by Sofia Daniel
I sat at one of the tables in the middle of the dining room, between Edward and Henry, staring at her from the corner of my eye. “Has she had something done to her eyes? They look different.”
“She’s wearing mascara,” replied Blake. “Remember that time in our second year when she used Wendy’s?”
Henry huffed a laugh. “And her eyes swelled?”
Edward cut his kippers with the precision of a surgeon. “What I don’t understand is how she was able to return to the academy with her family in so much financial trouble.”
I narrowed my eyes at Charlotte. Hadn’t she boasted about having met an older man at the Valentine’s party? I hadn’t taken much notice of it until a fancy package had arrived for her last term. Maybe her bragging wasn’t just empty boasts, and she had found herself a sugar daddy.
Charlotte raised a crystal glass and ran her finger over its rim until it sang. When all eyes in the room focussed on her, she cleared her throat. “As the new Queen of Mercia Academy, I say that all students will be equal. There will be no bullying based on physical appearance and no exclusive social events.”
The dining room erupted into cheers. Coates, the rugby player, slammed his palm on the table, rattling the china cups in their saucers. He beamed up at her as though she was some kind of sun goddess. Maybe to someone who had recently made inroads with the doppelgängers, she was. A few of the rugby players in the back of the room stood and clapped.
“What the hell is she doing?” I whispered.
Edward’s lips tightened. “According to the staff, she arrived early with a few boys to move the chairs and tables into place and then laid the table herself.”
I eyed the delicate bone china teapot and matching cups on her table. “She must have gotten those from home.”
“I don’t get why everyone’s following her,” muttered Blake.
“Look at Coates,” I said. “I’ll bet he’s wanted Charlotte for ages.”
“Ah…” Blake rubbed his chin. “But Charlotte’s had her eye on one person for the past few years.”
Henry hunched in his seat and squirmed. “I never led her on.”
I shot Blake a filthy look. Perhaps he had forgotten that I’d overheard him making promises to Charlotte about a potential relationship with Henry. It still baffled me that he would do such a thing to a friend. “But someone else did.”
Blake turned to watch the rest of Charlotte’s speech.
She spread her arms wide. “For far too long, everyone in this school has taken direction from a small group of individuals who have held themselves up as exemplary students worthy of leadership.” A few grumbles broke out across the room, and she paused for effect. When the students fell silent, she continued. “These false idols have fallen to the pyres of scandal, proving themselves just as fallible as anyone else!”
A group of people sitting a few tables away gave her a round of enthusiastic applause. When no one else joined in, they stopped.
“I say the time has come when we look to ourselves for leadership, and I will show you the way.” She raised one fist in the air.
A snort escaped my nostrils. She was happy enough to follow the triumvirate when she thought there was a chance with Henry.
Charlotte placed her hands on her hips. “Did you have something to say, Hobson?”
I rose to my feet. “Actually, I do. You were affected by the scandals, too. What happened to the salary of twelve-thousand pounds your father claimed from the government for secretarial duties performed in Westminster while you were here at school?”
Red blotches appeared on her cheeks. “What would a failed gold digger know about politics?”
“Why don’t you tell me how a girl whose father is facing prison for stealing government money got the cash for cosmetic surgery?”
“Get out, you trollop!” Charlotte pointed at the door.
Spreading my arms wide, I said, “When someone has to resort to insults, they’ve already lost the argument. Be careful who you call a trollop. People might start remembering your cinematic debut from the last school trip.”
A few snickers broke out across the dining room, but not enough to make Charlotte run out in shame. I lowered myself to my seat and turned back to my eggs Florentine, ignoring the barrage of insults Charlotte rained down on our table. At least this marked the end of her coronation speech.
The following Saturday after classes, Henry and I took a limo down to London to visit his parents. I buried my nose in a copy of Don Quixote for the journey, and Henry played games on his smartphone. Without Edward or Blake to act as a buffer, neither of us had much to say to each other. I still bore a grudge from his failure to clear my name for the kidnapping, and he blamed me for his current state of disgrace and disinheritance.
We reached Piccadilly Circus, which was bustling with people enjoying the Spring bank holiday. But instead of stopping outside the main entrance of the store, the car turned down another street.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“The underground entrance.”
I sucked my bottom lip. “Did your parents tell you to use it?”
He turned his face toward the window. “Sales have only just started picking up since they announced Jonas as the heir. The whole country knows my face from those pictures of Blake and me together.”
My spine curled into the limo’s plush, leather seat. “I didn’t put them on the internet.”
“Rudolph Trommel did. I know,” he replied without casting me a glance. His tone of voice conveyed the unspoken accusation. If I hadn’t worked with the Saturday Correspondent, he wouldn’t be in this awful position.
Guilt weighed in my stomach and wallowed around like a sick pig. I leaned back in my seat and placed the open book on my lap. My methods had been extreme, but because of Mr. Frost’s confession, Jackie managed to get the police to expunge my record, something Henry could have arranged privately with his parents but hadn’t.
At the corner of a busy road lined with stores stood a multi-story parking lot emblazoned with the Bourneville crest. The limo drove through its low entrance and turned right, following signs to the basement. It drove down and around the internal ramps until it reached the bottom level, where a roller shutter stood at a wall.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“A passageway that leads to the store,” muttered Henry.
I pursed my lips. By coming with him and pretending to be his girlfriend, I was doing a damned sight more for him than he had for me when his own actions had thrown me into disgrace. I would have said as much, but I didn’t want an argument so close to meeting his parents.
The car drove down a darkened passageway that stretched about two blocks, ending in an underground parking lot that looked more like the garage section of Bruce Wayne’s bat cave. Luxury cars stretched out several feet, some of them vintage. I glanced down at my silk blouse and wool skirt. Given their wealth, his parents were probably as grand as royalty.
I cast my gaze at Henry’s slacks and polo shirt. “Do I look alright?”
“Relax. They’ll love you.” He opened the door and stepped out. Unlike Edward, he didn’t turn around to offer his hand.
I rolled my eyes and stepped out of the limo. He could be a spoiled, selfish brat at times. Henry stood at the door and stared into what looked like a retina scanner. At the same time, he pressed one of this thumbs onto a fingerprint scanner and spoke a long code of numbers, letters, and words. Eventually, the door clicked open, and we both stepped into a brightly lit corridor with another door at its end.
“This is a lot of security.” I glanced at a camera hanging from the corner of the wall like a bat.
“It’s the family entrance for when the store is closed,” he replied.
We passed through a maze of hallways sectioned by security doors that either required a fingerprint, a retina scan, or a short intercom conversation with the security staff. I wondered if the Whitehouse had this level of security. Then we reache
d an elevator that took us straight to the fifth floor.
It opened up into what I could only describe as a drawing room, but it was the size of our common room in Elder House. Gold leaf paper covered a wall decorated with pillars of black marble. In each section between the pillars hung oil paintings of women in formal wear. One of them had the same nose and golden hair as Henry. Within the room, about a dozen maroon sofas, edged with gold thread were arranged around walnut low tables, and the whole ensemble was lit by a combination of crystal table lamps and matching chandeliers. My fingers flew over my mouth to cover a gasp. Because of Mom’s marriages, I was no stranger to opulence, but this had a stately flair I’d never seen outside of magazines.
Henry finally took my hand and led me around the edge of the room to another door, which opened into a hallway. “It’s over here.”
“Is this your family’s apartment?” I asked.
“That room is mostly for entertaining. Mum and Dad stay here whenever they’re in London.” At the end of the hallway, he rang a bell. The hand holding mine let go, and his hand snaked around my waist and brought me close. I glanced up at Henry, wondering why he felt the need to put on the show behind closed doors, but he leaned down and gave me a peck on the lips. “Did I mention earlier that you look exceptionally pretty today?”
My throat thickened. “You didn’t.”
A moment later, the door opened, and a middle-aged woman clad in a charcoal-colored pantsuit appeared. She wore her pale, blonde hair off her face, making her features a little severe. After casting me a curious glance, she glared up at Henry.
Butterflies twitched in my stomach. Wasn’t anyone going to make introductions?
“Aunt Idette.” Henry stepped forward.
She raised her palm. “Don’t you Auntie me,” she snapped in a slight German accent. “What a mess you have created for your parents. It is bad enough that you stage your own kidnapping but you are frisking with boys, now?”
“This is Emilia Hobson,” said Henry in a voice accustomed to being scolded. “My girlfriend.”
“More likely someone you paid to fool your poor family.”
“Actually, she’s not.” The woman in the portrait with golden hair the exact shade of Henry’s walked into the room. She wore a pastel pink Chanel suit with black piping and gold buttons. Unlike Henry’s verdant green eyes, hers were an icy blue. “Emilia Hobson is the girl he framed, aren’t you, dear?”
A large man stepped into the room after her with a similar frame as Henry’s but a little softer around the middle. “Emilia, welcome to our home.” Only the tiniest hint of a German accent laced his voice. “I am Oscar, the father of young Henry, and this is my wife, Clara, and my cousin Idette, the International Director of Operations.”
“I’m pleased to meet you.” My gaze darted to Henry, whose nostrils flared at the sight of his father.
Mr. Bourneville held his elbow out. “Come, dinner is getting cold.”
I took the father’s arm and glanced at Henry over his shoulder. His mother grabbed his arm, and murmured something at him in a language that sounded like German, but could have been a dialect. Henry shook his head and kept a stony expression.
The next room we entered was a dining room with a table that seated eight but was set for five. Compared to the drawing room, it was very casual. The only things that stood out were the huge gold mirrors that hung above semicircular console tables and the matching candelabras in front of them. Two paintings, each of Mr. and Mrs. Bourneville, hung beside the mirror opposite the head of the table.
Henry’s father seated me to his left, with Mrs. Bourneville opposite me, and Henry at my side. Henry reached under the table and held my hand. Within seconds, staff entered the room with plates of food.
“How long have you and Henry been together,” asked Mrs. Bourneville.
“Ever since the kidnapping, I suppose.” I sipped from the crystal water glass. “Nine days in that room was enough time for us to get to know each other.”
“And you had sex with him in that room?” asked Aunt Idette.
Henry’s mother pursed her lips, but his father leaned forward.
I gave my head a vigorous shake. “It was filthy!”
Mr. Bourneville narrowed his eyes. “A more relevant question to ask is why the girl who had faced charges for child abduction, that carries a sentence of ten or more, would give Henry another chance.”
My mouth opened, but the lie Henry and I had practiced disappeared from the forefront of my mind.
“Unless you’re plotting something.” Mrs. Bourneville drummed her French-manicured fingers on the table.
I froze. Last term, her words would have been the truth, but I’d already taken my revenge on Henry and the others. Now, I just wanted the boys to stop bearing a grudge.
My tongue darted out to lick my lips. “I returned to Mercia Academy expecting to hate Henry, but I couldn’t. That time we spend together as prisoners opened my heart to him, and I saw a side of his personality that only his friends see. It’s kind and loving and gentle.”
“What do you think of his business between him and Blake?” asked Mr. Bourneville.
“Just boys drinking too much absinthe and having fun,” I replied. “I was also in the room with them, and it wasn’t a big deal.”
The staff took away the first course and brought grilled salmon served with garlic-roasted broccoli, sautéed green beans, and roasted fingerling potatoes. We ate in silence, and I shared a glance with Henry, who gave me a grateful smile.
As soon as the staff took away that course, Aunt Idette’s head snapped up. “Why did you forgive him?”
“I didn’t at first. But it’s hard to explain what happened when I thought we’d been kidnapped. For those nine days and the time after that, I’d never in my life felt closer to anyone.” Saying these words made my heart hurt, because they were true. And the worst part was having to admit them in front of Henry. “I couldn’t stop thinking about him the entire time we were separated.”
“Yet you got engaged to that classical pianist,” said Mrs. Bourneville.
“I thought Sergei could mend my broken heart.” I lowered my gaze to my plate, wondering whether Henry’s mother was addicted to the society columns. “But it turned out that no one could compare to Henry.”
Henry leaned toward me and gave me a kiss on the temple. I raised my head and gazed into his verdant, green eyes. For a moment, everything stilled, and I was no longer aware of the dining room or his family. It was just Henry and me, just like it had been our last two days of supposed captivity.
“What a sweet girl.” Aunt Idette’s sarcasm snapped me out of my Henry-induced stupor.
He smiled. “Not as sweet as you’d think. She made me grovel for a long time.”
I tilted my head to the side and smirked. “I intend to make you suffer until I’m satisfied you’re truly repentant.”
Mr. Bourneville roared with laughter. “Good girl!”
I glanced up and met Mrs. Bourneville’s gaze. She gave me her first genuine smile for the day.
My shoulders relaxed. I hadn’t completely convinced them, but at least they no longer thought I was an outright liar.
After lunch, we walked back through the maze of hallways holding hands. His family seemed the type who would watch us through the security cameras, so I took the opportunity to bask in his presence. Being with Henry today had been so perfect, and the warmth of his affection couldn’t melt the shard of ice still lodged in my heart from his betrayal. The last door clicked shut, and the limo rolled forward from the shadows. Henry opened the door and let me in.
As soon as we settled into the plush, leather seat Henry scooted close, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed the side of my mouth. “You were wonderful! I didn’t know you felt so deeply for me.”
“Maybe once.” I elbowed him hard in the stomach. “But now, you can go to hell.”
Chapter 9
Henry recoiled from the elbow in the gut, and h
is face slackened into an expression of wide-eyed shock. His broad shoulders drooped, and he seemed to crumple into the leather seat of the limousine. I met his hurt, green eyes with a defiant glare, but he still had the nerve to choke out the words, “What was that for?”
I pushed back the tiny twist of guilt in my belly and snapped, “Didn’t you hear a word of what I said to your parents?”
The limousine pulled away and made its slow ascent through the darkened, underground parking lot. The external lights occasionally illuminated the side of his face, exaggerating his wounded expression.
“I…” Henry drew his brows together as though trying to work out the trick in my question. “You said you’d fallen for me in the squat. Was that a lie?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“From the moment I opened my eyes, you knew it wasn’t a real kidnapping, but you played along. You watched them inject me with goodness-knows-what, let us sleep on a filthy mattress, and let me wallow in fear and paranoia for nine days.”
His shoulders drew up to his ears, and he dipped his head. “We needed the money to help Edward’s father.”
“I know that now, but why did I have to suffer so much? Why did you let them inject me a second time?”
The limo reached the ground floor and drove out of the low exit into the store-lined street. I kept my gaze on Henry and away from the people outside, bustling from store to store.
He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Paul… Mr. Frost said I had to keep everything as authentic as possible, so you wouldn’t guess it had all been a setup.”
“And you went along with his plan?”
Henry straightened and raised his blond brows in a look so incredulous, I wondered if I had said something wrong. Eventually, he said, “If I’d told you the truth, you might have gone to the police anyway as revenge for all those pranks the others played.”
I snatched my gaze away and stared out of the window. He had a point, but I wasn’t going to admit it. The limo rounded Piccadilly Circus. First, we passed the kind of giant, neon signs found in places like Times Square, then moments later, we had a magnificent view of a winged statue with beautiful Georgian buildings in the background. “Is that Eros?”
