Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(73)

“Fuck these stupid roses,” he says, his voice like the fine edge of a knife. I’m okay where I’m standing now, but one wrong move and I’m going to get cut. I’m going to bleed. “I’ve put myself on the Do Not Send List.”

Tristan … is talking to me? I blink stupidly at him.

“There’s a Do Not Send List?” I ask, and he nods.

Windsor makes a noise behind us.

“That’s a fabulous idea … sign me up. Or rather unsign me up.”

Tristan and I both ignore him.

“Did you hear about the spring break trip for the honor students?” His voice is so hard to read; it’s impossible for me to figure out what he’s thinking.

“To Paris?” I ask, and he nods briefly. Of course I’ve heard of the trip. It’s been featured like a prize in every school newsletter since that first week in September, a special treat to dangle in front of the student body to get everyone to work harder. The thing is, I’ve heard the Plebs talking: it’s just Paris, who cares? Pretty sure the only person here who hasn’t been to France is me. “I haven’t let myself think about it. I’ve been so busy that my grades have slipped …”

“You’re still number one in the class,” he says, gray eyes so dark they’re more of a charcoal than a silver right now. I wonder if he’s thinking about that test and essay, how he’d probably be the highest ranked student in the school if I hadn’t sabotaged him. Or rather, if I hadn’t turned his sabotage back on him. “It’ll be me and you on that trip. Nobody else comes close.”

“I …” Have no idea. Tristan looks up, meets Windsor’s eyes, and sneers before he heads off down the hallway without so much as a goodbye. Interesting.

“Sunny, cheerful bloke, isn’t he?” Windsor asks, coming to stand beside me with his hands in his pockets. “And, by the way, I asked them to make an exception: you’re the only person allowed to send me a rose.” He bends down and gives me another of those quick, European cheek kisses. My silly American heart takes it far too personally, and I have to hold back a small sigh. My fingers touch my cheek, and I turn away to head down the hall, being careful to avoid the boys for the rest of the day.



With Tristan and Windsor both on the Do Not Send List, most of the attention on Valentine’s Day goes to the girls. All the Idol women are showered with roses, same goes for Valentina and Abigail. I guess the Plebs used to call them the fucked-up foursome. Must be the fucked-up fivesome now with that horrid bitch Ileana in their ranks.

Me, I get roses from Miranda, Andrew, Windsor, and Zack.

They’ve all written super sweet little cards, and I even get a tiny present from Zack, wrapped in shimmery opalescent paper. He grins sheepishly when he delivers it to my dorm later.

“It goes with the one I gave you for your birthday,” he tells me, and I realize with a start that I’ve never opened it. I excuse myself on the pretense of needing to pee, and grab the unwrapped package from my wardrobe drawer, popping into the restroom for some privacy.

There’s so much tape on the package, that I have to use my nail clippers to cut into it.

Inside, there’s a pair of season tickets to the San Francisco Symphony clipped to a small rectangle of cardboard. My mouth drops open, and I feel terrible for leaving the gift for so long. To be quite honest, I forgot all about it. My loss, I suppose, since I could’ve used these during winter break to go with my dad.

When I step out of the bathroom, Zack’s waiting on the edge of my bed with the other gift. I hold the tickets up and he smiles, not like he’s upset or anything, but more like he’s not surprised either.

“I figured you hadn’t opened it,” he says, and I cringe. “That’s okay. At least you’ve got them now.” I sit down next to him and carefully unwrap the new package, finding another ticket to match the first two. “You know, in case you wanted to take Miranda or something …” he adds, but I know we’re both thinking about if he and I were to go together. We’re sitting so close that I can feel his body heat, and I have to close my eyes against the curiosity about what would happen if I were to give in and go to him.

“Thank you for these. You always give such thoughtful gifts.” My hands are trembling, and my heart is racing. Pretty sure those are the only words I’m going to be able to get out. I like Zack now, I really do. Part of me wishes he really was my boyfriend. Maybe, later, he can be. Just not right now.

“Are you going to the garden party?” Zack asks softly, but I’m already shaking my head. I have a few deliveries to make: small care packages for each of the Idol boys with an attached, handwritten note. I miss you. It’s the best I can do. I’ll deliver them while they are all at the party, so I don’t have to see their faces when they read it. If one of them were to reject me outright … I can’t think about that: my dad’s wellbeing is on the fucking line.

This Valentine’s Day is so different than the last one. All I can think about is Zack and how much I want to go and dance with him. Yet, I’ve got my bet with Harper, and I need to keep the Idol boys from seeing too much of me with him.

Like I told Windsor: I’m not about dating anyone just now.

It’s all so confusing.

I exhale and Zack stands up, turning around to look at me with a small smile.