Windsor stares at me from across the soapstone countertop and shrugs his shoulders, his hazel eyes carefully focused on mine.
“What do you think?” he asks, pouring himself a glass of wine and swirling the liquid around inside, so he can smell it.
“She seems …” I search for the right word, and when Wind passes over another glass, I decline. I think I’m going to stay a no-alcohol sort of girl. Pot is okay, though it doesn’t seem to be curing Charlie … The vegan food isn’t curing Charlie. The chemo isn’t curing Charlie. My hands start to shake, and I tuck them in my lap. “Nice, but distant.”
Wind nods, and takes a sip of his wine, standing up fully and gazing past me, out the wall of windows toward the orange and yellow sunset.
“Yes, that’s how I’d describe her, too. Only I’d use the words vapid and self-absorbed, too.” He shrugs his shoulders and sighs. “Anyway, I’m eighteen now, so I suppose I needn’t worry about her. I’m far wealthier than she is, and it’s more than likely she’ll blow through most of her money before she hits fifty.” He pauses and his fingers tighten around the stem of his wineglass before he looks down at me. “You realize that, don’t you?”
“That your mom’s going to bankrupt herself?” I ask, and he smiles. The way his slightly curled red hair falls over his forehead is enhanced by the diffused light, and his face almost seems to glow. His shirt is partially unbuttoned, and I can see just the slightest hint of chest.
“No, I mean that we’re all eighteen now. Not just me and you, but your other lovers as well.”
“Lovers,” I say, feeling my face heat up. I guess Zayd, Creed, and Zack are lovers, aren’t they? Since we’ve had sex … Although I still haven’t quite braved the blow job yet. My mouth tightens, and I stuff an olive in to keep from blurting out that the molding around the arch that leads into the mudroom still has original hand-hammered nails in it which, really, is unusual from a historical standpoint because they used to use make these little pegs on the end and sort of notch the wood together like Lincoln Logs or something …
“They’re all free to make their own choices now,” Windsor continues, drinking the rest of his wine, and then setting the glass down to refill it. “They might not like the options they’re given, but they have them.”
“Who, specifically, are you talking about? Yourself?” I ask, and Wind shakes his head, pushing red hair off of his face with his palm, so that it sticks straight up.
“Certainly not. I’ve already told you, I want to marry you and ride off into the sunset.”
I snort, but the way Windsor York holds his face … makes me wonder if he isn’t at least a little bit serious.
“Who are you referring to then?” I pull a bowl of grapes toward me, admiring their shiny purple skins before I pluck one out and put it between my lips. Windsor watches, enraptured, and I feel my fingers lingering a bit too long on the curve of my lower lip. I look away, glancing over my shoulder at the beautiful scenery. It’s certainly fall here, with all of its orange and yellow, but the grass is still green and it’s pleasantly warm outside.
“I mean all of them. Zayd, Creed, Tristan, Zack.” He stops talking, and I turn back to look at him. “I must tell you something, but you need to keep it quiet.”
“Infinity Club?” I ask, and Windsor nods, searching my face. He’s done so much maneuvering behind the scenes to keep me safe, to keep me happy, to keep Charlie safe and happy. I owe him so much, this bully of bullies who strode in and chopped Harper du Pont’s ponytail off as a token of friendship.
I’m going to do so, so much more. And not just to her, but all of them. They wanted me out of Burberry Prep Academy, no matter how they had to go about doing it. Well, karma is threefold, motherfuckers. I bite down on another grape, and purple sweetness explodes in my mouth.
And that doesn’t sound dirty at all.
“Tristan’s father, William, is now married to Lizzie’s mother’s best friend.” He takes another sip of his wine as I gape at him. “She’s a wealthy heiress to a massive hotel chain. The entire reason the Waltons didn’t want their daughter with a Vanderbilt—that is, their endless void of debt—is not so important now. It’s going to get paid off.”
“Lizzie told me she won a bet against her parents, so that they’d consider Tristan …”
“And she did, and they did. The marriage only just happened last week; I’m probably one of the first to know about it.” He finishes his wine and sets his glass down. “So … Tristan could choose Lizzie, if he wanted. And maybe then, his father would take him back?”
I have no idea what to say, so I just sit there and let my mind mull that over.
“Zack’s family want him with someone presentable, someone with good blood. Probably one of the very girls you’ve already ousted from the school—or will oust, more than likely.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” I ask, looking up at him again, a veritable god draped in sunlight and quiet cruelty. He’s telling me this because he wants me to know how hard their choice would be, if they were really and truly to pick me.
“Creed, well, you could probably have Creed if you wanted. Easily. Kathleen is essentially a Pleb herself, a self-made woman. She likes you, a lot. They seem like a nice family, too.”
“Seriously, Windsor?” I snap, standing up and feeling my breath come in sharp pants. I’m not sure why I’m so angry. Maybe because the little bubble of Burberry is popping, and it feels like the world is rushing in to drown me?
“And Zayd, well, his grandmother won’t like you, but she doesn’t like her son much anyway either. Zayd could be with you, if he really wanted, but do you trust someone like that? A rock star?” Wind moves around the counter when I try to leave and blocks the doorway.
“You’re being an asshole right now,” I whisper, but he steps forward, and I have no choice but to step back or let him bump into me. I choose to let him bump into me, and he tickles his fingers along the back of my neck, making me shiver.
“Then there’s me. I have my own fortune passed down to me from my father. It’s more than enough to live on, and have fun with, too. We can do all sorts of things together, Marnye, if you wanted.”
“We’re only eighteen,” I whisper, looking away. My heart betrays me, pounding too hard, beating too fast. I feel lightheaded, almost dizzy. “Who says I have to choose a life partner now?”
“Nobody. But we both know that when school ends, everyone will scatter, and that’ll be it. You might not have to choose a life partner, but you have to pick a thread to follow.”
“Is this an ultimatum?” I turn back to look at him and find his hazel eyes locked on my lips. Slowly, almost like a man coming out of a drugged dream, he lifts his gaze to mine.
“No. I don’t give ultimatums to friends. Milady, I don’t care what you do with the other boys. If you want me to stick around, I’m here. I’ll give you whatever you want. And if what you want is to tangle those threads around your fingers, and drag them to Bornstead, fine. I’m trying to tell you that I’m not the problem.”
“You’re saying you don’t care if I keep dating them, even in college?” My voice comes out a cracked whisper, half strangely hopeful but also broken and melancholic. Because college seems so far away, and I know that even if somehow, Windsor is offering me an impossible chance, I won’t get this from everybody.
Somehow, someway, I’ll have to choose.
Somehow, someway, I don’t think this is all going to end up wrapped in a perfect bow and hand delivered to my doorstep.
Sometimes happy endings taste bittersweet.
“That’s what I’m saying. I’ve had my share of girls. The only one I really liked before you, she did to me what I’d done to dozens of others. I know I have sins to repent for, and giving you what you want isn’t one of them. Let’s go to Bornstead together, and I’ll hold your hand, even if someone else is holding onto the other side.”
“You don’t really mean that,” I choke, trying to move around him, but he gently pushes me against the wall with his hands on my shoulders, dropping his mouth to mine.
Windsor York tastes like sweet dessert wine, his tongue edging my lips, tasting me like a fine chardonnay before he even really takes a sip. His tongue moves slowly against mine, like he’s trying to draw out all the flavor. Without meaning to, my hands pull the buttons on his shirt apart, palms pressing flat against the planes of his chest.
“Think about my offer,” he whispers, one hand sliding up my waist to cup my breast through my shirt. He kneads the flesh, encouraging my chest to lift into his hand, offering myself up to him. “But also, think about everyone’s motives. Nobody is fully selfless at any given time. Think about my offer, too, and why I made it.”
Wind releases me and pushes off the wall, stalking off outside. For a moment there, I have to remind myself how to breathe. When I follow after him, I see him moving between the garden house and a large barn, hopping a low fence, and moving over to a black horse.
He strokes its neck for a moment, and then grabs a handful of mane, mounting it and then quite literally riding off into the sunset.
He certainly is the epitome of charming prince, isn’t he?
Only … his horse is black, not white.
Maybe that’s a telltale sign right there?
The next morning, Windsor and I have breakfast on the deck with Alex and Charlie before the princess excuses herself for a trip into town. Dad and I play a few rounds of chess before he gets tired again, and decides to settle down with a book.
I notice he opens to the back and reads the ending first.
Chills creep over me from head to toe as I watch him, smiling privately to himself before he flips back to the first page again.
“He’s reading the last page first, so he’ll know how it ends in case he …” I trail off, pausing behind Windsor as he leads me to the stables to pick a horse. We’re going riding today which makes me a little nervous. I think I rode a pony at someone’s birthday party once when I was seven, but that’s as far as my experience goes.