by Sofia Daniel
He opened his mouth to say something, then promptly clamped it shut. Likely because any arguments in his defense would make him a hypocrite. I might not have put up the camera above the mantle and I didn’t put those words in his mouth, but he had done all the things I had mentioned and worse. He folded his arms and fumed for the rest of the journey, leaving me a jumble of confusion.
Blake was something out of a Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem about the girl with a curl in the middle of her forehead. When he wanted to be, he was the best of the triumvirate. He was friendly, fun, flirtatious, and so physically dazzling, it was hard to believe he was real. But then there was his horrid side, which craved chaos and loved to set things in motion so he could revel in the resulting car-wreck.
Despite this, there were glimpses of someone who craved love and attention, which gave him a vulnerability some might find endearing. Right now, all I could see was a gorgeous, empty-headed pain in the ass.
With a sigh, I sat back in my seat and pulled out my smartphone.
Whatever.
As expected, no messages arrived from Mom, but Dad filled my inbox with emails stuffed with goofy photos of him and the twins. I flipped through them, smiling at the cute pictures. Little Tamara had drawn a picture of her family and included a blonde-haired stick figure that was supposed to be me. Warmth spread across my insides. Even though Dad was half a world away and in no position to help, at least he kept me in his thoughts.
As the limo sped through London, Blake turned to me and spat, “You’re two-faced.”
“You’re hurt because I bested you,” I snapped.
“And duplicitous.”
A frustrated breath huffed out of my nostrils, and I turned to meet his accusing, chocolate-colored eyes. “If I am, I learned it from you. How many of those pranks did you help with, only to flirt with me afterward? All of them, most Ill bet.”
The limo pulled into the front of Kensington Town Hall, a blocky, red brick building consisting of octagonal shapes, where dozens of paparazzi jumped to attention and crowded the car door.
“Oh no.” Blake placed his head in his hands. “How may fucking reporters did they contact?”
“Your Mom?” I asked.
“And the palace, most probably. Shit.”
All traces of annoyance vanished. It was easy to bicker with Blake when I couldn’t see the repercussions of my actions, but the sheer number of reporters jostling each other for the glimpse of the royal rebel made my stomach drop. I had done this. And so had Rudolph. If those stills of Blake hadn’t hit the internet, the first scandal would have faded into the background by now.
I unbuckled my seatbelt, scooted across the limo’s leather seat and rubbed his back to a panoply of camera flashes. “Come on,” I said without moving my lips, just in case one of the nosey fucks outside was recording a video of us for later examination. “We’ll get through this together.”
Blake raised his head and turned to me, dark eyes shining with gratitude. “I’m glad you’re here.”
A lump formed in my throat. He should be spitting in my face, not smiling into it. I rubbed my aching chest. If I said too much, I would probably burst into tears. “Sure.”
The driver walked around his side of the vehicle and fought his way through the paparazzi to reach the passenger door.
Tiny prickles of nervousness spread across my skin, and my stomach hollowed. This was a different crowd of photographers to the ones I had following me around when I was with Sergei. They probably either belonged to the tabloids or sold their images to such establishments. Some of them jammed themselves and their camera lenses to the window, filling the limo with light. I stole another glance at Blake, whose skin took on the pallor of dead fish.
Once we had waded our way through the riot of photographers and walked through a reception hall consisting of various shades of brown, we entered a sad-looking room, half filled with well-fed, bright-eyed people I suspected were reporters.
The meeting itself was depressing. After the disguised reporters, Blake and I introduced ourselves and got our welcome hugs, we all read from a piece of paper, and the leader facilitated a group discussion. Neither Blake nor I participated but we listened to anecdotes ranging from the sad to the scary to the downright shocking. We exchanged glances. We didn’t belong here, and our attendance felt like voyeurism.
When we didn’t stay for the coffee and chat after the meeting, half the room followed us out.
“Emilia!” shouted a reporter as we stepped out of the town hall into the bright afternoon.
I raised my head and gave the man a bright smile. “Hello. Are you enjoying the weather?”
“Very nice. Did Blake break up your engagement with Sergei Bachmann?”
Plastering on a wistful smile, I said, “Absolutely not. The distance broke us apart in the end. I was always at school and Sergei was about to start a grand tour of Europe.”
“Are you going out with Mr. Simpson-West?” yelled another reporter.
“Blake and I are just good friends.”
Blake placed an arm around my waist. “I’d like there to be more. Emilia is an exceptional young woman and one I would love to get to know better.”
I gave him what I hoped was a bittersweet smile. “I’ve already given my heart to Henry Bourneville.”
“Emilia!” shouted another reporter. “What can you say about the scantily-clad tryst with Bourneville?”
My smile dropped. “It was between two underaged boys that should never have been published by respectable newspapers.”
The driver held the door open, but the reporters and photographers wouldn’t let us through to the limo until we told them we wanted to sit down to answer all their questions.
Despite my efforts to make Blake look good while maintaining the facade of being Henry’s girlfriend, Blake sat in the seat opposite me and sulked throughout the entire journey.
Fatigue spread through my bones, and I sank into the leather seat, stretched out my legs and watched the freeway whizz past. If Blake wanted a fake girlfriend for the press, he needed to work with someone else. I pulled out my smartphone, replied to a few emails, and glanced at Blake every few minutes. Today had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and I didn’t know if things were better between us or worse.
As soon as we reached Elder House, I bolted out of the limo and bounded up the stairs. If the triumvirate objected to my evening off, they could kick down my door.
Chapter 10
The next morning, Blake had returned to his usual exuberant self, and we sat around a regular table the staff had dressed with crystalware and fine china. Coates and his group of rugby pals sat at the head table, looking like a group of oversized, clueless dicks without Charlotte and the doppelgängers. Just after the servers had removed my completed plate of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, Mr. Jenkins approached our table.
“Miss Hobson, may I see you in my office before first bell?”
My gaze flickered to the girls’ empty seats at the head table. “Is this some sort of ambush?”
He had the nerve to rear back as though I’d slapped him. Pink blotches rose to his thin cheeks. “O-of course not!”
I twisted my lips, showing him how much I believed him. “Last term, you escorted me to the headmaster’s office, where two policemen were ready to arrest me for the most heinous of crimes. I’d count that as an ambush.”
His blotches darkened. “I-it’s an academic matter.”
“Come on.” Edward stood and held out his hand. “We’ll go together.”
I wrapped my fingers around his, enjoying the warmth of our touch, and rose from my seat. Mr. Jenkins trudged out of the dining room, and we followed after him hand-in-hand, stealing glances at each other. For a moment, the betrayals and bitterness faded into the ether, leaving behind the young man who cared deeply for his friends, family, and employees, and the young woman who adored him for it.
A musty aroma filled my nostrils the moment we stepped through the
threshold of Mr. Jenkins’ office. His curtains were drawn, and even larger piles of paper than before littered his desk. He lowered himself into his seat and gestured for us to sit.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What’s this about, sir?”
He cleared his throat. “Your new Latin master, Mr. Pickering, informs me that he ejected you from his class.”
“He did…” I folded my arms across my chest and drummed my fingers on my biceps.
“You now have too many free periods, and that’s unacceptable. Either choose another subject or an extracurricular activity to make up the required hours.”
“What’s available?” I asked.
Mr. Jenkins rattled off a list of subjects, all of which were academic, tedious, and would do nothing for my writing career. When I remained silent, he added, “The following clubs and teams are seeking new members: debating, Gilbert and Sullivan, chess, hockey—”
“Hockey,” I said. It was the only topic that vaguely interested me and only because I had played in Park Prep.
“I’ll write a note to the Physical Education mistress, and she will get in touch with you with instructions.”
On our way back to the dining room, Edward wrapped an arm around my waist. In a low, commanding voice, he said, “Your presence is required at lunchtime.”
Memories of the first time we were in his study resurfaced, where Blake had unfastened the buttons of my blouse and teased my breasts until I unbuttoned the garment open. He had exposed me to Henry and Edward, who had devoured me with their gazes. My nipples twinged in anticipation of Blake’s fingers, and my core throbbed at the promise of what would happen when I stripped for the triumvirate.
Keeping the breathiness out of my voice, I asked, “Should I meet you in your study?”
“Outside the former headmaster’s office. We’re meeting the Board of Governors to discuss my fundraising idea.”
“Oh.” My libido shriveled at the disappointing pronouncement. We stepped into the dining room, where Charlotte glowered down at us from the head table. “What do you want me to do?”
“You’ll sit next to me and smile and nod at everything I say.”
I wrinkled my nose. “And the point of that is?”
“Social proof.” He pulled out my chair. “You represent the female students, demonstrating that my idea is inclusive to both genders.”
“Whatever.” I grabbed a triangle of toast from the rack. At least this would be a change from the other tasks of penance I had performed for the triumvirate. This time, I wouldn’t be stuck in a limo for hours, listening to him bellyache about how much I’d betrayed him.
After morning classes, I met Edward by the bank of desks outside Mr. Chaloner’s old office. A new secretary sat outside the door, who crunched numbers on a calculator. I tried to take a look at her documents, but it was impossible without leaning over the desk and making my spying obvious.
“Emilia,” said Edward from behind. “It’s this way.” He guided me through the hallway on the left of the office and through a wooden door at its end.
Eight of the twelve members of the Board of Governors sat around a wide, rectangular table. At its head stood Mr. Weaver, the man in the academic robes who had spoken in the assembly.
His brows rose. “Viscount Highdown and…”
I glanced over my shoulder for signs of the mysterious viscount, but found no one at our backs.
“Miss Emilia Hobson.” Edward placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me to one of the two seats at the end of the boardroom table, opposite Mr. Weaver.
I stole a glance at Edward. No one had told me he was a viscount. I didn’t even know what exactly the title meant or why it had been awarded to someone under the age of eighteen.
“Thank you, members of the board, for accommodating me at such short notice,” said Edward, his voice clear and commanding. “I would like to propose a fundraiser to generate some good press for the academy to help repair its reputation.”
The woman sitting to Mr. Weaver’s right steepled her fingers. “I hardly think a charity event will erase the effects of all the negative press the school has received over the past months.”
Guilt churned in my stomach, and I slid a few inches down in my seat. If I’d thought my plan of vengeance through, I might not have involved the academy so much. It was hard to anticipate that the cameras would pick up so much corruption when I had only wanted to target Charlotte, the triumvirate, and Mr. Chaloner.
“Perhaps not erase it, Lady Seagrove,” said Edward. “But we need something to show the academy in a better light.”
“Viscount Highdown is correct,” said a rotund man. “Let’s give the papers something positive to report on us for a change. What do you suggest?”
“A sponsored run from Mercia Academy to Worthing Pier,” replied Edward. “Staff and students can participate for any distance.”
“And the charity?”
“More scholarship places.”
Mr. Weaver shook his head. “The press might consider that self-serving.”
The other board members mumbled their agreement. I gulped. Did they really need to shoot down his idea? I thought it had been great.
“I’m sure the nearest children’s hospital will accept a donation,” Edward added.
I gave him a nod and an encouraging smile.
Lady Seagrove stroked her chin. “A wonderful idea, but it dilutes the effect of our annual charity sports day.”
The room fell silent, and Edward’s posture sagged. I let out a long breath. As friendly as this board of directors appeared, I couldn’t help thinking that they might have a slight grudge against Edward. Something about the overly cordial tones combined with their polite refusals of his attempts to help told me they blamed him for the scandals that had befallen the academy.
“World Blood Donor Day,” I blurted.
Mr. Weaver made a slow blink of incomprehension. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s an international event run by members of the World Health Organization,” I said. “My prep school in New York organized a blood donation event to support it.”
Edward straightened. “Staff and students old enough to participate can donate, and if it coincides with parents’ evening or another summer event, we can get a few parents and alumni to join in.”
Lady Seagrove turned to a rotund man sitting on her left. “Your thoughts, Dr. Asgard?”
He gave her a vigorous nod. “Wonderful. We’re always looking for more blood. My hospital will be happy to set up a temporary blood donation center on the academy grounds.”
Mr. Weaver nodded. “Excellent idea. Thank you very much, Viscount. Let us know your progress in a fortnight.”
I held my polite smile. Even though the idea was mine, I was happy for the credit to go to Edward. After the board gave us a polite dismissal, we both stood and walked out of the room. The door clicked shut, and we strolled through the hallway, past the portraits of former headmasters and Mercia ancestors, and toward the main staircase.
Edward wrapped his arm around my waist and beamed. “That went rather well, I think. Thank you for an idea everyone loved.”
“Do you think you can forgive me, now?” I asked.
His hand slid down to my hip, and he said in a low voice, “It will take a damned sight more for you to earn absolution for what you brought upon the academy.”
Irritation flared across my skin like fire ants. I stepped out of his grip and hurried ahead down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“You’re deluded.” I spat.
“What did you say?” his voice echoed in the stairwell.
I whirled around and met his stormy glare. My heart pounded to the beat of a war drum and I clenched my fists. “Do you think all the crap you dished out in the first term counts for nothing?”
Edward’s brows drew together. “Of course not, but—”
“I know I took things too far,” I hissed. “But you guys hurt me, and if it wasn’t
for Mr. Frost’s confession, you could have damaged my future. We’re even.” I continued down the stairs, pushed open the wooden door, and stormed down the hallway. Fortunately, classes were still in session, so no one witnessed our whispered spat.
Edward’s long strides kept up with mine. “Did you not hear the Board of Governors? Our school’s reputation is in tatters. Parents whose children were due to start in the next academic year have relinquished their places.”
“Isn’t there a waiting list?” I stepped out of the exit into the gravel path and inhaled lungfuls of cool, spring air.
“That isn’t the point!” Edward grabbed my arm.
“What is?” I drew closer to him, meeting his cold, blue glower with a heated one of my own. “The three of you are keeping me close to you and exacting a strange kind of retribution. How exactly does that benefit the academy?”
His eyes flashed, and his breathing grew heavy. “We’re punishing you.”
“You’re getting off on it.” I jerked my arm out of his grip.
Edward advanced on me, his gaze lingering on my lips. “What if we are? You hurt us the most.”
I stepped back, but the wall of the main building blocked me from moving further away. “And you all hurt m—”
Edward grabbed both forearms, pinning me against the wall. A gasp caught in the back of my throat, and before I could protest at the manhandling, his lips descended onto mine in a kiss so soft and aggressive and full of hunger, I couldn’t tell if this was a reconciliation or the progression of our fight.
Every nerve ending in my body sang with desire, and my heart pounded with an intensity I felt in my ribs, my breasts, and my nipples. Edward Mercia was kissing me. His beautiful, lips were caressing mine, as though he wanted me, the girl who had left. After everything I had done. After I’d lied to his face and tricked him into handing over files that had gotten his father arrested. The hands holding my arms in place slid down into my blazer and wrapped around my waist, and with a soft moan, I let my eyes flutter closed and shut out the rest of the world.
