“You’ve also gone too soft on the Idol boys, in my not-so-humble opinion,” he continues, and I duck under his arm to head back over to Zack. Heat is still coursing through me, rampant and white-hot, infectious. Now that I’ve had a taste of him, I just want more. So much more. I could easily see dating him one day …

One day.

But the Idols already think I’m dating him, and I need the boys to think I’m accessible enough that they could get me as a date to the graduation getaway. Unfortunately, I might have to put a bit of space between me and Zack for now.

“Windsor, I told you my story, yes, but that doesn’t mean you know everything.” Told you my story, hah, please. Basically you sit across from me in The Mess everyday and work your princely magic until I spill all my secrets. “Forget about the guys for now. The girls are trying to kill me, remember? Can we focus?”

He sighs and shrugs, rolling his shoulders as he taps his fingers along the spines of several poetry volumes and then selects one at random. He flips it open, glances at the poems inside and sighs.

“I’ve memorized all of these,” he says as he flicks through the pages. “There’s nothing quite so charming as a man that can recite poetry from the heart. Wouldn’t you say so, mate?” He glances up and smiles at Zack, but Zack is not impressed. The only thing he likes about the prince is that the prince hates the Bluebloods as much as we do. What was it he said? “They’re only playing at being royals.” Pretty sure he finds them as amusing as hamsters on a wheel.

“You know, all I have is at your disposal as well …” Zack begins, running his palm over his chocolate brown hair. It’s grown out quite a bit since he got kicked off the football team, but it’s still short. I resist the urge to touch it, too. “We don’t have to put up with him.” Windsor chuckles and snaps the book closed, shoving it back onto the shelf.

“Your money, Monsieur Brooks, is all tied up in your grandfather’s spindly old hands. Isn’t that why you joined the Infinity Club? To get it back?” Zack’s face pales as I glance over at him. Holy … shit.

“You joined to get your money back?” I ask, and all the pieces start to click together. At least I have a why that explains why Zack made that bet with Lizzie. Does it make things easier? Not exactly. But it’s nice to know. Speaking of Lizzie, I’m starting to look forward to Fridays again, so I can text her. She knows all about what the Burberry Idol girls did to me, and she is out for blood. Pretty sure I have her help and resources, too.

“I’m sorry, Marnye,” Zack whispers, and we end up staring at each other for so long that when I blink and come to, Windsor has disappeared. “I’m so sorry.” There’s nothing for me to say, so I just smile tightly and we drop the subject altogether. Zack gathers up his stuff, and we head toward the exit where Creed and Miranda are, still wrapped up in a very twin-like argument. They look like blonde, blue-eyed clones.

They pause, and in near perfect unison, turn to look at me.

My cheeks flush under their scrutiny, but Creed pretends not to notice, turning and sauntering off toward the hall. Miranda takes up my right side and starts to loudly complain about her brother’s idiocy. On the way out, we pass right by Ileana, Becky, and Harper. Creed’s already paused there, and I can hear him murmuring in low, tight tones.

Miranda does not hesitate to get involved.

“You stay the fuck away from my brother,” she hisses, shoving Ileana in the shoulder. The first year girl stumbles and whirls on her with narrowed eyes. Harper and Becky just stand there, smirking. Seeing them all together like this brings those memories roaring back to the surface, and I feel sick. I think I sway on my feet, but Zack puts a hand on my elbow and steadies me. “He might want a good name to go with our fortune, but you won’t see a damn dime of the Cabot money. You’re not good enough to be his hairdresser let alone his girlfriend or future bride.”

Creed doesn’t argue. Actually, I think I see the corner of his mouth twitch in a barely suppressed smile.

“This conversation doesn’t involve you, dyke,” Ileana snarls, and Creed’s face turns to stone. Ileana whips back around toward him, but it’s too late: whatever they might’ve been talking about is over. Hopefully they weren’t doing much more than breaking up or exchanging quips. I mean, the girl tried to freaking drown me.

I glance over at Creed, but his ice-cold stare is focused on the Idols.

“She said you should be kicked out,” I blurt suddenly, nodding in Harper’s direction with my chin. “Harper did. She thinks Windsor should be an Idol and not you.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I realized he was a Brothel client, too, just like all the rest of them.” Harper grabs Ileana by the arm and pulls her back. “Forget about Cabot. There are other, better guys to choose from.”

“None as rich though,” Creed drawls, tucking his hands into his pockets, and letting this lazy smirk take over his face. “Enjoy your dwindling fortune. Being old money is nice, but only when you actually have money.”

“Screw you, Cabot,” Ileana snaps, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. Maybe eventually, I’ll cut hers off, too. “You’re making a huge mistake here. Fucking huge. You’ll never be respected in the Club. You’ll always be the new guy whose mommy bought his way in.”

“And you’ll always be the girl with the chip on her shoulder because I’d willingly fuck the Working Girl before I’d ever lay hands on you.” Creed turns on his heel and saunters off as my eyes widen, and Ileana’s mouth drops to the floor. The glare she turns on me is pure hate.

“Next time,” she snaps as Harper and Becky flank her, “there isn’t going to be a prince to save you.”

I’ve been secretly dreading Valentine’s Day since … well, the school year started. Last year was eventful enough. This year … I’m not sure what I should do. I decide that, as much as it pains me, I have to send the Idol boys roses. If I want to draw them in the way they did me, why not use the same techniques?

So, I order a rose each for Tristan, Zayd, and Creed as well as for Zack, Miranda, Andrew … and Windsor. Why not? At the last minute, I even order one for Jessie. She might not be dating Miranda anymore, but she’s still getting picked on by the Inner Circle, and I feel like it’s at least partially my fault.

“What a quaint little tradition,” Windsor says, pausing next to the seller’s booth to sniff the bouquet that’s on display. That’s his personality right there: he’s very much a stop and sniff the roses type. “But I have too many girlfriends to send out roses. If I tried, I’d probably forget a good half dozen, and that wouldn’t be pleasant, now would it?”

I give him a disgusted look, and he smiles at me, bending down to sign the form as I frown.

“You just said you’re not sending flowers? What are you doing?”

Windsor reaches into his pocket and pulls out a five dollar bill, tossing it on the table and stepping back.

“You don’t want a flower? Really, it’s the least I could do for my new friend. You’re truly the only person who talks to me who doesn’t want money, sex, or gossip.” Wind shrugs his shoulders and then pauses as Tristan approaches the table, pausing next to me, his peppermint and cinnamon scent overwhelming as I suck in a sharp breath.

I’d sort of forgotten how awe-inspiring it was to stand so close to him. That moment on the boat when he grabbed my arms and kissed me hard and fast. “Just remember that Creed isn’t the only one that’s interested.” My heart melted when he said that. Even knowing it’s all a lie now doesn’t make that feeling go away.

“Fuck these stupid roses,” he says, his voice like the fine edge of a knife. I’m okay where I’m standing now, but one wrong move and I’m going to get cut. I’m going to bleed. “I’ve put myself on the Do Not Send List.”

Tristan … is talking to me? I blink stupidly at him.

“There’s a Do Not Send List?” I ask, and he nods.

Windsor makes a noise behind us.

“That’s a fabulous idea … sign me up. Or rather unsign me up.”

Tristan and I both ignore him.

“Did you hear about the spring break trip for the honor students?” His voice is so hard to read; it’s impossible for me to figure out what he’s thinking.

“To Paris?” I ask, and he nods briefly. Of course I’ve heard of the trip. It’s been featured like a prize in every school newsletter since that first week in September, a special treat to dangle in front of the student body to get everyone to work harder. The thing is, I’ve heard the Plebs talking: it’s just Paris, who cares? Pretty sure the only person here who hasn’t been to France is me. “I haven’t let myself think about it. I’ve been so busy that my grades have slipped …”

“You’re still number one in the class,” he says, gray eyes so dark they’re more of a charcoal than a silver right now. I wonder if he’s thinking about that test and essay, how he’d probably be the highest ranked student in the school if I hadn’t sabotaged him. Or rather, if I hadn’t turned his sabotage back on him. “It’ll be me and you on that trip. Nobody else comes close.”

“I …” Have no idea. Tristan looks up, meets Windsor’s eyes, and sneers before he heads off down the hallway without so much as a goodbye. Interesting.

“Sunny, cheerful bloke, isn’t he?” Windsor asks, coming to stand beside me with his hands in his pockets. “And, by the way, I asked them to make an exception: you’re the only person allowed to send me a rose.” He bends down and gives me another of those quick, European cheek kisses. My silly American heart takes it far too personally, and I have to hold back a small sigh. My fingers touch my cheek, and I turn away to head down the hall, being careful to avoid the boys for the rest of the day.