Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103

by Hartford, Devon

  Chapter 45

  When the dancing music starts, Mimi pulls all four of us off our snowy mountain top and down to the dance floor, Duke included.

  Let me tell you, Mimi can move. She really knows how to dance. Her knee-length gown doesn’t hurt. I wish I’d worn something shorter. I do my best, holding my train in one hand.

  Mimi entertains us for well over an hour, dancing nonstop with Chase, switching to Duke, dancing with them both, then dancing with Prince, then with me, then all of us together.

  After she wears us out, the boys insist on taking a break.

  We make our way back up to our snow table on high to refresh ourselves on cake and punch. The glasses have all been refilled. I switch my glass with Prince’s when he isn’t looking. Sipping it, I taste the alcohol from earlier.

  I have to wonder, who told Hannah to put alcohol in Prince’s glass? She was obviously doing it on purpose. Did Skill tell her? He isn’t here to ask. I’ll have to grill him later. He must’ve known.

  Duke busies himself eating the two untouched cake slices left for Victoria and Jacqueline. Chase eat’s Skill’s cake. When they finish, Mimi drags them away from the table and pushes them toward the stairs, ready for more dancing.

  “You guys coming?” she asks me and Prince from the top of the stairs before going down.

  “You go,” Prince says. “I need a few more minutes.”

  “Oh, I get it,” Mimi says knowingly. “You want some alone time with Mare Bear. Don’t let me stop you!” She rushes down the stairs, giggling.

  Despite being in plain view of everyone from up here, there’s a sense of privacy with our height above the crowd and the dance music filling the arena. It’s not concert loud, but it’s loud enough.

  “What a fucking night,” Prince sighs, sitting next to me at the table. “I hope I haven’t ruined it for you.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “That dancing did you good.”

  “Yeah. Helped me blow off some steam.” And maybe sobered him up a little. It wasn’t like he was wasted. Just buzzed. He seems slightly less so now. “Sorry I was such a dick earlier.”

  “You apologized,” I shrug.

  “It pisses me off she disrespected you like that.”

  “Like how?”

  He frowns, “She spilled punch all over you.”

  “Is that what she did?” I purse my lips.

  “Forget it,” he grunts and reaches for his water, sipping it. He stares off at the silvery dance floor.

  Grimacing, I find myself remembering what Rob and the Poor Boys showed me earlier in their Secret Fucking Hideout. Prince’s emails and Photoshopped photos.

  I muse, “What was it like in Honduras? You never really said.”

  “Yes I did,” Prince grumps. “It was dangerous.”

  “No, I mean, was it hot? Did it rain?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  I nod, thinking. “Were the people nice?”

  He throws back a swallow of water and winces, “The nicest. Why are you asking?”

  I shrug. “How was the food?”

  “Excellent.”

  “Hmm. What kind of food did you eat?”

  He glares at me for several seconds. “What is up with you right now? Why are you asking so many questions? Don’t you believe I was there?”

  “Erm, why would you say that?”

  “You tell me.” He looks around. “Where’s that fucking waitress? I need a refill.”

  “You mean Hannah? She has a name,” I smirk.

  “Whatever. Where is she? The least she could do after spilling punch all over you is refill our fucking drinks.”

  “You weren’t there, were you?”

  “Yes I was. She knocked the— okay, fine. I knocked the stupid fucking pitcher of punch on your dress. But she put it on the table. Who does that?”

  “Honduras.”

  “What?!”

  “You weren’t in Honduras,” I mutter quietly.

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Mary?” He isn’t calling me Marianne or fairest for obvious reasons.

  “You never brought a water purifier to that village, did you?”

  “What?” he chuckles in disbelief. “Have you lost your mind? I was there! I showed you the photos!”

  “One photo.”

  “I told you I only went to one village. I didn’t have time to go to the others.”

  “You didn’t go anywhere.”

  He stares at me, his face making an escape plan for a moment, then settling into superiority. He smirks, “Where’d you get that idea? Did somebody tell you?”

  I shrug. I know enough not to show my hand. I’m not telling him what Rob showed me.

  He sneers, “Were you there? Did you go to Honduras?”

  “No-a.”

  “Well, I fucking did.”

  “Do you have other photos?”

  “Of Honduras?”

  “Yeah, from your trip. Did you take any other pictures? Or just the one?”

  For a moment, his face is frozen. Then it flips into a snicker. “You think I’m lying.”

  “I didn’t say that.” I mean that, but I’m not saying that.

  “Who told you I wasn’t there?” he snorts.

  “Nobody told me,” I say firmly. I mean lie firmly.

  “Bullshit. Somebody told you something. It’s written all over your face.”

  “What?!” I laugh to cover up my lie.

  He smirks and shakes his head. “Who was it? Elizabeth? Is she trying to sabotage us? Is that it? She’s pissed you and I are together so she told you a bunch of lies, right?”

  I play dumb.

  “That fucking bitch,” Prince snorts sourly. He leans forward on the edge of his seat and takes one of my hands in both of his. “Listen to me, fairest Marianne. I don’t know what she told you, but I—”

  I blurt, “She told me she saw you wandering around downtown Castle Hill the weekend you said you were in Honduras.”

  Prince freezes. “She said that?”

  I nod, emphasizing my lie. No, semi-lie. It doesn’t matter who told me the truth.

  He snorts. “What kind of cooked up story did she tell you?”

  “She didn’t. She just said she saw you.”

  “Well she didn’t,” he spits. “That woman has lost her mind. She’s trying to fool you. She doesn’t want us together so she’s spinning lies to turn you against me, anything she can think of to break us apart. That’s what she does. She plants a seed and lets it fester. She never takes the direct approach.”

  Suddenly I’m wondering if that’s exactly what Rob did, plant a seed of doubt in me. But I saw those photos! I saw Prince in that Water Of Life T-shirt in the photo studio!

  Prince says, “Whatever she told you, fairest, it’s not true.”

  Is it possible Rob and the Poor Boys Photoshopped that logo onto the T-shirt to trick me? That they were lying when they said he ordered the shirt online specifically for the photo shoot? Of course it is. Is it possible they faked all the emails they showed me? Of course it is.

  No! I’m making excuses for Prince!

  I blurt, “It wasn’t Elizabeth! I saw you go into that shop!”

  “What?” he chuckles.

  “I saw you downtown!” I lie emphatically. “I snuck off campus that day just to get out! I went downtown and saw you walk into a photography studio! You said you were in Honduras! You weren’t! You were here! You lied to me, Prince! You never bought any water purifiers for anybody, did you?! It was all a lie to make me like you, wasn’t it?!”

  Deer, meet Prince J. Lancaster caught in headlights.

  My crazy gamble paid off.

  He’s stunned. He releases my hand. Sits back in his chair staring at me for a long time.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?” I mutter.

  His placid face puckers with rage, “So what? So what if I fucking lied? You kissed Chase on Halloween! At my party! Right after we fucking kissed! Minutes after, Mary! Min
utes! Did you mention that?! Huh?! Did you tell me about kissing my best friend on our date?! Did you, Mary? Did you?!”

  I scowl, “Don’t turn it around on me! We’re talking about you lying!”

  “I lied for you, Mary! Did you kiss Chase for me?”

  “Unh!” I gawk at him.

  “Did you? Did you let him put his tongue in your mouth for our sake? Was that the idea? Kiss another man to bolster our relationship?”

  “Relationship?!” I snort. “What relationship?! All you and I did was kiss! We never made anything official!”

  “You moved in with me, Mary! You live in my fucking guest room! How more official do I need to be?!”

  “It isn’t official if you don’t even say it!”

  “Fine! I fucking love you, Mary! I love you! Is that official enough for you?!” His face swims with pent up passion.

  I’m stunned into silence.

  He continues, “That’s right, I faked a bunch of photos because I don’t have fucking time to fly to fucking Honduras to impress you! So what?! But I bought those fucking water purifiers! I bought a hundred of them! It cost me seventy-five thousand fucking dollars! I showed you the photos!”

  “Every picture you showed me are old photos from the Water Of Life website! From before we ever met! How do you explain that?!”

  He smirks, “Oh, I see you’re checking up on me.”

  “So?” I whine. “I wanted to make sure. They’re old photos.”

  “I bought the purifiers! If you don’t believe me, talk to them yourself!” Prince pulls his phone out of his tuxedo and swipes through it for almost a minute. Punches something in. Hands it to me. “Ask them.”

  I hear the phone ringing in my ear. “Who’re you calling?”

  “Water Of Life. Ask someone there. They’ll tell you.”

  I take the phone in shaky hands. It rings then goes to voicemail for Water Of Life. “Voicemail,” I say.

  “Of course,” he says. “It’s Saturday night. They’re probably closed. Call them tomorrow. Or Monday. Just fucking call them. They’ll tell you.”

  Now I don’t know what to believe. Or who. Rob or Prince?

  “Do you believe me now?” Prince presses.

  “Can I wait until I talk to Water Of Life?”

  He grinds out a hard glare, “Do you believe me or don’t you, Mary?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Make up your mind!”

  “I need time!”

  “I need you to make up your mind!” He shoots to his feet. “I told you I love you and you call me a liar?! How fucked up is that?!”

  “You did lie!”

  “For you, Mary! I lied for you!”

  I don’t know how to respond to that.

  His face pained, he grumbles, “You know what?! Fuck this! You don’t love me! I can fucking tell! You hate that I have money, which means you hate me for who I am! I didn’t pick my parents! Nobody does!” He shakes his head in frustration. Leans down and hisses in my face, “I thought you were different, Mary. Thought because you’re poor, you wouldn’t be like everyone else at Castle Hill. But you are like them, you just don’t realize it. You don’t need to want money to be greedy, Mary. You just need to want more, always fucking more. Nothing is ever enough. No matter what I do, it’s not good enough for you, is it? You always want more, more, more! Tell me I’m wrong!”

  I want to tell him about Rob, tell Prince everything, admit I was spying on him, admit I put spy cameras and a hacked router in his penthouse, then apologize profusely, beg forgiveness for the things I did that are ever so messed up. I’m not perfect and I don’t need Prince to be. But I don’t know where to start in a tense moment like this.

  Prince sneers at me in disgust, shaking his head, “You know what? Fuck this. I’m out.” He spins and storms down the stairs, leaving me sitting alone on top of the fake snow mountain with the Fundies at the nearby tables staring at me.

  Some of them laugh and point.

  I ignore them because I’m reeling, my mind vortexing in a tornado of confusion like my brain might fly apart at any moment, remembering all the things Rob said about Prince, trying to make sense of it in relation to what Prince just admitted, but not being able to wrap my head around any of it.

  For several minutes I just sit there, trying to calm myself but not succeeding. Eventually, one theme emerges from my mental hurricane.

  Rob is a thief.

  Rob steals.

  Rob wants me to lie.

  Rob wants me to spy.

  Everything Rob does is criminal.

  Everything!

  Why should I believe anything he says about Prince?

  Prince came clean. He told me the truth. He told me he lied because he loved me.

  Rob said he lied because he wants me to help him rob Prince’s family blind.

  Which lie is worse?

  The answer is obvious.

  I get up and go looking for Prince.

  Who am I to judge him?

  I owe him an apology.

  Chapter 46

  “Is everything okay?” asks a demure voice that startles me as I emerge from the comparatively loud main floor of the arena into the quiet lobby area. In the near quiet, I recognize that feeble voice immediately.

  I spin and snarl, “Azzie. Or should I say Elizabeth. You spiked his punch, didn’t you? It was you who told Hannah what to do, wasn’t it?”

  “What are you talking about, Mary?”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Elizabeth! You dressed up as Azzie and spiked Prince’s punch so we’d fight and you’d get him back!”

  “I’m not Elizabeth,” she protests meekly. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “You gaslighting bitch, you’ve always been Elizabeth.” I’m so effing pissed right now, I whip out Grayson’s knife and point it at her. “Take your gloves off.”

  “What?” She wears the white lace gloves that go with her white snowflake waitress dress.

  “Your gloves. Show me your nails, Elizabeth.”

  She hesitates.

  “Show me!” I jab the knife at her. It’s not like I’m going to actually stab her, but I need to make a point, pun intended. Elizabeth has been fucking with me since day one. Trying everything in her power to make me miserable.

  “Okay,” Azzie whines, and peels off one glove.

  “Show me your nails!”

  “Wha-a-at?” she whimpers.

  I jab my knife. “Show me your fucking fingernails!”

  She holds up a shaking hand and pouts, “There! Are you happy now?!” She pretends like she’s ready to cry. Such a lying gaslighter.

  “Wait,” I say. “Where’s your manicure? The one with the gold and silver loops?”

  “I never had a manicure,” she snivels. “I work like you do, remember?”

  “Show me your other hand. Take your glove off.”

  She sniffs petulantly and removes the other glove, showing me her natural nails.

  Crap. The last time I saw Elizabeth and her brand new manicure was a week or two ago. She could easily have scrubbed it off since and cut them down to nothing.

  “Is everything okay, Mary? I saw you fighting with Prince.”

  “So you did spike his punch!”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about any spiked punch!” Now she’s getting mad.

  But I’m madder and I have a knife. I lunge forward. “Tell me the truth, Elizabeth, or so help me, I will cut your nose job off!”

  “Help!” she shrieks in sheer terror. “Somebody help me! Mary has a knife. Help! HELP!”

  “I’m not going to cut you, Elizabeth.” I lower the knife.

  “HELP ME!” She really has a set of lungs on her for such a demure little thing. “SOMEONE HELP! MARY IS GOING TO STAB ME!” She turns and runs down the curving lobby, disappearing around the corner.

  Instinct kicks in.

  Time for me to run.

  I pick up my dress train and start shuff
ling because running in this fricking gown is impossible.

  I hear loud footsteps smacking the corridor floor coming toward me from around the corner.

  I am fucked.

  I shuffle toward the nearest door leading outside and slam my hands on the push bar. Thank my lucky stars it opens. Outside in the darkness, I close it slowly, quietly as I can until it latches, giving me a few precious seconds to work.

  First, I peel off my heels. Then I grab a handful of jeweled gown above my knees and stab it, sawing through the material with Grayson’s knife. The ripping sound of ruining this hundred thousand dollar gown, or however much it cost, is surprisingly gratifying.

  It only takes a few seconds to cut all the way around and push the bottom of the dress down and kick it off. I rip off the hooked on train from my waist and drop it.

  Ready to run, I pause long enough to grab the severed section of dress with the jewels. No telling how much money I’ll need now that I am once again on the run. Good thing I’m a walking wallet.

  When I hear doors burst open ahead, and see light pouring onto the concrete, I spin around and sprint into the darkness behind the arena building. Seconds later, I’m stopped by an unclimbable fence, tiny black steel mesh with holes too small for feet or fingers.

  Boots smack the ground behind me.

  I spin around pointing my knife.

  Several big men who are obviously not students from the academy come running to a stop.

  “Drop the knife!” one of them shouts.

  The others pull guns.

  I notice their black jackets say SECURITY over their breast pockets. Are you surprised they hired armed security for their winter formal? I’m not. There’s like a million dollars worth of dresses inside. The winter formal would be the perfect place to pull a dress heist. I’m surprised Rob and the Poor Boys haven’t thought of it. What do I know? Maybe they did.

  I nod at the arena and say, “You better get in there before they steal all the dresses.”

  “What?” the front security guy says.

  “The dresses. They’re going to steal the dresses.”

  “Put the knife down, miss,” the guy says, waving his gun.

  You know what I just figured out?

  Now I am actually fucked.

  Why?