The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(92)

“What happened?” she asks, and I raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her briefly before I look back at the road. I might be an overly cautious driver, but better than a reckless one, right?

“Happened?” I ask, and she sighs, leaning back in her seat with her white-blond hair whipping all over the place. She’s got big, shiny silver shades on, and she lifts them to glare at me with her icy blue eyes.

“Yes, happened. Between you and Tristan. You disappeared upstairs, and we couldn’t find you.”

My cheeks flush with heat, and I know what she’s thinking. Of course she’d assume we were having sex. But with Tristan, sex is normal. Easy. It’s a way for him to express emotion without actually having to come to terms with any of it. No, that’s not what we did.

“We played Twister, and then kissed, and cuddled.” Miranda laughs, but only for a second. Then she realizes I’m serious and gapes at me, her lips shiny with pink gloss. Bits of her hair get stuck in it as we take the exit into Cruz Bay.

“You cuddled?” she asks, and I nod. She makes this half-whine, half-groan sound. “You’re totally picking him, aren’t you?”

“I’m not picking anyone just yet,” I murmur as we slow down and it gets a little easier to chat without all that wind in our faces. “I slept with your brother, but you’re worried about a game of Twister?”

“Uh, duh. Sex is … just sex. But someone you can hang all afternoon with and not realize how much time has passed? Someone you can have a good time with? Someone you can—gag me with a spoon—snuggle? That’s real stuff right there.”

I don’t respond, pulling into the driveway and mulling that information over in my mind.

It’s not until I climb out that I realize there’s a cream-colored Cadillac parked on the street.

Jennifer is here.

“Mommy troubles?” Miranda asks, as I purse my lips and nod, grabbing my bags from the back of the convertible and heading inside. It’s so bright and sunny out that I have to squint when I step into the living room, Miranda on my heels.

As soon as I see what’s waiting for, I come to a complete halt, and my best friend-turned crush-turned best friend again bumps into my back.

“What the—” she starts, and then stops as she looks between me, and the teenaged girl that looks just like me sitting on the couch between Jennifer and Charlie. He’s got tears in his eyes as he looks up at me, and Jennifer … she’s got a big, round belly, and a smile.

“Marnye,” she says, rising to her feet with considerable effort. She groans and has to put a hand out to steady herself. Dad is up in an instant to support her, looking a little wobbly himself. I feel this sick, dark shadow inside of me that whispers about how much worse he looks from when I last saw him, how much weight he’s lost. Shit. Jennifer waves him off and then there’s this awkward moment of quiet where we just stare at each other. “Marnye, I’d like you to meet your younger sister, Isabella Carmichael.”

My heart turns to ice, plummets into my stomach, and breaks into a million little pieces.

My brown eyes lock on Isabella’s, and the way she smiles at me … reminds me of something. It takes me a second to register what, exactly, that is, but as soon as I do, I feel cold on the inside.

Her smile … it reminds me of the filthy rich girls I already know and hate.

Fan-freaking-tastic.





To Be Continued …





Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4(The Final Book)





Adamson All-Boys Academy, Book #1

Flip the page for an excerpt of chapter one.





Chapter One


It looks less like a school, and more like a castle.

I stand at the edge of the lawn in front of Adamson's All-Boys Academy, and I try to remember how it feels to breathe. Orange, red, and yellow leaves swirl around the ankles of my slacks as I hitch my bag a little higher up on my shoulder and push on down the curving path toward the employee entrance.

My dad's not far ahead of me, cursing at the random droplets of rain spattering down on our heads. He unlocks the door, gestures me inside, and then closes it behind him.

“Why don't you head down to the cafeteria, find a spot, and get settled?” Dad asks, trying to smile at me. I'm frowning at him. I'm still mad. I'll probably stay mad the rest of the year because …

“My boobs hurt,” I blurt, and he flushes bright red. “And the bandages are pulling on my nipples.”

“Charlotte,” he snaps back, reaching up to rub at his forehead. “May I remind you that this was your idea, not mine. It's day one, and it’s not too late to change your mind.”

“No thank you,” I quip, turning and pushing out of the office and into the hallway. From bright California sunshine, beaches and bikinis, to … this. Frost-nipped air, piles of slimy dead leaves, and an all-boys school looking to experiment on me. I’ve been here two minutes and already I don’t like it. Back in Santa Cruz, I had friends, a boyfriend, and a passion for surfing. Here in … where are we again? Nobody-Gives-a-Crap, Connecticut?

The hallways here are cavernous, with stone arches and brick walls, windows made of delicate stained-glass, and mosaic floors. The teachers are all stuffy and dressed in suits, as opposed to my last school where most of the staff wore shorts and sneakers.