by Mallory Fox
“Today marks a very special day indeed,” he says between breaths, mopping his shiny face with a handkerchief. “For the first time in the history of our beloved school, we welcome our sisters from the prestigious Providence Arcadia into our fold. And I especially want to thank the students from Windsor house who generously donated their beds so that the girls may have their own house of residence.”
“Aye, they can have our beds, sir. As long as they don’t mind letting us share them sometime.” Someone from the Windsor lot pipes up and the rest of the hall sniggers, making my jaw clench. The slightest sound carries in Withersdane hall. Whoever said that wanted everyone to hear. I specifically told everyone not to fuck about today, but it’s like telling a bunch of toddlers not to shit their pants.
Vaughn’s face has become less shiny and increasingly more red. Eyes bulging, he scans the room locking sights with each and every one of us boys trying to find the culprit. Everyone except me. His eyes barely brush over me as they should. Good to know my weekly contributions are good for something, not just a heart attack.
Glancing at the group of girls, who look less like lambs to slaughter and more like a pack of wolves ready to tear the room to shreds, I make a mental note to check out their relationship statuses. It only takes one of them to complain to their polo captain boyfriend and we have another nose out of joint to break or pay off.
When the titters die down, Vaughn grimaces but continues. Most of the lads here have parents who pay large sums into the school coffers. You could say we own the school, while the girls do not…. yet.
“As I was saying, it’s a pleasure to see how easily we open our hearts….”
“Only if they open their legs,” Brompton snorts under his breath. Sighing, I shoot Brompton a disapproving look but he merely chuckles, eyes glazing over.
“… that when someone is less fortunate, we step up and give them our aid,” adds Vaughn, raising his voice a notch.
“Just our aid, sir? We can give them much more than that.” Brompton calls out, almost cracking up. At my signal, Stamford kicks the fucker in the shin, but he bursts into laughter as does the rest of the room.
Vaughn’s face, a darker shade of beetroot as he grips the edges of the podium, hones in on Brompton. “Brompton, I have no doubt I will see you in my office after assembly. Why don’t you do us all a favor and go there now, so you’re not late for the detention I’m going to give you.”
Brompton, a cocky grin plastered on his face, saunters out of the hall. All I can do is shake my head and look away… right into the sights of a rabid wolf.
Or should I say a seething Arcadia girl. One who is glaring intently in my direction with a cherub face, haughty hazel eyes, and a pair of glossy cupid bow lips that could suck the life out of me with a blown kiss.
She tosses her mane of hair, chestnut with streaks of winter white, and rolls her eyes at me like two bad omens. Something about the way she does that makes my dick twitch in my pants. I have an intense vision of me lacing my fingers through her long tresses and jerking her head back hard, enough to make her breath catch, enough to part those sweet lips.
As though sensing what I’m thinking, she quirks a brow and turns away, just as a cold emptiness settles over me. Principle Vaughn carries on with his speech but I’m no long listening.
Fuck it. I know who she is.
I saw her in the quad when she arrived.
Pearl fucking Darlington.
My mother won’t stop harping on how smart Pearl is to be a year ahead at one of the top grammar schools in England. If Ravenwood is the elite prep school for boys, Arcadia is the same for girls. Or was until they lost their funding. They’re lucky Ravenwood stepped in and offered the smartest and brightest at Arcadia a way to finish their final year without deferring or going to school of considerably lower prestige.
Not out of charity. Only those who could afford the offer took it. And it appears, despite rumors of the trouble her father’s company is in, Pearl Darlington could afford it too.
Vaughn’s voice filters back in. “… and now, to show their appreciation and gratitude, the delightful Providence Arcadia’s Girl’s Choral Society will sing us a song.”
Sing us a song? Vaughn, you tosser, you messed up introducing Providence so badly it’s going to come back and fuck us all in the ass. Although, I’m sure you’d like that more than most.
There’s a murmur in the hall as seven of the girls, her amongst them, sidle out of their pew and stride to the front.
Their leader is by far the most elegant of the lot of them. Like a graceful gazelle among a herd of lumbering cows, she climbs the steps of the altar at the front of the hall. I’m rewarded with a generous view of her pert ass mounting the steps, until they turn around. Her taking centre stage, as I knew she would, and the rest fanning out on either side, waiting with hands clasped in front of them.
One of the juniors behind us sniggers, earning him a hiss of anger from the two rows of girls next to us.
The seven don’t falter. They carry on regarding us beneath them, vultures waiting out their next meal comes to mind, until they open their mouths. Then, like angels heralding the dawn of a new chapter, they sing their fucking hearts out.
An unexpected hush descends over the room and, for the very first time since the Arcadia girls set foot on our territory, they've gained a sort of respect. It’s hard not to be enthralled. Even Pearl, with her long hair loose and flowing around her in waves like a halo, is a sight to behold. But I shake it off and any emotion I'm feeling, and focus on what I’m here to do, allowing the hollowness to take over again.
They’re not angels or saints.
They’re waiting to see what will happen, biding their time on the same question we’re all wanting to know the answer to.
Who is going to rule both schools now they’re one and the same?
Pearl may have ruled over Providence Arcadia, but Ravenwood belongs to Montford. The Darlingtons lost that right when they had a daughter. The ruler of Ravenwood has always been a raven… and a raven is never going to be a girl, not in a million years.
As if on cue, the Darlington brat, with her sly fox-like eyes, cute snub nose, and two very luscious, rosebud-pink lips, scowls. Her mesmerizing orbs flit over to me briefly as she flicks her hair back, flashing the gold pin I saw before in the quad on her lapel… which is so fucking blindingly obvious not hers.
How the hell did she even get a raven pin before term started? It’s probably her bastard father’s. Pins don’t get passed along. We’re not a golf club. But fine, if she wants to keep it, she can, but she’ll have to earn it. Just like we all did.
If she thinks I’ll go easy on her just because she’s a girl, she’s got it wrong…
Pearl Darlington’s got a fuck load of pain coming.
Chapter 3
Pearl
“What the hell are they all looking at?” Felicity mumbles, shoveling smoked salmon and avocado on toasted brioche into her mouth by the fork load. It’s been three days since we started at Ravenwood and it seems like everyone is staring at us while we eat. Even the teachers at the Provost’s table on the raised dais are watching us.
“They’ve not seen girls before, obviously. The little pricks can’t help it.” Charlotte to my right sighs, scrolling through her phone instead of eating.
I don’t say anything to the contrary. The longer I can go without them knowing the truth, the better.
One of the faculty frowns at Charlotte on her phone at the table. I stare at the teacher until she gets it and looks away, face flushing.
Mobile phones aren’t allowed in the dining hall, but if the Montfords aren’t taking notice of that rule I don’t see why we should. We actually seem to be getting away with a lot of rule breaking. The fact that I already have half the faculty staff in my pocket is probably why.
“Lottie, are you going to eat that?”
“No, you can have it.” Charlotte slides her untouched plate over to Flick, bare
ly glancing my way. She’s upset with me because I told her I don’t want to go to some party at next Friday that the Windsor boys are supposedly throwing for us girls.
Even if it’s something we’d usually go to, I’m not here for fun, I’m here for business. With Ravenwood boys, business and pleasure always seem to get mixed up. And ultimately, I’m here for my father’s fucked-up plan to save our company.
Just the thought of it gives me palpitations. Dad couldn’t even reveal it himself in the end. I had to find out from his PR firm after he updated the entire management team because he didn’t have the balls to tell me himself.
Everyone isn’t staring at us because we’re the only girls in a traditionally boys’ school, they’re staring at me because of the rumors about my father.
And the rumors about me and Seth.
My phone rings again.
Janie, my father’s head of PR, has been calling me all morning in double mathematics. I stop proving equations and leave the classroom to answer it, ignoring the curious looks from the other students and the conflicted scrutiny of the math professor.
Janie only seemingly calls me when she has news that could potentially destroy my family. My first thought is negotiations have taken a downturn and the takeover has finally happened but if that was the case, Father or Sully would have called to let me know first.
No, it’s something else. Something to do with the jittery feeling I’ve had in my gut since I started at this hideous school.
“Pearl, thank god, did you see your father’s internal comms email?”
“No. I’ve been stuck in a stuffy classroom for the better part of the morning, how the hell would I have seen it?”
“It was sent first thing. There’s going to be an article in the paper tomorrow morning, so your father wanted me to make sure you were prepared.”
My world drops away. “What about?”
“Shit, you’re in the dark just as much as the rest of us, aren’t you?”
“Janie, tell me.”
“Okay, are you sitting down? I hope so, because your father just announced that he’s marrying his girlfriend.”
“He has a girlfriend?” Why am I even asking? Of course he does. I knew he had one after Mother passed away. How else was he going to get through the grief of losing the love of his life? I just didn’t care to know who she was.
Until now…
“Who is it?” I say after a moment’s hesitation, my mouth becoming drier by the second.
“Are you ready for this?”
No, no I’m not. I close my eyes and focus on taking slow, steady breaths. It can’t be that bad, can it? “Just tell me…”
“Nicole Montford.”
I blanch. “You mean the psycho? Seth’s mother?”
“If you mean the Nicole Montford who did a stint in rehabilitation after trying to kill both herself and her baby son many years ago, then yes, that Montford.”
“I thought she was living in France?’
“Not at all. Your father’s been keeping her with him in Bali for the past few months and now Kensington, if the article in the Inquirer tomorrow is to be believed. We’re trying to kill it with a generous donation to their young journalist foundation, but they’re sticking to their moral guns on this one.”
“You’ve read it? Does it mention me being at the same school as her son, Seth?”
She pauses for a few beats. “It touches on that aspect, yes. I’ve just sent you a copy.”
Shit. “Janie, I need to go…”
“Pearl, wait—”
I hang up.
I knew it! I knew my father was up to something, but I had no idea how fucked up. And he wanted me to get close to Seth?
Feeling sick to my stomach, I rub my temple while bringing my father’s email up on my phone, and then Janie’s email with the article attached. The article mentions me quite a bit, mostly to say how the death of my mother sent me off the rails and how I got the reputation for being a heartbreaker, and that the move to send me to Ravenwood—where my stepbrother attends—reeks of Darlington intrigue.
At the end of the article, there’s a papped shot, taken yesterday, of my father getting out of the car with a petite, brunette woman on his arm. Dad looks tired while, on the other hand, Nicole appears fresh and vibrant. There’s also a picture of me wearing dark glasses and a grimace as I attended my mother’s funeral over a year ago, and one of Seth. It’s a glorious modeling shot of my too-gorgeous-for-words, soon-to-be stepbrother with the same disarming and piercing blue eyes as his mother staring straight into the camera with the tagline ‘too hot for the heartbreaker to handle?’
If this publishes tomorrow…
I consider calling Henry, packing up all of my things, and leaving this godforsaken school to the media dogs. But I can’t. That would be seen as major weakness on my part. I need to pull myself together. This isn’t so bad. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. The worst would have been finding out at the same time as everyone else and that obviously isn’t going happen now.
I let out a sigh and tuck my phone away, mentally preparing myself to go back to class.
Consider me prepared, Dad.
Thanks for the twenty-four-hour fucking warning.
Flick leans over to steal the pastry off Charlotte’s plate. How she eats so much and stays skinny as a rake, I’ve no idea. I’ve suspected for a long time it’s the medication and additional toilet breaks she takes. Whatever it is, it can’t be healthy.
Charlotte sighs and makes a face like a dog’s bottom. “You know, it’s our final year at school, surely we can all let loose a little. You’re the last person I’d expect to say no to a party, Pearl.”
“Do you know what those fuckboys are famous for? A party is one thing. An orgy is another.”
“We’re not Valley girls, Pearl…”
Flick’s eyebrows waggle. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind a being a Valley girl, if they’re the ones doing the screwing.”
I glance over to the dining room entrance where three seniors are standing talking in low voices, aware of the middle one since the moment he walked in. I’d recognize his heart-shaped face and arrogant drawl anywhere.
When I arrived, I couldn’t tell when I looked up at him in his lofty tower how handsome he was in real life, I was too busy fuming at him. But over the last couple of days and now standing in the thick of the crowd, meters away, I can only gape at his beauty—mesmerizing blue eyes, a swathe of silky dark hair over a faded undercut, a regal jaw beneath carved from marble cheekbones.
It’s the devil himself, Seth Montford, and his two wanker friends.
“Oh, which one are you taking about?” Charlotte pipes up in response to Flick’s comment.
“All three of them,” Flick breathes out.
Seth, with his seemingly permanent brooding expression, catches me ogling from across the room and looks down his nose at me.
Heat flames my cheeks and I tear my eyes away. Why am I reacting this way? I shouldn’t want him. He’s just another pretty, rich fuckboy, as arrogant as they come. But I’m drawn to glance back, observing his profile from under my lashes, unable to ignore the attraction tethering me to him like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Fuck. I want him. And I don’t have a clue why.
“Dibs on the brawny one. He looks like he knows where the gym is around here,” says Charlotte.
“Brompton,” I say, prodding at the food on my plate. “His name is Francis Brompton. He’s the idiot who got sent out of assembly the other morning. The son of an East End businessman who hit it lucky on the stock market.” And according to my research is also one of Seth’s closest friends, a bit of jack-the-lad and a total man-whore, but harmless enough if you count the two dropped charges of indecent exposure as being nothing to worry about.
Flick, with eyes like saucers, takes a bite of her pastry. “I don’t know, there’s something a bit regal about the other one.”
Charlotte leans back in her seat to get a
better look. “Which one?”
“Far right. The one who invited us to the party. Stallone or something like that.”
I glance at Flick’s subject of fleeting interest. “That’s Charles Stamford. Am I the only one who studied the student roster?” I actually recognize him from last month’s Hello magazine front page. Charles Hawthorne Stamford III, the first-born son of Lord Stamford and eighth in line to the throne, and Seth Montford’s other closest friend, if my sources are correct.
“I’m shit with names, you know that, Pearl.” Flick giggles.
Charlotte’s eyes suddenly light up. “I know who you’d pick, Pearl, if you ever come down off that high horse of yours.”
I grimace at my second oldest friend, one who is clearly meant to have my back. “I’m not here to fuck about, Charlotte.” No, I’m just here to become close to my stepbrother, whatever the hell that means.
“How bloody boring. All you ever want to talk about is work these days. You need to lighten up a little.”
Flick jumps and claps in her seat. “Oh, I want to know who Pearl’s type is.”
“I don’t have a type,” I say, scowling.
Charlotte nods matter of factly. “Yes you do. The pretty one with the glasses. Pearl definitely has thing for him. I caught her staring at him during the welcome speech. He was even staring back. I’d say you’ve caught a live one, Pearl. Now all you have to do is reel him in.”
I choke back a reaction and flit my eyes to the ‘pretty’ one Charlotte means, not needing an excuse to look a second time.
“I do not have a thing for Seth Montford,” I say, jabbing a salad leaf with my fork.
“Pearl likes Seth Montford?!” Flick hisses and I kick her under the table.
“Will you bloody shut up? The whole room can hear you.”
“Oh shush, Pearl, live a little. You know he’s a model in his spare time, right? You just have to get him to take his glasses off to get the full effect.” Charlotte grins and flashes her phone at us. On it is a full-screen image of Seth’s most recent Hugo Boss shoot. The one of him lying stretched out on a rock on a beach somewhere, wrapped only in seaweed like some Greek sea god, while ocean spray rains down his divine body.
