a moment before he blinks it away. “Thought you guys might want to see some action going down in the front courtyard.”

  “What’s happening?” I ask, and Zayd grins and winks.

  “Remember what I said about Myron? Well, Tristan sent him sniffing for trouble, and he found some.”

  Creed and I exchange a look, and then we’re both standing up and following Zayd into the chapel building, down the hall, and out the front doors toward the courtyard. There’s no crowd when we get there, just a couple of girls and a boy in plainclothes, a pair of drivers loading up their suitcases. It’s not until I get a little bit closer that I recognize the three of them: Anna Kirkpatrick, Ebony Peterson, and Sai Patel.

  Tristan is standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, Lizzie beside him (why?!), and Myron on her other side. They all glance over at me as I step up to stand next to Tristan.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, my list clutched in hand. No way was I leaving it there for any random Pleb—or more importantly, Harper—to find. Sure, it doesn’t exactly say anything damning, but I still don’t want it to end up in the wrong hands.

  “Busted for buying paying others to do their coursework for them,” Myron answers, and I think maybe that’s the first time he’s ever spoken directly to me. “They’re being expelled. Apparently it’s been going on since first year.” He smirks, and I see a darkness in his face that makes Tristan look like a pussycat. I have a feeling, though, that Zayd wasn’t just talking about the guy’s gumshoeing skills when he warned me about him.

  Myron Talbot has violence etched into every feature.

  I’m guessing the only thing tha
t’s keeping him in check is Tristan Vanderbilt.

  “They’re being expelled?” I repeat, and Tristan smiles, glancing over at me.

  “Taking out the trash, one bag at a time.” He turns toward me and then reaches down, sliding a finger across my collarbone and stealing my breath away. “Next year, I don’t want you to worry about anything. I’ve still got a ways to go with Harper, but there’s always the summer.”

  “It’s not like we can’t finish the list next year,” I say, wrinkling my brow and giving him a look. Tristan puts his hand on the top of my head, ruffles up my hair in a distinctly un-Tristan-like way, and then turns to head for Tower Three. Lizzie trails behind him, giving me a half-smile as she passes, and frankly, I’m relieved to see Myron go with them.

  “I don’t like that guy,” Zack says, appearing from the direction of the chapel building with Windsor by his side. Looking at him, I still have a hard time believing that he went down on me, that he slid into me from behind. His brown eyes swing my way, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking about and finds it amusing.

  Swallowing hard, I tuck my fingers in the pockets of my blazer and try to act casual.

  “Myron?” I ask, and Zack nods.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Creed drawls, waving his hand dismissively. “He’s Tristan’s pet. I’d only worry if our illustrious king drops the leash.” He sighs and looks down at me, cocking his head to one side as I lift up my list and stare down at it. Three more names to cross off. Fantastic. “It’s getting dark. Maybe we should collect our stuff and head back to my place to finish up?”

  “Right,” Zack growls as Windsor narrows his eyes on both of them. “You just want her to come up to study? I call bullshit.”

  “Why don’t you let me and Marnye worry about that?” Creed asks, as Zayd scowls, reaching up to ruffle his hair. It’s sea green again. He dyed it sometime during spring break and showed up with it like that. Pretty sure I squealed and threw my arms around his neck. I’m kind of attached to that color now.