Bet he’s worse.
“Do I …” I start and then my throat gets so dry that I have to pause and swallow before continuing. “I mean, should I call you prince?” I ask, and Windsor pauses for a moment before chuckling, this happy little sound that’s pretty much the antithesis of all the other guys at this school—even Zayd. It’s pretty refreshing actually.
“You know who I am? That’s bloody fantastic. But prince? God no. Call me Windsor. Or Wind. Or even Windy, but preferably not if you’re interested in dating me as that’s what my grandmother calls me.” He pauses and flashes another grin, whistling as we make our way through the courtyard. I’m not quite sure how to respond to that, so I say nothing. After a minute, Windsor glances down at me with a slight frown and a single cocked brow. “You don’t then, I take it?”
“Don’t what?” I ask and he laughs at me again, but not like he’s teasing, more like he finds me amusing.
“Don’t want to date me?” he clarifies, and my flush intensifies. I look straight ahead, down the corridor toward the stained glass doors.
“I’m not about dating anyone at this moment,” I say, and the words come out so cryptic and full of meaning that both of Windsor’s brows go up this time. Crap. He looks intrigued now, and I don’t particularly want to be intriguing to anyone, not even to a gloriously handsome prince.
“Shame,” Windsor says, but at least he says it with a smile.
We push through the doors to the chapel building … and come to a grinding halt.
The Bluebloods are standing just inside the door, with Tristan and Harper at the front, Zayd, Becky, Creed, and the new girl, Ileana, just behind them. The rest of the Inner Circle is fanned out behind them. When Tristan sees me with Windsor, something dark lights up his eyes, and his frown pulls down the edges of his mouth.
“Are you Windsor York?” Ileana Taittinger asks, twisting her dark hair around a finger. The way she looks at the prince is terrifying, like she very well might eat him for breakfast. Her uniform top is unbuttoned, all the way to the scalloped black edges of her lacy bra. I glance at Windsor, expecting his eyes to drop right to her cleavage. Instead, he focuses on Tristan and smiles brightly.
“Windsor York, at your service. Please, call me Wind. And you are?” He tugs me forward with his hold on my arm, bringing me in close proximity to the Bluebloods. The way Becky glares at me, I can almost feel her hatred burning holes in my skin. Her hair is pulled up into a bun, and hair-sprayed to high hell, but there’s no missing the giant chunk I cut off, not today. A smirk teases the edges of my mouth, and she notices.
“Have you introduced yourself to the prince properly yet,” she schmoozes, miming a blow job with her hand, her tongue poking at the inside of her cheek.
“Well, I haven’t asked him yet if he wants a blow job, but he already seems more interested in me than Zayd was in you. Once this is over, let’s go back to my room and I’ll suck you off,” I coo, imitating her nasally voice. “I can say with all honesty: I’ve never been brushed off quite so thoroughly as you.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Becky screams, launching herself forward. Zayd grabs her around the waist and hauls her back. I hate that watching him touch her upsets me so much. His green eyes meet mine, and he grits his teeth as he yanks her back in line. “As soon as I found out that Becky had hit you, I haven't touched her. I just couldn't.” Zayd’s words sound loudly inside my head, and I smile. It’s not a nice smile either.
“Bloody hell, you Americans are crazy. We’ve just met and you want to kill me?” Windsor asks, cocking his head to one side. He reaches up and adjusts his tie with his left hand, one single brow raised in question. Becky is panting now, and she shakes Zayd off to turn and glare at me again.
“Not you, the little whore next to you. That’s our resident Working Girl. If you want a cheap fuck, you can visit her in the Brothel. Otherwise, you’re better off sticking with us.” Becky sneers at me, the expression twisting her pretty face into something horrible. I raise my chin and then flip her off. There’s just something wrong with the chemistry between us; it doesn’t work. “You bitch.” She sneers and tries to come at me again, but Tristan holds out a hand and the Bluebloods freeze. Well, everyone but Creed. He leans back and rolls his eyes before yawning.
Tristan, though, is most definitely their king.
His blade gray gaze burns with fury as he looks at me standing there with the prince. His mouth is downturned, his expression as dark as his hair. He looks like he wants to kill someone. Maybe me, maybe Windsor, I’m not sure.
“Welcome to Burberry Prep,” Tristan says, his voice cold and threaded with steel. “You have a choice to make: come with us or fall with her.” He gestures in my direction with his chin, and I hold my breath, eyes sliding over to Windsor York. He’s been to schools like this before, elite boarding facilities all over Europe. Surely, he’ll know how the hierarchy works. I don’t stand a chance.
I move to take my arm from his when he tightens his grip on me, throwing a blinding smile in the direction of the Idols and their Inner Circle. Creed’s eyes meet mine, half-lidded and lazy as usual. But there’s a tightness to his chest and shoulders that I can’t possibly miss.
The tension stretches out between us and them, this thread that’s pulled so taut I can hardly breathe.
And then Windsor laughs. The sound is light and airy and fluffy. It almost makes me smile. Almost. But then I catch Zayd’s look, this muddied, confused sort of expression that tears at me. I could feel bad for getting his off-campus privileges revoked and ruining his music career, but then I think about the way he curled his arm around Becky’s waist while I stood there dripping red paint and holding back tears.
“For you all to have such a vendetta against this girl, she must be pretty damn special.” Windsor shrugs his shoulders, the stark white of the jacket highlighting how colorful his eyes are, how red his hair. He’s freaking gorgeous, I think, but then maybe it’s just because he’s defending me against them? I have no idea. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll take my chances with the most beautiful girl in the room.” He grins as Tristan frowns, and Harper steps forward, tossing her glossy brunette waves over one shoulder. Since I cut that hunk off of Becky’s hair, she’s been extremely careful to stay away from me. I’m going to have to come up with another plan. “Besides, when I set my sights out to destroy someone, I like challenging targets. You all will do quite nicely, I believe.”
“You’re making a huge mistake,” Harper purrs, sauntering forward with her hips swaying. She’s supposed to be with Tristan, but it looks like she’s making the moves on Windsor York. Guess she’s spotted an upgrade? I noticed that after Lizzie showed up at the lodge, she spent the rest of the trip avoiding her fiancé like the plague. “We own this school, Wind.” She smiles coquettishly and takes another step closer as Windsor raises his eyebrows. They’ve only just met two seconds ago, and she’s already calling him by his nickname. How cute. “Choosing the Working Girl over the school’s elite is a mistake that’ll haunt you way past your days at this academy.” She reaches up to touch his lapels, and his smile curves up in an inviting way. I see him lean toward her, like a flower straining for the light of the sun, and my heart sinks.
On the plus side, I see Tristan’s frown turn into an outright scowl.
Harper is going to get it for this stunt later on, and I didn’t have to lift a finger.
Windsor puts his mouth right up close to Harper’s and breathes on her lips. She sighs and practically falls into him.
“Darling,” he purrs, his voice like silk on the skin. I shiver as the syllables fall over me like a caress. “I’m the Duke of Westminster, the great-grandson of the Queen of England, and in possession of a fortune worth over nine billion British pounds. Whatever you have to say, whoever you are, it means quite literally nothing to me.” He pushes Harper back with a single finger on her chest and she stumbles, mouth gaping open.
Windsor smiles; it’s not pretty anymore.
Uh-oh.
He lifts his eyes up and rakes them over the group of Bluebloods, like he’s searching for something. Clearly he doesn’t find it because a huge grin appears on his face, and then he’s turning to me, eyes sparkling. I’m going to have to be careful with this guy; he is not as nice as he seems.
Hmm.
Somehow, that makes it easier for me to smile back.
“Bunch of self-important arseholes,” Windsor says with a shrug of his shoulders. “I can trace my bloodline back for centuries; I don’t need to prove myself. And you,” he looks me over carefully while the collective whole of the group bristles, “are clearly quite easy on the eyes, and quite right in the head to avoid these assholes. Shall we go then?”
“I’d love to,” I say, a new idea blooming in my chest.
The Bluebloods now hate Windsor; Windsor hates the Bluebloods.
This could work.
“This is a mistake you’re going to regret,” Tristan warns as we move past, but his voice is hot with anger and his dark gaze is quite clearly focused on Harper. Good. My plan all along was to let their own weaknesses, mistakes, and sins burn them from the inside out. The way Tristan treated Harper in the limo was my first clue that their relationship isn’t as peachy as Harper wants it to be.
“I think it’s a bold career move that’s going to bring me hours of entertainment.” Windsor produces his schedule with a flourish and passes it over to me, and we move on down the hall, leaving the Idols and their Inner Circle safely behind us.
“I love you so much! If I were attracted to boys, I’d be all over you,” Miranda whispers, her voice harsh, eyes brimming with happy tears. Windsor smirks, and pushes some loose hair from his forehead with his palm. It sticks straight up in the front, like a little cowlick or something. “Seriously, I’ve been following you on the news since forever. And when I heard you were coming to America, I knew. I just knew you would come to Burberry Prep.”