Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(68)

“I should’ve been there to help,” he whispers, sounding pained. I close my eyes, but I have no idea what to say. This whole day’s just been … fucked. I don’t curse much, but there’s not many other words in the English language that could encompass what I just went through. “I’m sorry, Marnye.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before Windsor starts rinsing out the teapot.

My friends start making their way off my bed, stretching and yawning. Soon, I’ll be in here all alone, staring at the wall and reimagining that scenario over and over again. Oh god. No, thank you. I wet my lips, desperate to ask someone to stay with me.

The obvious choice is Zack, but … I lean back into him, and I like the way he feels so much that it’s scary. If he stayed in here tonight, then I—

A knock sounds at the door, and we all jump.

Miranda and I exchange a look, but Windsor’s already swept over to answer it, flinging the door wide and giving us yet another taste of his eccentric personality. I think that’s a real world metaphor right there: he isn’t afraid, isn’t tentative, and so unashamed that he’s willing to open the door on everything without a second thought.

My mouth drops open when I see who’s waiting outside.

The Idol boys are on my doorstep.



Tristan Vanderbilt. Zayd Kaiser. Creed Cabot.

The three of them are standing there, dressed in their matching but oh-so-differently-worn uniforms. Tristan’s is spic and span, creased to the heavens; Zayd’s is wrinkled, mussy, and unbuttoned from neck to navel; Creed’s is clean and fresh, but gently tousled like he’s just woken from a nap.

My throat goes dry as Tristan crosses his arms over his chest.

“What happened today? We can’t get a straight answer from the girls. I want it from the horse’s mouth.”

“This horse was almost killed by your fiancée and her besties today,” I snap, starting to shake. Something about seeing all three of them together like that … I feel both rage and melancholy. Rage because I feel like no amount of revenge will ever be enough. I want more. I want to tear them down and break them until they come to me on their hands and knees, begging for release. And yet … I miss them, too. Terribly.

Life is confusing, and it sucks.

Tristan strides forward, but Windsor puts out his boot, blocking him. That’s another thing I’ve noticed: Windsor York is the only guy at this school who wears boots instead of loafers with his uniform.

“You can’t come in without the lady’s permission,” Windsor says, his voice coloring with a threat. “This is her space, not yours.”

The King of the School bristles, and sneers, but there’s something else going on with him that I can’t place. He’s practically shaking.

“We want to talk to Marnye—alone.” Tristan stares Windsor down, but instead of buckling like most people do, the prince just smiles.

“That’s up to her. Ask nicely and maybe she’ll say yes.”

“Like, bro, who the fuck are you?” Zayd snaps, pushing Tristan out of the way and pausing in the door. He glances over at me, and to be honest, he looks like shit. He actually looks like he might puke all over the expensive rugs Kathleen Cabot bought for my dorm room floor. I’m walking on more money in here than my dad has in my college fund. “You just moved in here, and you think you know shit about what goes on?”

“I know the Infinity Club owns this school,” Windsor begins, ticking things off on his hand. “I know they’re desperate to have me as a member, but I’ve refused over a dozen times. I know that you’re all part of the Club, and that you used poor Marnye here as a pawn in one of your asinine bets.” He shrugs his shoulders as pretty much every person in the room gapes at him.

I mean … of course a rich, handsome prince knows about the Infinity Club. But also, wow. Wow.

“Marnye, can we come in?” Creed deadpans, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, his blue eyes focused on me. With Miranda here, he’ll be on his best behavior, so at least there’s that.

I sigh and rake my fingers through my hair.

“Yeah, why not?” I say, and Zack bristles behind me. The three sets of matching glares the Idols throw him when they walk in don’t help. Swear to god, he even growls at them.

“Should we go?” Andrew asks, glancing over at Miranda and Jessie. He turns back to me and lifts his chin, like he’s determined to be here if I need him to, but also willing to leave if that’s what I want.

“Everyone can stay,” I say loudly, as Windsor shuts the door and locks it. Smart man.

Jessie, however, looks intimidated as hell and politely excuses herself. Nobody else makes any move to leave, and Windsor re-locks it behind her.

The Idols fan out near the end of my bed. Zayd looks ashamed to even be standing in here, his eyes wandering the room. I wonder if he’s remembering how he hid a camera in here to film us making out, and then shared it in front of the entire freaking school? I hope so.

We all just stare at each other, and it’s awkward as hell. If I have to watch these videos later, I’m going to get secondhand embarrassment. At least I know my cameras are still running. If the Idols say or do anything incriminating, I’ll have it on film.

“I told you to watch out for the girls,” Creed says with a sigh, like he’s so tired he might just flop onto my bed and cuddle up with me and Zack. There’s something about that thought that excites me, but it’s an impossibility from a distant galaxy that will never happen, so I push it aside. “I told you they were out to get you.”