Windsor stares out the window and into the darkness as we crawl through the trees toward the abandoned building. We were out here last week decorating and hauling pumpkins. It’s not quite the perfect spooky Samhain paradise from last year, but this isn’t the type of place you bring caterers and decorators. It’s more of … a student-only sort of facility.
“Why don’t you drive anymore?” I ask, and Windsor glances back at me, his face decked out in as much makeup as I’m wearing. It makes me smile because he’s actually a little bit … pretty? I made him put a pink shawl on over his dress because his arms are too thick and muscular for the whole ‘pretty princess’ thing he’s got going on, but secretly I find them hot as hell. “First thing that comes up online when I Google you is a list of expensive cars that you’ve totaled.”
“Ah, you Americans and your Googling,” he says, which just makes me laugh. Some of his American jokes are pretty spot on. That one was just stupid. Still, I liked it anyway. “You know I crashed that yacht into the harbor, right?” I nod. I’ve read about that online, too. People were hurt, hospitalized even. There’s one girl who was only just recently released. From what I read, she’s still in the process of learning how to walk.
I have to admit, that’s some pretty dark stuff.
“You … don’t have to talk about it, you know,” I tell him, voice quiet. There’s some spooky Halloween music filtering through the speakers, but it’s turned down so low I can hardly hear it. It’s just the two of us in the car. I suggested it because I wanted another private moment to speak with the prince.
“You may as well know the truth,” he says, leaning back against the window and picking at the fabric of his pink dress. “I told you I was coked-up, drunk, and angry, right?” I nod and he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “Did I tell you why I was angry?”
“No.” My voice sounds small and quiet as I turn into the casino’s parking lot and find it filled with luxury cars. In just this lot alone, in the value of the vehicles, there’s enough money to put thousands of students through college. Hell, to get them all a doctorate.
The casino looks so freaking spooky from here, all lit up with orange lights, a billowing ghost set up near the path to the back door. There are even zombie babies hanging from one of the trees, backlit with a green spotlight we stole from the theater department.
I turn off the engine, and then spin to face Windsor, my white dress crinkling, all that fluffy lace and satin spilling over the seat.
He stares at me across the dark space.
“My girlfriend was on the dock, partying. She’d just cheated on me with a boy from Eton College.” Windsor sighs and reaches up to slick his hair off his forehead. The thing is, he’s wearing a wig today, so all he does is end up fluffing the red-orange bangs. “We had a huge blow-up fight, and I lost it. I got too high, too drunk, and I hit that dock on purpose.” My brows go up in surprise when Windsor’s voice colors with vitriol and old anger. “I did it on bloody purpose, and then I saw her, crushed and bleeding under some rubble. I …” He looks away, toward a group of giggling girls all dressed up like, well, you know how I feel about this word, but … slutty vampires. I mean, I only say that because they have thongs and fishnets on with their capes and teeth.
“Windsor,” I start, reaching out to take his hand. I almost expect him to pull away, but he doesn’t. Surprisingly, he lets me take it and give him a little squeeze.
“I haven’t been able to drive since. I just feel sick when my hands touch a wheel. Doesn’t matter if it’s a car, a boat, or a fucking bumper car.” He pulls his hand from mine. “So when I told you I was a bit of a wanker, I wasn’t lying. I’ve been awful, Marnye. I’ve done terrible, terrible things. If you were to look at me with a magnifying glass, you’d probably find Mr. Vanderbilt squeaky clean by comparison.” Windsor pulls his hand from mine, and steps out of the car before I get a chance to respond.
The haunted look in his eyes though, that sticks with me for the rest of the night.We must look pretty fucking cool when we walk into that party together, dressed up like a royal procession with crowns and ballgowns, cravats and colorful coats with long, trailing tails for the boys. The crowd parts easily, leaving us a clear path past the slot machines, dry ice fog curling around our ankles.
