Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(91)

“Do you think I’m threatened by you?” Harper snorts a laugh. “Some tenth-string prince from a country nobody even knows about?”

“England?” Windsor asks, his voice tinted with wry humor. “You do understand where the pilgrims came from, right?”

Harper spins to Tristan, desperate to make headway with someone. Clearly, Windsor isn’t interested in her games. The boy dances to the beat of his own drum, that’s for sure.

“Last chance, Tristan.” Harper is dead serious, but Tristan simply smirks at her.

“You’re going to wish you’d never met me,” he says, his voice like steel. Zack moves around behind the pack of Bluebloods to stand beside me. I feel sick when I see the blood running down the side of his face; he needs some stitches, pronto. His dark eyes catch on mine, and I shiver. I owe him for taking on Greg, John, and Ben. Three on one, very impressive.

“Consider that goal accomplished,” Harper snaps, chucking the expensive ring at her ex-fiancé. Tristan catches it no problem, and then turns to me.

“Let’s go. I’ve got one of Dad’s yachts.” Tristan comes over to stand beside me, cupping the side of my face as the other boys stiffen up. Well, except for Windsor: he just laughs and the sound echoes across the lake. The King of Burberry Prep then runs his thumb along my lower lip before he sneers at the prince. I use that moment to separate myself from him, giving my heart some distance so my brain can think clearly.

Miranda looks at me, and I’m having a hard time figuring out why she looks half afraid, and half jealous. Jealous of who? Not of me, right? She comes over to stand next to me, pulling away from Creed, and then whispers in my ear.

“Which one?” She takes in the boys with a reserved, sweeping gaze, while Harper and her cronies slowly file off the boat. Nothing more can be accomplished here. Next year … there’s going to be a war.

I don’t say anything because I’m distracted by Tristan getting up in Windsor’s face.

“You, go home to England and fuck off; we don’t need you here.”

“And who, precisely, is we?” the prince asks, glancing at me with glittering hazel eyes. He cocks a brow as Tristan looks between the two of us and scowls. He straightens up his wool coat and turns his glare back on Windsor. “As far as I can see it, Marnye very much needs me.”

“How so?” Tristan demands, lifting his chin in challenge. I’m not sure that I can ever really trust him, or that he’ll ever really be mine, but … at least he’s a powerful ally to have against Harper du Pont.

“Because, we’re dating,” Windsor says innocently. I’m not sure if he’s trying to buy me time, give me an out, or … if he really would like to date me. I’ll have to worry about that later. None of the boys seems particularly happy about it though.

Tristan just glances at me with his storm-gray eyes, and then turns to head for the boat’s ladder. But Harper’s still standing there, waiting. She meets his eyes with a challenge burning in hers, and then turns to me.

“Enjoy the summer, Marnye. It’s going to be your last.” Harpers turns, and disappears down the ladder, just before we hear a boat’s engine start up with a grumble.

“Did she just threaten my life?” I choke out, but why should I be surprised? It wouldn’t be the first time.

Well shit … School is out, summer has started, and in the morning, we’re all supposed to head home. I’ll go back to Cruz Bay and Charlie while the boys go … wherever it is that they go.

For now, it’s all on hold.

Come September, all gloves are off. At least, that’s what I think in that moment.

“Come on, Marnye, I’ve got a boat, too,” Miranda says, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the boys. I ignore them all as I walk past and climb down the ladder, but they follow after me anyway.

Second year at Burberry Preparatory Academy was hard as hell.

Third year’s going to be a fucking nightmare.





When I first get home from the graduation getaway, I collapse on the bed in my new room, the harp Zack gifted me sitting against the opposite wall. I close my eyes and I’m out for a good twelve hours. When I wake up later, dry mouthed and in desperate need of water, I decide that I really am going to miss the Train Car. I’m proud of Dad for finding this house for us, and even in its modesty, it’s four times bigger and ten times nicer than the trailer park.

Still … change is hard sometimes, even when that change is good. It takes adjustment. And anyway, I can only live in one place: I have to choose.

Padding into the kitchen, I squint through the bright sunshine as I dig through the cabinets in search of a water glass. They’re all empty, so I move onto the boxes, tossing wads of brown packing paper on the floor. Once I find a cup, I fill it up, drink it all, fill it up again. And then I finally check my phone, scrolling past a text message from Dad letting me know that he’ll be home later tonight.

Last night was freaking insane, not to mention dangerous. Terrifying. I shake my head because I’m not ready to think about what might’ve happened. Instead, I focus on the positive. Later, I’m sure I’ll have a complete breakdown as the emotions roll over me.

I did it. I duped the boys. I won the bet.

And yet … they stood by me anyway.