In the Arms of the Elite

by Stunich, C. M.

  “You didn’t actually make all of this stuff, did you?” I ask, and Windsor gives me a weird look.

  “Why not? What else do I have to do? I’m a prince, for fuck’s sake.”

  Oh, well, okay.

  I suppose that makes sense.

  I look down at my tea, lifting the delicate saucer to my lips for a sip. It’s never too hot when Wind makes it; it’s always just right.

  “What are your guys’ plans for fall break?” I ask, feeling this tenuous emotion inside of me tear like tissue paper. I’m so worried about Charlie, I feel sick. If I don’t actively work to not think about him, then he’s the only thing on my mind most days. “I want to be with my dad, but …” I’m almost afraid to finish that sentence, but I make myself lift my gaze, looking between Creed and Windsor and wondering how long they’ve been working on the sword fighting thing together. “I kind of …” Fuck, this is hard. “I’d like some company.”

  “It’s hard, to watch someone you love suffer, isn’t it?” Windsor asks, and I remember that his dad passed away a long time ago. I’ve never asked why. It seemed too personal of a question. Maybe … I could ask in private sometime? “Come to my family’s estate in Napa. We’ll be celebrating … what is that grisly American holiday that celebrates genocide and racism, Thanksgiving is it? … yes, we’ll be celebrating Thanksgiving there. Mother will be attendance, if stuffy princesses are your sort of thing.”

  My brows go up, and I blink several times to clear my surprise.

  “You’re okay if I come up there with Charlie?”

  “Okay? I’d love to have you.” Windsor pauses and sets his teacup down. His red hair is sweaty and sticking up all over the place. Creed is leaning on one elbow, resting his head in his palm, and stuffing a finger-sandwich into his mouth with the opposite hand as he watches me and Wind. “It’s on a vineyard, quite lovely. But we won’t have any wine on the premises, I can promise you that.”

  “I think …” I start, exhaling sharply and putting my own teacup aside to keep the boys from seeing how badly my hands are shaking. “That alcohol isn’t as big of a worry now as it was. I think a vineyard would be nice. I’ll check with Dad.”

  “We have our own polo field,” Windsor adds, glancing over at Creed. “We could put on a show. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “You’re addicted to winning, you know,” Creed whispers, eating another sandwich. I swear, that boy can put food away like nobody else but Zack. They could probably have an eating competition, and it’d be a close bet. The thing is, Zack probably weighs like fifty percent more than Creed. At least. He’s huge, my own big, sexy football playing teddy bear … “But sure, why not?” Creed sits up and narrows his eyes on his tea. “Fucking boiled plant water with milk and sugar in it. Forgive me if I’m not overly impressed.”

  Windsor’s nostrils flare and his own hazel eyes narrow.

  “Would you like me to rescind my invitation?” he whispers, his voice edging on dangerous. “Insult the queen’s beverage again, and I’ll be forced to defend the drink of my country.”

  Creed looks up at him, and then tilts his head to one side.

  “Question: is Lizzie Walton invited?” he asks, and then both boys turn to look at me. I pretend to be too busy sipping my tea to answer that. I want to know their opinions on the matter … “Oh come on, Marnye, don’t tell me her constant hounding of Tristan doesn’t piss you off.”

  “I, well …” I’m in polite company, so I may as well … “Okay, yeah, it frustrates me. I can’t get a second alone with him. She’s literally always there.”

  “We’ll make sure her invitation gets lost in the mail then,” Windsor says, standing up and then smiling at the pair of us. “Take your time finishing the tea. I’m in desperate need of a shower.” He starts toward his room and disappears inside, leaving the door cracked. I can hear the water when he turns it on, but I can’t see anything.

  “Come back to my room with me,” Creed whispers, and the sound makes me shiver all over. Doubly so when he runs his finger down the back of my neck. It’s in that moment that Windsor happens to pause in a spot where I can see him undressing, dropping his clothes to the floor and revealing a lithe, muscular form that has my entire body going up in flames.

  He sees me looking, smirks, and then walks over to shove the door closed.

  “Okay,” I tell Creed, finding it suddenly hard to talk as I glance over at him. “Absolutely. Yes.”

  A slow, sultry smirk curves over his mouth as he stands up and takes my hand. I make sure to reach out, grab his teacup and finish off his drink before we go. Don’t want to piss the prince off, now do we?

  Creed and I head back to his room and end up late for class the next morning.

  It’s worth it though, oh so worth it.

  It’s only about a two hour drive from Cruz Bay to Napa Valley where the Royal Vineyard and Princess Winery is located. They produce almost thirty thousand bottles per year and have their own shop with specialty cheeses and smoked meats.

  The drive itself is gorgeous, rolling hills of grapes on either side of us, trees lining the road, the sun shining up above. The Maserati drives like a dream, and Dad sings the Police for almost an hour before his voice gives out, and he stares out at the hills in quiet contemplation.

  When we arrive at the gate, I punch in the code Windsor gave me, and take the winding dirt road up to the gorgeous chateau on the top of the hill. Wind jokingly told me via text oh, I don’t live in the main house—I live in the garden followed by several laughing emojis. In my mind, I somehow imagined like, this old brick shack with a fireplace. Small, but cozy. Just a few guest bedrooms that we’d all have to cram into … But then we pass behind the main house and find another that’s only slightly smaller, but just as nice waiting in the sunshine, olive trees clustered near the front door.

  Windsor’s waiting on the porch with a box of those sparkling ciders that my dad likes so much.

  First, of course, we’re frisked by security, and our luggage is hauled away for examination.

  “Mr. Reed,” Wind greets, giving Charlie a gentle hug. “I’m glad you and your beautiful daughter could make it.”

  “You’re a sweet boy, Windsor,” Dad says, and I raise my eyebrows. If he only knew … “Is your mother around? I’d love to not only thank her, but I did promise Jennifer I’d get her to sign this picture.” Dad reaches into his pocket, and I hate to see how much his hand shakes as he pulls out a photo of Princess Alexandra, one of the reigning queen’s granddaughters.

  “She’s in the house. I’ll take you to meet her if you’d like.”

  “Where’s everyone else?” I ask as we make our way to the back door of the chateau. It’s slightly ajar, and there’s a white cat sitting there, licking its leg and glaring at me. Windsor ignores it, stepping right over it and leaving it to sunbathe on the small brick patio.

  “I told them all to show up a few days late, so we’d have some time together.” He winks at me over his shoulder, and then turns back around, leading us through a small mudroom type area with boots and coats and rustic looking beams that I can tell are a good hundred years old. You can’t fake that patina.

  Wind takes us into a much more modern looking kitchen (it’s impossible to relay just how much I’d have freaked out if the place had had original cabinets) with an entire wall of windows on the opposite side of the room. Our view is taken up by a deck, a carefully tended garden, and rolling hills covered in grapevines.

  It’s breathtaking.

  “Haha-ue,” Windsor calls out, drawing the attention of the woman lounging out of the deck. He calls her haha-ue (it’s pronounced hah-hah-way), a very formal version of mother in Japanese. It’s something a noble or … well, royal might call their mom. He might not be taking advanced Japanese with me, but he definitely pays attention to my classes.

  I feel my mouth curve into a smile as Windsor’s mother stands up, dressed in a loose-fitting gray sundress patterned with a sunflower print. She lifts
the shades off her face, her red-orange hair curled carefully around her shoulders. Just off to the side of the deck, there’s a man in a red shirt and jeans, standing casually but unobtrusively.

  Security, no doubt about it.

  I think about that bodyguard Kathleen Cabot tried to hire for me during second year. What was his name? Kyle something? I should’ve accepted his help, and then maybe I wouldn’t have been nearly drowned.

  “Don’t call me that; it sounds like you’re laughing at me.” Windsor’s mother pauses to smile at us, and I can see the skin around his eyes tightening slightly.

  “Forgive her. She speaks ten languages, but Japanese is not one of them.” Wind sighs and holds out a hand to indicate his mother. “Princess Alexandra Mary Elizabeth Windsor, formerly Alexandra Duchess of Westminster. And yes, she was most certainly taking the piss when she named me.”

  “Forgive my son,” Alexandra corrects as she holds out her hand to shake first Charlie’s, and then mine. “He forgets his station.”

  “You never let me forget,” Windsor adds as Dad wrinkles up his brow.

  “Taking the piss?” he asks, and Windsor and I both laugh. I’ve heard that phrase enough times now to know what it means.

  “Like … telling a joke,” I explain, and Dad nods.

  “Like I said, forgive my son and please, call me Alex.”

  “Charlie,” Dad replies, and the four of us end up in the kitchen with a whole spread of beautiful hor d’oeuvres, including crackers, soft cheeses, olives, and plenty of fruit. There’s wine, too, but Dad doesn’t even look at it.

  The princess seems nice enough, if a little disconnected. She checks her phone constantly, and I can tell she’s only mildly interested in our conversation. When Dad leaves to go lie down, the housekeeper shows him to his room, and Princess Alex disappears outside to talk on the phone.

  Windsor stares at me from across the soapstone countertop and shrugs his shoulders, his hazel eyes carefully focused on mine.

  “What do you think?” he asks, pouring himself a glass of wine and swirling the liquid around inside, so he can smell it.

  “She seems …” I search for the right word, and when Wind passes over another glass, I decline. I think I’m going to stay a no-alcohol sort of girl. Pot is okay, though it doesn’t seem to be curing Charlie … The vegan food isn’t curing Charlie. The chemo isn’t curing Charlie. My hands start to shake, and I tuck them in my lap. “Nice, but distant.”

  Wind nods, and takes a sip of his wine, standing up fully and gazing past me, out the wall of windows toward the orange and yellow sunset.

  “Yes, that’s how I’d describe her, too. Only I’d use the words vapid and self-absorbed, too.” He shrugs his shoulders and sighs. “Anyway, I’m eighteen now, so I suppose I needn’t worry about her. I’m far wealthier than she is, and it’s more than likely she’ll blow through most of her money before she hits fifty.” He pauses and his fingers tighten around the stem of his wineglass before he looks down at me. “You realize that, don’t you?”

  “That your mom’s going to bankrupt herself?” I ask, and he smiles. The way his slightly curled red hair falls over his forehead is enhanced by the diffused light, and his face almost seems to glow. His shirt is partially unbuttoned, and I can see just the slightest hint of chest.

  “No, I mean that we’re all eighteen now. Not just me and you, but your other lovers as well.”

  “Lovers,” I say, feeling my face heat up. I guess Zayd, Creed, and Zack are lovers, aren’t they? Since we’ve had sex … Although I still haven’t quite braved the blow job yet. My mouth tightens, and I stuff an olive in to keep from blurting out that the molding around the arch that leads into the mudroom still has original hand-hammered nails in it which, really, is unusual from a historical standpoint because they used to use make these little pegs on the end and sort of notch the wood together like Lincoln Logs or something …

  “They’re all free to make their own choices now,” Windsor continues, drinking the rest of his wine, and then setting the glass down to refill it. “They might not like the options they’re given, but they have them.”

  “Who, specifically, are you talking about? Yourself?” I ask, and Wind shakes his head, pushing red hair off of his face with his palm, so that it sticks straight up.

  “Certainly not. I’ve already told you, I want to marry you and ride off into the sunset.”

  I snort, but the way Windsor York holds his face … makes me wonder if he isn’t at least a little bit serious.

  “Who are you referring to then?” I pull a bowl of grapes toward me, admiring their shiny purple skins before I pluck one out and put it between my lips. Windsor watches, enraptured, and I feel my fingers lingering a bit too long on the curve of my lower lip. I look away, glancing over my shoulder at the beautiful scenery. It’s certainly fall here, with all of its orange and yellow, but the grass is still green and it’s pleasantly warm outside.

  “I mean all of them. Zayd, Creed, Tristan, Zack.” He stops talking, and I turn back to look at him. “I must tell you something, but you need to keep it quiet.”

  “Infinity Club?” I ask, and Windsor nods, searching my face. He’s done so much maneuvering behind the scenes to keep me safe, to keep me happy, to keep Charlie safe and happy. I owe him so much, this bully of bullies who strode in and chopped Harper du Pont’s ponytail off as a token of friendship.

  I’m going to do so, so much more. And not just to her, but all of them. They wanted me out of Burberry Prep Academy, no matter how they had to go about doing it. Well, karma is threefold, motherfuckers. I bite down on another grape, and purple sweetness explodes in my mouth.

  And that doesn’t sound dirty at all.

  “Tristan’s father, William, is now married to Lizzie’s mother’s best friend.” He takes another sip of his wine as I gape at him. “She’s a wealthy heiress to a massive hotel chain. The entire reason the Waltons didn’t want their daughter with a Vanderbilt—that is, their endless void of debt—is not so important now. It’s going to get paid off.”

  “Lizzie told me she won a bet against her parents, so that they’d consider Tristan …”

  “And she did, and they did. The marriage only just happened last week; I’m probably one of the first to know about it.” He finishes his wine and sets his glass down. “So … Tristan could choose Lizzie, if he wanted. And maybe then, his father would take him back?”

  I have no idea what to say, so I just sit there and let my mind mull that over.

  “Zack’s family want him with someone presentable, someone with good blood. Probably one of the very girls you’ve already ousted from the school—or will oust, more than likely.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” I ask, looking up at him again, a veritable god draped in sunlight and quiet cruelty. He’s telling me this because he wants me to know how hard their choice would be, if they were really and truly to pick me.

  “Creed, well, you could probably have Creed if you wanted. Easily. Kathleen is essentially a Pleb herself, a self-made woman. She likes you, a lot. They seem like a nice family, too.”

  “Seriously, Windsor?” I snap, standing up and feeling my breath come in sharp pants. I’m not sure why I’m so angry. Maybe because the little bubble of Burberry is popping, and it feels like the world is rushing in to drown me?

  “And Zayd, well, his grandmother won’t like you, but she doesn’t like her son much anyway either. Zayd could be with you, if he really wanted, but do you trust someone like that? A rock star?” Wind moves around the counter when I try to leave and blocks the doorway.

  “You’re being an asshole right now,” I whisper, but he steps forward, and I have no choice but to step back or let him bump into me. I choose to let him bump into me, and he tickles his fingers along the back of my neck, making me shiver.

  “Then there’s me. I have my own fortune passed down to me from my father. It’s more than enough to live on, and have fun with, too. We can do all sorts of th
ings together, Marnye, if you wanted.”

  “We’re only eighteen,” I whisper, looking away. My heart betrays me, pounding too hard, beating too fast. I feel lightheaded, almost dizzy. “Who says I have to choose a life partner now?”

  “Nobody. But we both know that when school ends, everyone will scatter, and that’ll be it. You might not have to choose a life partner, but you have to pick a thread to follow.”

  “Is this an ultimatum?” I turn back to look at him and find his hazel eyes locked on my lips. Slowly, almost like a man coming out of a drugged dream, he lifts his gaze to mine.

  “No. I don’t give ultimatums to friends. Milady, I don’t care what you do with the other boys. If you want me to stick around, I’m here. I’ll give you whatever you want. And if what you want is to tangle those threads around your fingers, and drag them to Bornstead, fine. I’m trying to tell you that I’m not the problem.”

  “You’re saying you don’t care if I keep dating them, even in college?” My voice comes out a cracked whisper, half strangely hopeful but also broken and melancholic. Because college seems so far away, and I know that even if somehow, Windsor is offering me an impossible chance, I won’t get this from everybody.

  Somehow, someway, I’ll have to choose.

  Somehow, someway, I don’t think this is all going to end up wrapped in a perfect bow and hand delivered to my doorstep.

  Sometimes happy endings taste bittersweet.

  “That’s what I’m saying. I’ve had my share of girls. The only one I really liked before you, she did to me what I’d done to dozens of others. I know I have sins to repent for, and giving you what you want isn’t one of them. Let’s go to Bornstead together, and I’ll hold your hand, even if someone else is holding onto the other side.”

  “You don’t really mean that,” I choke, trying to move around him, but he gently pushes me against the wall with his hands on my shoulders, dropping his mouth to mine.