“How much is this worth?” I ask, feeling like I might choke.

Miranda clasps the necklace and sits back, looking at me with a sheepish expression on her face.

“Um, eighty thousand?” she says questioningly, and I choke, reaching a hand up to touch the pair of roses. I cannot keep this. There’s no way I can freaking keep this. Why … what is going on?!

Before I can voice any of my concerns to Miranda, Harper du Pont comes storming into the classroom, ripping Tristan’s bouquet away from the startled looking Pleb girl. Like a hurricane, she sweeps into the room and plucks one of the cards from the trash before spinning to face me. When she sees the necklace around my throat, she lets out of one of her pterodactyl screeches.

“You are so fucking done, Reed!” she snaps, moving out the door before Ms. Felton gets a chance to stop her.

I’m not sure whether to be afraid … or exhilarated.

Maybe a healthy dose of both?

On my way out of the classroom, one of the academy couriers who hands out mail and packages from home stops me and passes over a small box. As he moves on with his deliveries, I pull the small pink envelope off the top as Miranda whistles under her breath.

“You’ve gotten … popular,” she says, but not like she’s jealous or anything, just in awe.

I know chocolates aren’t your thing, the note reads. Enjoy. Zack.

A smile lights my face as I open the box to an assorted collection of artisan caramels.

Wow.

“These are my favorite,” I whisper, feeling a red flush warm my cheeks. I’m … this day just can’t be real. Days like this do not happen to me.

“Girl,” Miranda starts, raising her brows and biting her lip to hold back a laugh. “Creed is going to lose his mind. I think he actually likes you now.”

“He does not,” I retort, but then I think about the way he kissed me on the deck of the steamboat, and my stomach flutters. I touch a hand to the necklace and feel my heart beating beneath it. “I mean, how could he? I thought they all hated me?” Miranda just stares at me like she’s as confused as I am.

We head down the hall to my room and find Zayd waiting for us. He’s tapping a bouquet of roses against the wall in time to a beat we can’t hear. He’s got one ear bud in, the other hanging down his chest.

“Billie Eilish,” he says, pointing at his ear, and then he pauses the music and tucks his phone in his pocket. “Looks like he got to you before I did.” Zayd’s eyes narrow as he reaches out and lifts the necklace off my chest, his fingers brushing my skin and sending shivers through me.

“Before you did?” I ask, and he grins, stepping aside, so I can use my keys to get into my dorm. I set my flowers and caramels on the counter and turn around to find Zayd offering me yet another box. Holy crap. Guess today is my lucky day?

“Any idiot can buy a necklace,” he says proudly, nodding in the direction of the box with his chin. “But check this shit out.” I give him a skeptical look and lift the thin top off the box, finding a sea of colorful truffles underneath. “Homemade, motherfucker.” Zayd flops down on my bed and leans back on his palms.

“You made these?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“I’m taking Practical Skills this semester,” he says, and Miranda interrupts him.

“Translation: home economics for rich kids who’ve never done a load of laundry in their life.” Zayd flips her off, and then leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees.

“Yeah, whatever. But last week was a lesson on making artisan chocolates. As you can see, artisan fucking chocolate.” He pauses as I reach into the box to pluck one out. “Just a warning: there’s about ten milligrams of weed in each one of those.” With a scoff, I drop the chocolate back in the box as he laughs. “Sativa, it’ll keep you going all night long.” Zayd lifts his hips up and makes a dirty undulating motion that I find I like way too much. “You are going to the garden party, right?” he asks, and I shrug. There are too many parties here to keep track of. “You have to go, seriously.” He stands up comes over to stand beside me, plucking a rose from my bouquet, snapping most of the stem off, and tucking it behind my ear. “Come on, Working Girl.”

I sigh, but I know I’m getting dragged into this.

There’s a banquet starting outside at four-thirty with food and drinks and games.

“I’ll go,” I say with a sigh and both Miranda and Zayd get way too excited. Miranda hugs me, and kisses me on the cheek.

“Come back to my place and we’ll get ready together?” I nod as Zayd once again opens my wardrobe and starts digging around inside of it. He emerges with the lemon-printed dress I wore to the Cabot Scholarship Award ceremony, and hands it over to me.

“Why are you always trying to dress me?” I groan as I take the dress from him. As he passes over the hanger, Zayd curls his inked fingers around my wrist and yanks me against him.

“Because you look like a fucking hobo half the time,” he growls, and then he bites my ear, grabs a chocolate, and pops it in his mouth. “Later, ladies. See you in the courtyard.”

Zayd slams the door behind him, and Miranda turns to me like I’ve grown tentacles.

“How are you going to choose?” she whispers, eyes wide, and I gape at her.

“There’s nothing to choose.” I grab the white flats Miranda lent me when we went into town to shop, and stand up, meeting her incredulous look with one of my own. “There’s not. I’ll never forget how shitty these guys treated me.”

“Yeah, but …” she reaches out and taps the necklace with a sort of forlorn expression that I can’t interpret. Once again, I question myself and try to decide if she’s got a thing for Tristan. But no, no, it’s got to be something else, something I’m not getting. “It’s nice to be wanted, right?”

“There’s more to life than boys,” I say, and she lifts her eyes to mine, blue irises sparkling.

“Truer words were never spoken.”

Now … what the hell is that about?

Creed is waiting in the courtyard when we come down, dressed in flouncy spring dresses, my necklace sparkling in the afternoon sunshine. He’s leaning against the garden wall, head thrown back, eyes closed. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the top two buttons on his uniform undone, one foot flat against the wall.

He opens his eyes and turns to us with slow precision, yawning and then stretching his arms over his head, completely and utterly unhurried.

“How many roses did you get?” Miranda demands, putting her hands on the hips of her bright orange dress. It’s citrus themed, too, just like mine, but a good three inches shorter, and two sizes smaller. “Because I’m pretty sure Tristan got a hundred.”

Creed’s face tightens up and he flicks his sister in the forehead, tucking his hands back in his pocket and leaning in close to her.

“I got plenty. I didn’t think to count.” He stands back up and his eyes flick over to me. He doesn’t say thank you, but his eyes sparkle in acknowledgement, and I flush.

“Right. Because you know you got less than he did,” she taunts, but Creed’s ignoring her, looking me up and down.

“I hear you got all sorts of gifts today,” he drawls, and I bite my lower lip.

“Enough.” I can hear people milling around in the garden, the soft sound of classical music spilling over to us along with the gentle sweetness of roses.

“Mm.” Creed circles around me and then puts a hand on the wall near my head. “Fucking vultures,” he says, reaching out to play with a loose strand of my hair. “Would it be apropos if I gave you another gift?”

“You better give her a gift,” Miranda mumbles, her eyes scanning the crowd until she spots Andrew. She gives him a little wave, and then glances back at us. “I’ll give you two a little privacy.” She wanders away with her hands in her dress pockets, as I blush and watch Creed reach up to the top of the garden wall, grabbing something in his long fingers.

When he hands it over to me, I see that it’s a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

“It’s not the handwritten version,” he says with a small grimace, glancing away like he’s ashamed of himself. “But it’s signed.”

I take the book in shaking hands, but I can’t stop the tears that try to fall. They prick my eyes as I turn away and try to blink them off. Creed notices and gives a small half-smile, pausing as Becky Platter marches over to us. She’s like a little Harper clone. Whatever her mistress says or does, she just imitates.

“You think because Zayd made some stupid chocolates for you that you’ve won?” she snaps, and I raise my brows. I haven’t even considered ‘winning’ anything, least of all him. This whole day has just been … weird. “He doesn’t give a shit about you. He just wants to fuck you, so he can say he bagged a virgin.”

I frown. Honestly, that sounds like the complete opposite of Zayd. He’s very vocal on his opinions of virgins. But also … now I know the whole school is aware of my sexual status. Great.

“Becky,” Creed says, nice and slow and quiet, but with a dripping menace that makes me shiver. “Go to hell.” She snaps her gaze over to him, but she’s still fuming. “Zayd spent every day after school in the kitchen this week perfecting those chocolates. He ruined over twenty boxes worth. It’s more than just candy, sweetie. Now get.”

“You don’t control me, Creed Cabot,” Becky snaps, tossing her blond hair. “You’re no higher on the totem pole than I am.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he purrs, pushing off the wall and facing her down.

“And you keep telling yourself that Tristan Vanderbilt isn’t a hundred times better than you, and maybe one day, the world will believe it as much as you do.” Becky spins on her heel and storms off, stilettos clacking against the cobblestones.