“He's … a character,” I say, but my mind is wandering back to that moment in The Mess, that kiss, the way he grabbed my tie, and all the things I said before that. “Love. It’s possible for someone to love you for you, Tristan. Trust me, I know: I was there.”
My face turns six shades of red, and I move around behind Creed, putting my palms on his back and pushing him right out the door. He's so surprised, he just lets me move him around. When he turns to look at me, his expression of confusion morphs into one of smug, self-assuredness.
“Oh, Marnye,” he starts, but I'm already slamming the door in his face.
“Get dressed!” I shout out, and then I turn and put my back to the door, close my eyes, and sink to the floor.
It's going to be a long, hot summer, that much I know for sure.
I'm the last one to get downstairs, dressed in an outfit I bought for myself when Miranda and I went shopping yesterday. Her eyes glittered when she saw me in, but still, I feel a tad self-conscious …
“Holy shit,” Zayd says as I come down the first curve of the staircase and pause on the landing. I feel like Janey Briggs in Not Another Teen Movie, when she makes a slo-mo appearance on the stairs and then falls through them. Yep, that'd be me for sure. I should never have let Miranda make us watch that damn movie. “Charity, you clean up good.”
“Don't call her Charity,” Zack growls, his brown eyes narrowed as he takes in the rock star with no small amount of distaste.
“As long as it's in jest, I don't mind,” I say, continuing down the steps as Miranda and Andrew exchange a knowing look and then smile at me. Creed is lounging on the couch, draped over it like a boneless king. He pretends not to be looking, but I can feel his gaze like it's made of flames.
Tristan, meanwhile, is standing in the open front door with his back to me, having a low conversation with Myron Talbot. Myron is broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and several inches shorter than Tristan. Despite that, he's got a lean, muscular build, and a shadowed expression that makes me believe all the things that Zayd said about him.
Lizzie is standing nearby, her arms crossed over her chest. As soon as she lifts her gaze and sees me, she smiles big and pushes between the two boys.
“Leather pants? Girl, that ass.” Lizzie skips over, throws her arms around me, and gives me a huge hug. She pulls back, her dark curls frothing around her shoulders, her amber eyes sparkling. She's dressed in denim short-shorts, and a loose yellow tank with big arm holes. Underneath, I can see her black bikini top.
“It's a bit out of my comfort zone,” I hedge, wondering where Windsor is. He's such a big presence that when he's not in the room, there's this noticeable absence. “Do I look okay? I know leather pants and beach parties don't exactly go …”
“But look at these zippers,” Miranda crows, appearing beside me and grabbing the zipper at my hip. Before I can stop her, she's grabbed it and dragged it halfway down, the leather peeling apart and my entire thigh and left butt cheek showing. All the guys notice.
I make a choking sound, and snatch it back from her, zipping myself into the leather again.
“What do you think, Tristan?” Miranda asks, turning to look at him as he steps back into the house with Myron on his heels. I elbow her because, like, why is she drawing his attention my way?
Tristan's gaze rakes over me, over my white Burberry Prep tank covering my new swimsuit, the leather pants underneath, and the wedge sandals that I'm sure will be the death of me. If I end the night without a twisted ankle, I'll be shocked. But I want to make an appearance tonight, stand up to Harper and … A cold chill sweeps over me as yet again, I think about how badly things could've gone. This isn't a game anymore. Maybe it never was?
“You look nice,” Tristan says, and his voice is beyond bland. He may as well be looking at a freshly painted wall or something. My gaze locks on his gray one, and he holds it without shame. There's a darkness there, behind his eyes, that catches my attention anyway.
“Nice?” a voice calls out, just before Windsor appears from the direction of the kitchen. He has what looks like a strawberry daiquiri in his hand that he presents to me. “You're a fucking vision, Marnye Reed.” He hands the drink over with a bright grin. “A virgin daiquiri for the virgin girl.”
“Jesus,” I choke, but I take the drink anyway as Windsor's hazel eyes sweep me up and down, and he leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek.
“You're so rude,” Miranda says, hooking her arm through mine as Windsor presents her with a second drink. “But I forgive you since you mixed drinks for everyone.”
“It's one of my passions,” Windsor says, stepping back and putting his hands on his hips as he looks me over yet again. He's dressed in white shorts, a white tank, and black sandals. His red hair seems even brighter paired with the monochrome outfit. “If I weren't a royal, I'd have been a bartender. Even Mum agrees.”
“Fascinating,” Zack says with a roll of his eyes. He's wearing bright red shorts and absolutely no shirt. His hair is wet and slicked back, like maybe he's already gone swimming today. We look at each other, and my heart skips a few beats. Fight for me, I think as I exhale. But even then, I'm confused.
I've never had crushes on more than one guy at a time. Now … my heart doesn't know what to do. I feel pulled in several different directions, and the angst feels like it's going to kill me already.
“I'm glad you're here,” Zack says, reaching out to give my hand a squeeze. I smile, and when he lets go, I curl my hands around my drink, so I don't have to feel them tingling. Zayd watches our entire interaction, and then exhales sharply, his jaw tightening, like he's just made a decision about something. I have no idea what that is because Tristan's just stepped forward, and without having to say a thing, he's drawn everyone's attention his way.
Well, everyone but Windsor. The prince dances back into the kitchen and appears with more drinks, passing them out to Lizzie and Andrew first, and then grudgingly to Myron, the Idols, and Zack.
“Harper and the rest of the Bluebloods will be at the party tonight,” Tristan says, and I can tell by the way his eyes narrow that he's thinking about that night at the Royal Pointe lodge. At the end of this year, we'll have another school-sponsored trip back to that same lake. Closing my eyes, I suck in a deep breath and try not to think too hard about it. “We don't talk to them, and we don't acknowledge them.”
“How, exactly, will that help?” Windsor inserts as I look around and realize that the people gathered here, don't have much of a connection. Or if they do, not much of a good one. Lizzie and Tristan are exes with unresolved feelings, Windsor hates the Idols and vice versa, Andrew was kicked out of the Bluebloods, and Zack is an outlier that most of them have hated from day one.
What a group of misfits we are.
“They're dead to us. Everyone needs to know that. The rest, we deal with later.” Tristan turns to go, and I grab onto his arm. He pauses and looks down at me for a second before threading his arm through mine. I'm so completely and utterly shocked that my mouth drops open and I nearly let my drink slip from my fingers. “Don't stray too far, and I'll keep you safe.”
Okay, now my mouth is basically on the floor.
“Who are you and what have you done with Tristan Vanderbilt?” I choke out, but all he does is look at me, and then starts to walk, dragging me along with him. We all end up outside, finishing our drinks and leaving the glasses on the patio table.
“Mom and Dad are out dancing. They won't be back until nearly dawn; I'll clean these up when we get home.” Miranda waves her hand dismissively, and we all take off down the beach with Tristan leading the way.
Glancing back, I see Lizzie watching us, and I feel this tightness in my stomach that I can't put words to.
“Does she know you called off your engagement?” I whisper, and Tristan goes completely stiff beside me. Holding onto him like this reminds me of our time in France, the way he let me cuddle up to him at Disneyland, or how he stopped so suddenly outside the Eiffel Tower and looked at me like he had something important to say.
“I have no idea,” he says in that cold, dark voice of his, like a sheet of ice sliding over my heated skin. “I haven't told her, if that's what you're asking.”
My lips purse. I can feel the others watching us, not just Lizzie but Miranda and Andrew, the other two Idols, Zack, Windsor. Only Myron seems totally uninterested.
“Are you going to? I bet she'd like to hear it from you.”
“What do you care about my relationship with Lizzie?” Tristan hisses, his voice drowned out by the crash of the ocean waves against the shore, and the distant laughter of party guests. My cheeks flush, and I'm not sure how to respond to that. And then—I'm going to blame Windsor's strange honesty gathering capabilities—I just blurt something out.
“Sometimes, when I look at the two of you, I think you're still in love with each other.” My voice cracks a little, and my heart pounds, but as soon as I say it, I feel a little better. Tristan stops walking, and I think for an instant there that I might get something real out of him.
But then his face shutters and darkens, and his eyes narrow.
For a split-second, I'm afraid I've royally pissed him off, but then I turn and spot Harper, Becky, and Ileana on the beach, surrounded by adoring fans. My throat gets tight when I see Greg, John, and that new guy, Ben, nearby. Ben was a fourth year, so he shouldn't have been on the school trip to Lake Tahoe. At the very least, he won't be at Burberry Prep next year.
“We have to get Ben before the summer is over.” My voice comes out thin and reedy and tinged with fear. I don't like that. I'm not afraid of Ben or John or Greg or anyone else. I turn to Tristan and catch his gray gaze. “He's not going to be at Burberry next year. We have to get him here, in the Hamptons.”