This is going to be hard, getting used to anyone calling me Belinda, let alone everyone. “Manhattan, of course. The only borough that matters,” I say, parroting his words back to him. Then I let the spirit of a lesser demon inhabit my body andbat my eyelashesat this boy. God help me, I may never recover.
“I can only imagine all the parties you’ve attended.” Freddie’s eyes sparkle, though they’re slightly narrowed. I get the sense he’s dying to figure me out.
Well, the feeling is mutual, Fred.
“I’ve attended my fair share.” I play it coy. Mysterious. Not about to say too much. I’m positive everyone will go on the hunt for my social media, but they’ll be sorely disappointed by the artfully bland profiles Peter set up for me. “Do you have parties here?”
Freddie’s megawatt smile would probably put any normal person in a trance, but I can see right through him. “Of course. Though I prefer my parties a little more on the … intimate side.”
“Isn’t she a little too old for you, Fred?” An amused male voice, deeper than Freddie’s, asks from over my shoulder.
I jerk my gaze up to find the source standing at the end of the table, his breakfast tray clutched in his hands. I suck in a sharp breath, because this boy? This boy I already know.
Devastatingly handsomeis how Isla used to describe him, and I have to give the girl credit—she wasn’t wrong. Dark-blond hair that he flicks out of his eyes with a quick toss of his head. Deep brown eyes the color of the earth after a heavy rain. A thick, cream-colored cable-knit sweater stretches over a crisp, white collared shirt with the Wickham emblem embroidered in gold thread at the tips of the collar. His white skin is richly tanned, givingI just stepped off a yacht and all I got was this lousy golden glow.
This is Julian Ashworth. In the flesh. And he’s just as mesmerizing as Isla always thought he was.
Why he insisted Isla keep their relationship a secret issomething I plan to find out. Soon.
“Not too old. More like too conscious,” one of the other boys sitting at the table mutters before he starts laughing. Because what’s a little dub-con humor between friends?
These people are the actual worst.
Freddie glares at him before turning his attention toward Julian. “Oh, come on now, Julian. You’re just mad you didn’t get to meet the new girl first,” Freddie taunts. That smile is still on his face, but there’s a steel edge to his voice that tells me he doesn’t like Julian much. If I didn’t already mistrust Priya, her description of Freddie Pembroke as “a doll” would have made me question every word that comes out of her mouth.
“That’s Julian Ashworth,” Priya says to me. “And you’re—”
“Sitting in my chair,” Julian finishes for her. His expression remains friendly, and I don’t know why, but I’m ready to bolt out of the seat and gladly give it to him. Something I wouldn’t normally give a shit about.
“I’m sor—”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Freddie interjects, smirking at Julian. “It’ll be good for him to find a new group of friends. Maybe you can reconnect with your former bestie, J. Oh wait … she’s not doing much talking these days.”
The entire table goes silent at Freddie’s knife-sharp words, and I return my gaze to Julian, noting the way his jaw clenches. The friendly exterior is gone, replaced by something cold and hard. I press my lips together and swallow the words I’m dying to say:That’s my sister you’re talking about.
Julian leaves without speaking, settling into a chair at a table clear across the room. Only once the proverbial dust settles does anyone at our table talk again.
“Way to make him feel like shit,” says the dark-haired boy sitting on the other side of Freddie.
“Shut it, Ollie.” Freddie begins to eat like nothing happened, and everyone eventually follows suit.
Especially me, because I’m starving. And while the egg sandwich doesn’t taste as good as the ones I make at home, I still devour it while listening to the conversation happening around me. Until I notice someone familiar across the dining hall. It’s the boy who came into my room yesterday. I can tell he spots Julian at the other table and changes direction, which has my curiosity piqued.
“Who is that?” I ask Priya, nodding in the boy’s direction.
Priya scans the room, her upper lip curling with faint disdain when she realizes who I’m talking about. “That’s Connor Wells.”
“Stay away from him,” Abigail interjects, her tone firm.
The boys say nothing. In fact, the table has fallen eerily silent.
“Oh, well he stopped by our room yesterday and asked where you were.” I laugh, shaking my head. “Guess I forgot to mention that. Oops.”
Priya’s eyebrows shoot up. “He said he was looking for me?”
“You like ’em brooding and destitute, huh, Shah?” Freddie says, loud enough for everyone to hear him.
Priya’s face turns red. “Fuck you, Freddie.” She turns to Abigail, whose lips are pressed in a tight line. I’m not the only one at this table swallowing my words. She looks furious. “I would never.”
