Page 107 of Filthy Rich Boys (Rich Boys Of Burberry Prep 1)
Just two more weeks, and I’ll have made it. I’ll have survived my first year at Burberry Prep. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll have a boyfriend to enjoy the summer with.
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Finally, I think, sitting down on the edge of my bed and pushing loose strands of hair back from my face. I’ve fought tooth-and-nail to make this year worth the pain, punching my way to the top of the first-year class, snatching my spot in the orchestra. I even managed to make friends with the bullies who were making my life a living hell.
Of course, I miss my friends. I miss Andrew and Miranda, Zack and Lizzie.
“Hey,” Zayd says, smoking a cigarette with both the bathroom windows cracked. “Don’t look so sad. We have less than a week in this shithole, and then summer, bitches.” When he’s done smoking, he drops his cigarette in the toilet, flushes it, and comes over to sit beside me, pulling me close. I lean my head on his shoulder, but I’ve got anxiety for a different reason.
Tonight is the last dance of the year. It’s called the graduation gala, and it’s for all four years of students here at Burberry Prep. For me, it almost feels like a death sentence. Those three dresses … they’re all so beautiful. I tried them on one at a time in front of the mirror, desperate for some sign from above that I was making the right choice.
I got nothing.
The universe has left me completely and utterly on my own.
“You know,” Zayd starts, exhaling sharply. “You should pick Creed or Tristan tonight.” My eyes snap up to his, and I see this broken indecision in his green eyes. He looks pained as he turns to me. “Whichever one of those assholes you don’t pick, they’re going to get butt hurt and storm off. But, uh,” Zayd exhales and runs his fingers through his hair, “I’ll stick around. I don’t care who you pick, Marnye.”
A small smile teases over my lips as I fit my fingers through Zayd’s. He seems surprised, that I’m touching him that way.
“Liar,” I say, and I lean my head onto his shoulder. That’s the first time he’s ever called me Marnye. Seriously, first freaking time. And I love it. “I’ve already decided, Zayd.” And I have. I did last night. It wasn’t easy. In fact, I still feel sick about it, but it all comes down to the beginning of the year and the things they all did to me.
Zayd was bad. Creed and Tristan were worse. I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive the book burning or the essay reading. Also, Zayd was the first one to start being nice to me. It’s that simple. I can’t have all three guys, and I want to start something that might last. With Tristan, his family would never allow him to date me, I know that. Creed wants to be accepted into the ranks of old money. But Zayd … he might be a dick, and as elitist as the rest of them, but he’s also a rock star. He walks his own path.
“Take me to the dance tonight?” I whisper, and Zayd’s entire body goes stiff before he turns to look at me, reaching down to cup my face between his inked hands. He grins as he pulls my mouth to his, kissing me with a passion that I wish I could recreate every day for the rest of my life.
I mean, we’re nowhere near that yet, but … maybe we could get there?
“It’d be my fucking honor,” he purrs, dragging me down to the bed and kissing me like he intends to help me keep that promise. I laugh and let him hold me in his arms until it’s time to get dressed.
And then I kick his ass out into the hallway to wait.
It’s time to get ready for the ball.#The dress Zayd picked out for me is bright red and layered with a tight underdress coupled with flowing skirts, and a lace-up back. It’s nearly impossible to get into by myself, so I do my hair and makeup as best I can, and then text him, asking him to meet me at my door instead of by the chapel like we’d planned.
Tristan and Creed don’t know that I’ve picked Zayd, not yet. Not unless he told them. But as soon as they see me walk in wearing this dress, it’s all over. There’s a fragile nervousness inside of me, this quaking that I don’t quite understand. Maybe I realize that when they see me with him, this tentative thing between the four of us is over.
I’ve chosen Zayd.
It’s done.
He knocks on my door, and I pull it open with my nerves on high-alert, butterflies filling my stomach. Zayd is … holy shit, he’s handsome. He’s wearing a black and white pinstripe suit with a red tie, red dress shoes, and … he’s even dyed his hair to match my dress. His signature sage-and-geranium smell fills my nostrils as my lips curve into a smile, and I step back to let him in.
