Kiara likes to come out here before class and do yoga.
I know that seeing these first years in her spot is going to piss her off to no end.
And once a bully, always a bully.
“I agree,” I say to Principal Collins as we walk down the path together under the pretense of discussing universities. She, too, went to Bornstead. “It is important to visit the campus before making a final decision; I figured we’d head up there for spring break.”
“A productive use of the break,” she says, nodding appreciatively, her skin crinkling slightly as she smiles at me and adjusts her glasses. “I’ll admit, Marnye, I was worried when you started hanging out with the Idols. I most certainly never expected you to become an Idol yourself.” I raise my brows at her frank discussion of student politics, but then, the woman isn’t stupid. The tradition of Bluebloods at Burberry Prep is over a hundred years old. Of course the staff knows about it, just like they know about the Infinity Club. Would not surprise me to find out that some of them are members, too.
“Get the fuck out of here!” Kiara snaps, grabbing a first year girl by the tie and shoving her out of the gazebo so hard that she trips and ends up ass deep in the decorative pond outside the gazebo. “I’ve seen you slobbering all over Jason, you pathetic whore.”
“I never laid a finger on him!” the girl shouts back, and I feel the smallest twinge of guilt. I may or may not have selected these specific first years knowing that one of them’s been flirting with Kiara’s new boyfriend, Jason Marrin. “And he asked me out.”
“You bitch,” Kiara snarls, storming over and slapping the younger girl as hard as she can across the face.
“Miss Xiao!” Principal Collins shouts, her eyes wide. She veers away from me and takes off in that direction as Kiara snaps her gaze around and sputters, trying to come up with an excuse for her behavior.
But hmm.
That zero tolerance bullying policy is still in effect.
Good thing I slipped some of the notes Kiara’s been writing to Harper under the Principal’s office door. I made sure none of them implicated her majesty in any way though. I am not ready for her to go down, especially not for such a small infraction.
Although … I guess threatening to kill someone for supposedly sleeping with your boyfriend is pretty fucked-up.
I continue walking, heading back into the chapel just in time for breakfast.
When I get to The Mess, Lizzie is waiting for me.
Oh for fuck’s sake.
“I can’t believe you tried to blackmail Tristan into fucking you. You’re pathetic.” Creed circles Lizzie like a shark. In fact, all the boys are surrounding her, and her face is streaked with tears. To be fair, what she tried to do was beyond fucked-up, but I did say no bullying, didn’t I?
“She’s a waste of life,” Tristan says, his eyes narrowed. “I liked you as a friend, and you used my love for Marnye against me. Don’t you see how pathetic you are?”
“Boys.”
I walk across the stone floor, heels clacking, and pause next to them.
“Marnye,” Zack says, stepping back, like he’s acknowledging it’s my turn to talk.
My eyes meet Lizzie’s amber ones.
“I think you should go back to Coventry Prep,” I say, and her mouth drops open. “Go back there and hang out with your old friends. You’re done here.”
“But I—”
“No.” I cut her off and look her directly in the face. “You are done here. Go home.”
The door bursts open behind us, and Miranda comes in with Myron Talbot on her heels. She grabs me by the arm, and squeezes in what I can only assume is a bit of a warning. Don’t mess with the girl Myron likes, or he’ll destroy you. That’s what it feels like she’s trying to say.
Meanwhile, Andrew buries himself in his oatmeal and stays the hell out of this. Smart choice. Wish I could do the same.
“You guys can sit down,” I tell my cadre of boyfriends, and even though Windsor looks askance at Myron, like he’d quite willingly step between me and him if needed, he listens. For once.
All five boys sit around the high table and get comfortable. Creed has one boot up on the actual table itself which, you know, could be considered bad manners but that I find cute anyway. I tear my eyes away from them to stare at Lizzie Walton.
“I tried to make things fair. Even though I’ve been in love with Tristan Vanderbilt since first year, even though I’ve endured so much shit from him. I wanted to give him the privilege of making a fair and unbiased choice, but … you’re not as nice as you pretend to be, are you?”
She just stares at me from those amber eyes of hers, her face crestfallen, as splinted and sharp as broken glass.
“To tell you the truth, I only came here because of Tristan. I mean, I liked you Marnye, I wanted to be friends, but I don’t think I can. Not when you’ve got him.” She gestures in the direction of the high table and then sighs, reaching up to smooth her palms over her dark hair. “I can leave by Friday—”
I cut her off.
“Tomorrow,” I say, and my voice is deadly serious.
Lizzie pauses as Myron pushes off the wall to come stand beside her, taking her elbow in a possessive manner.
“I’m going with her. But I won’t leave my best friend exposed. Also, I’m tired of being kept on a leash. I know you have special little rules to live by to make yourself feel better, and Tristan might find them cute, but to be quite frank, I don’t give a fuck. You can thank me later—I left the queen bee and her bitch for you to squash.”
Myron drags Lizzie toward the door and then pauses, glancing back at us.
I have a feeling I know what he’s going to say before he says it.
“Don’t come after her. I’m serious as a heart attack. I will fuck you up.”
“I won’t,” I promise, and I mean that.
I don’t need to go after Lizzie.
I have Tristan, the only thing she’s ever wanted. There’s nothing more to be done. But frankly, I’d rather not see her ever again.
Myron steers her out the door, and I wonder if he’ll relentlessly pursue her the way she did Tristan, drive her up the wall with his crazy. I hate to say it, but … I almost hope so? Is that bad karma?
“I didn’t want you to hit her or anything and get punched,” Miranda starts, trying way too hard to explain herself. I stop her by giving her a kiss on the cheek, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the high table for breakfast.
It takes me a minute to fully realize what Myron just said.
“Wait. Where are Abigail and Valentina?”
Abigail and Valentina do not come back to the academy after that day.
I don’t even have enough time to figure out what happened to them before Valentine’s Day rolls around. The boys do the rose thing like usual, but they also give me a necklace, one that I’m sure is obscenely expensive. I’d have turned it down if it didn’t come with its own story.
“It’s called the Idol’s Eye,” Creed tells me, and I notice that the center of the round necklace is a jewel that’s the same color as his eyes. It’s surrounded by small, clear diamonds and hanging on a delicate chain. “It’s been owned by presidents and princes, and it once disappeared for over three hundred years.”
“Bullshit,” I whisper, but you know me, I’m a history buff and I’m intrigued as hell. “He’s lying.” I look up and find Zack shaking his head.
“Not this time. The diamond is really that old. The last time it was ever in the public eye was in the eighties. It went missing after that. If you look it up online, it’s treated like an unsolvable mystery. The only thing that really happened is that the Infinity Club got ahold of it.”
“How did you guys get it?” I ask as Windsor takes the chain and unhooks it, carefully putting it around my neck and teasing my skin with his fingers as he hooks the clasp. He leans down to whisper against my ear.
“We won it in a bet, what else?” He stands up then as I finger the je
wel and look between Zayd and Tristan. It’s been weeks since that horrible day in his apartment, when I found Lizzie in a blue bathrobe, and I swear, it’s like now that we’ve all been unlocked to each other, there’s an accelerant in the air.
Every day that passes, I want them more.
Every day that passes, I know that choosing just one of them would kill me.
I’m not going to be able to choose, am I? I think as we head outside to the garden party, and take up residence in one of the alcoves behind the hedges. Zack and Zayd fetch us all refreshments, and we stay there in the warm evening air until it gets dark and all the torches are lit.
Soft music filters over to us from the courtyard, and I experiment with what it’s like to kiss one boy after the other, a single kiss on the lips as a Valentine’s Day present. And when I say single kiss, I do mean like tongue and everything.
It’s exhilarating, to be quite honest. Makes me feel greedy, wanting them all like that. And yet, at the same time, I’m not ashamed by it either.
Not one bit.
“He did, what?” I’m sitting at the harp in the music room, my fingers poised over the strings as Tristan, Zack, and Creed stand in a half-circle around me. I feel so queasy, I might have to excuse myself to the bathroom.
“He beat the shit out of them both,” Creed says, his face tight. “And I don’t mean he just hit them. When he said he liked blood, he meant it. They both ended up with broken bones. That, and he burned Valentina’s summer home to the ground. That was her grandmother’s place, with all her happy memories. Like, her parents are pieces of shit, and no amount of money will ever get back what he just destroyed in that fire.”
“He got Abigail’s place in Cruz Bay, too,” Tristan says, looking at me like he’s actually taking some of this blame on himself. “Nobody died, but Abigail was at home resting up her broken leg. She’s got burns all across the calf.”
“Jesus. Myron is that crazy?” I choke out, dropping my hands to my lap. I wanted revenge, but not like that. That’s too much, too far.
“They all are,” Zack says, exhaling. “That’s why we’re so afraid. You’re surprised by this, but we’re not. Myron isn’t an outlier, Marnye. He’s the norm.”
“What do we do about him?” I whisper, because I’m horrified. I can’t imagine just leaving someone like Myron Talbot to walk the earth uninhibited. When they said Tristan was the one keeping him in line, they meant it, didn’t they?
“Do about him?” Creed asks, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. “Honestly, nothing.”
“He considered letting him do his thing as us paying our debt toward Lizzie’s broken bet,” Tristan says, and then I feel almost guilty, like if I’d let him and Lizzie … None of this would’ve happened. Is it terrible that I still wouldn’t take it back?
“They’ll both be okay though, right?” I ask, wondering why I care so much about two girls who literally pushed and held my head underwater, and then trapped me in my room while their mistress tried to brand my flesh like a cow.
“Unfortunately,” Creed murmurs, and I give him a look as Zack sighs.
“They’ll be okay. They’re relatively minor injuries, but that’s not the point. What Myron did to them is likely what the Club is going to try to do to you.”
I stand up from my stool, but I’m not sure what to say or do.
Even if I leave Burberry Prep, that doesn’t mean I’ll be safe. It just means I’ll be away from the guys.
“Does anyone want to have another sleepover?” I ask, because I’ll admit it: I’m scared shitless.
For the rest of the year, I end up sleeping in one room or another with all five boyfriends by my side.
When Spring Break rolls around, I take a brief trip with the guys up to see the Bornstead U campus. It’s literally everything I thought it would be and more. Standing there in the cool mountain air and watching the university come alive in the morning made it all seem more real somehow.
That’s going to be my life.
One day, I’m going to be a student there.
My joy only lasts so long as it takes us to get back to Cruz Bay where Dad is waiting.
Since I last saw him, everything has gone to shit.
I stop in the doorway and look at the skinny man in the wheelchair that used to be my father. It takes everything I have inside of me to put on a smile and walk in there, kneel down by his side and give him a cheek on the kiss.
Later, when he’s gone to bed and I have a moment to talk with his nurse, I learn the truth.
Charlie Reed is under hospice care now.
As in … he’s basically waiting around to die.
I spend the next few hours in the bathroom, trying to stay quiet as I alternate between throwing up and sobbing. By the time morning rolls around, I’m exhausted, but I make Dad his coffee and watch action movies with him until he decides it’s time for an afternoon nap.
Then I call Isabella.
Surprisingly, she shows up at the house in a fancy red sportscar that no fifteen year old needs.
“He’s really dying, huh?” she asks, glaring at me suspiciously as I sit on the grass on a plaid blanket and toy with the idea of calling the boys or maybe Miranda. They’re all around, and now I know why. Two reasons really. One, because they don’t want me to end up like Abigail and Valentina. And two, because of … well, exactly this.
“I guess so,” I say, because I still can’t make myself say it. I look up, at Isabella’s strangely familiar face and try not to freak her out by smiling too much when she grudgingly sits down beside me. “What made you change your mind and come over here?” I ask.
She looks away from me sharply, picking at the grass near the edge of the blanket with freshly manicured nails.
“I saw what happened to Abigail Fanning, and I … I don’t want that to be me.” Isabella turns to look at me with this sharp fear in her eyes that makes her look less like Harper and more like a terrified kid in need of guidance. “Everyone wants in the Infinity Club. It’s like … you’re nobody and nothing if you’re not a member.” She looks down at her shoe, a red-bottomed Louboutin she’s casually rubbing around in the grass even though it costs a fortune. “Dad wants me to join, but … I don’t know if I will, at least not yet.”
I nod, and we sit there in silence again together for a while.
“Why did you tell me that Tristan was screwing Lizzie, when he wasn’t?”
Isabella shrugs and keeps her gaze focused on anything and everything but me.
“You love him. I wanted to hurt you. I … don’t want to be a Reed. I’m a Carmichael, Marnye. I’m a fucking Carmichael, and I always will be. I don’t care who my biological father really is.”
“So you took your anger out on me?” I raise an eyebrow and Isabella shrugs, pushing up to her feet and brushing grass from her bare legs.
“I think you’re an easy target because you try so hard at everything that you make other people feel like shit. Queen of the school, top of the class, dating all the hottest, richest guys. You’re pretty …” Isabella trails off, and I fight the urge to smile. She called me pretty. My little sister just called me pretty. Now if that’s not a win, I don’t know what is. “Anyway, please don’t … say anything to my dad when you meet him.”
“I would never do that,” I promise, and she nods, looking up at the house. I want more than anything for her to come in and see Charlie, but I’m afraid to ask. I’m afraid to hear her say no because then I might hate her forever, and she doesn’t deserve that. She’s a spoiled, rotten little brat, but I’m good at injecting a little humility into those types. If I did it with the boys, I can do it with her, too. “Do you think I could at least come in and give him a hug?” she asks finally, and I smile.
We head into the house together, and wait on the couch until Charlie gets up and his aide wheels him down the hallway to get some water. When he sees us together, his face lights up.
“Girls,” he says, his smile so wide it crink
les up his face. I swear there’s a silent my right before that word he won’t let himself say. I get us all situated on the back porch with lemonade, and Isabella and Charlie actually chat together. Apparently they’re both fans of James Bond and Indiana Jones.
“My D—” she starts and then clears her throat. “Adam has a lot of original movie memorabilia. You should come see it sometime. He likes to show it off to anyone that will listen to him brag.” Sounds about right, I think as I hold Charlie’s hand.
“I’d love to,” he tells her with the softest sort of smile, and then later, when she gets up to leave, she bends down to give him a hug, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
After Isabella drives off, I get that book Charlie started in Napa, and I open it so we can read together.
“I already saw you peek at the end, you know,” I tell him after we finish, and I close the cover. He looks up at the clouds moving across a blue, blue sky and then smiles wistfully to himself.
“True. But it’s not always the ending that’s the most important. Sometimes, the journey to get there is just as good.”
A few nights later, I call Zayd.
I don’t know why.
I just pick one of the boys at random and dial.
He comes over right away, inching his blue Jaguar convertible up to the curb, and I hop in. I don’t really like leaving Dad alone, but his health aide is here, and I … I just need a minute.
“Sometimes, when someone else is dying, it’s harder on everyone around them than it is for them.” He curls his inked hands around the steering wheel and drives slowly, so that the night wind teases our hair, but doesn’t steal away our conversation.
“Are you talking about your mom?” I ask softly, my hands shaking. I force them to sit still in my lap. I’m overtired, overworked, and I’m going to end up back at Burberry in a bad state. Spring break hasn’t exactly been a refreshing experience, but to be quite honest, I’m scared for it to end.
I’m scared I’ll never see Charlie again if I leave.
Maybe I shouldn’t go back?
In the Arms of the Elite Page 24
