His blade gray gaze burns with fury as he looks at me standing there with the prince. His mouth is downturned, his expression as dark as his hair. He looks like he wants to kill someone. Maybe me, maybe Windsor, I’m not sure.
“Welcome to Burberry Prep,” Tristan says, his voice cold and threaded with steel. “You have a choice to make: come with us or fall with her.” He gestures in my direction with his chin, and I hold my breath, eyes sliding over to Windsor York. He’s been to schools like this before, elite boarding facilities all over Europe. Surely, he’ll know how the hierarchy works. I don’t stand a chance.
I move to take my arm from his when he tightens his grip on me, throwing a blinding smile in the direction of the Idols and their Inner Circle. Creed’s eyes meet mine, half-lidded and lazy as usual. But there’s a tightness to his chest and shoulders that I can’t possibly miss.
The tension stretches out between us and them, this thread that’s pulled so taut I can hardly breathe.
And then Windsor laughs. The sound is light and airy and fluffy. It almost makes me smile. Almost. But then I catch Zayd’s look, this muddied, confused sort of expression that tears at me. I could feel bad for getting his off-campus privileges revoked and ruining his music career, but then I think about the way he curled his arm around Becky’s waist while I stood there dripping red paint and holding back tears.
“For you all to have such a vendetta against this girl, she must be pretty damn special.” Windsor shrugs his shoulders, the stark white of the jacket highlighting how colorful his eyes are, how red his hair. He’s freaking gorgeous, I think, but then maybe it’s just because he’s defending me against them? I have no idea. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll take my chances with the most beautiful girl in the room.” He grins as Tristan frowns, and Harper steps forward, tossing her glossy brunette waves over one shoulder. Since I cut that hunk off of Becky’s hair, she’s been extremely careful to stay away from me. I’m going to have to come up with another plan. “Besides, when I set my sights out to destroy someone, I like challenging targets. You all will do quite nicely, I believe.”
“You’re making a huge mistake,” Harper purrs, sauntering forward with her hips swaying. She’s supposed to be with Tristan, but it looks like she’s making the moves on Windsor York. Guess she’s spotted an upgrade? I noticed that after Lizzie showed up at the lodge, she spent the rest of the trip avoiding her fiancé like the plague. “We own this school, Wind.” She smiles coquettishly and takes another step closer as Windsor raises his eyebrows. They’ve only just met two seconds ago, and she’s already calling him by his nickname. How cute. “Choosing the Working Girl over the school’s elite is a mistake that’ll haunt you way past your days at this academy.” She reaches up to touch his lapels, and his smile curves up in an inviting way. I see him lean toward her, like a flower straining for the light of the sun, and my heart sinks.
On the plus side, I see Tristan’s frown turn into an outright scowl.
Harper is going to get it for this stunt later on, and I didn’t have to lift a finger.
Windsor puts his mouth right up close to Harper’s and breathes on her lips. She sighs and practically falls into him.
“Darling,” he purrs, his voice like silk on the skin. I shiver as the syllables fall over me like a caress. “I’m the Duke of Westminster, the great-grandson of the Queen of England, and in possession of a fortune worth over nine billion British pounds. Whatever you have to say, whoever you are, it means quite literally nothing to me.” He pushes Harper back with a single finger on her chest and she stumbles, mouth gaping open.
Windsor smiles; it’s not pretty anymore.
Uh-oh.
He lifts his eyes up and rakes them over the group of Bluebloods, like he’s searching for something. Clearly he doesn’t find it because a huge grin appears on his face, and then he’s turning to me, eyes sparkling. I’m going to have to be careful with this guy; he is not as nice as he seems.
Hmm.
Somehow, that makes it easier for me to smile back.
“Bunch of self-important arseholes,” Windsor says with a shrug of his shoulders. “I can trace my bloodline back for centuries; I don’t need to prove myself. And you,” he looks me over carefully while the collective whole of the group bristles, “are clearly quite easy on the eyes, and quite right in the head to avoid these assholes. Shall we go then?”
“I’d love to,” I say, a new idea blooming in my chest.
