“Mm.” Tristan doesn't reply. Instead, he just stands there and looks at the two of us. As I glance over at him, I can't help but wonder: does he want both me and Lizzie the same way I want him and the other boys? What if he loves two girls the same way I … “Marnye, don't do that,” he says, shocking me out of my thoughts. “You'll wrinkle the silk.” Tristan walks over and uncurls my hand from my tie, smoothing his palm down the length of it. In the process, his hands skims over the full mounds of my breasts, and I shiver with barely suppressed need. “We need to look presentable walking into that school.”

Tristan reaches out and curls a length of my rose-gold hair around his finger, leaving a springy ringlet bouncing against my forehead.

“Because we're Bluebloods,” I state, trying to reinforce that fact for myself as much as for Lizzie and Tristan.

“Because it's going to be a social bloodbath,” Tristan corrects, turning toward the mirror and straightening his own tie. He's entirely monotone from head to toe, other than for the red and white academy crest on the breast pocket of his blazer. “Keep your guard up. Both of you.”

The King of Burberry Preparatory Academy turns on his heel and walks out. I'm not exactly keen on carrying on this conversation with Lizzie, so I trot after him, emerging into the bright sun to find a scene worthy of an anime or a manga.

All of my friends—and boyfriends—are standing next to a white academy limo, dressed in their black uniforms, poised in various states of relaxation. There's Creed, leaning back against the side of the car with his eyes closed while Miranda fixes the buttons on his shirt. Zayd is sitting on the trunk of the car while Zack stands nearby, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. Windsor is … somehow on the roof of the limo and not getting chastised by the driver. He has a habit of doing that, getting away with things other people wouldn't.

Andrew waves at me as I jog to catch up with Tristan's long-legged strides. There are a couple of other people there, too, like Briana Chow, Jessie Maker, and Gary Jacobs. It's everyone Tristan recruited to round out the Inner Circle.

Just like the first year I started at Burberry, there are three Idol guys: Tristan, Creed, and Zayd. There are three Idol girls: me, Miranda, and Lizzie. And there are twelve Inner Circle members, including Windsor, Zack, Andrew, Gary, Jessie, and Briana, plus some new faces I don’t know very well yet.

The new Bluebloods of Burberry Prep.

Creed steps aside as I approach, and opens the door for me, blue eyes watching as I slide in across the sumptuous leather seats. He comes in after me, but Zayd's close behind, crawling over to take up the position on my left.

We had sex; I actually had sex with him. My cheeks flame, and I suck my lower lip under my teeth.

“Hey,” he purrs, leaning in close, a huge grin plastered on his face. I can smell his sage and geranium scent mixed with the faint whisper of tobacco as he presses up close against me. “Are you daydreaming about all the naughty things we did?”

“Fuck off, Kaiser,” I choke out, but my mouth twitches slightly at the same time Creed scowls. We didn't just have sex, we were downright fucking naughty. My body tingles as I remember Zayd's tattooed hands on my hips, his pelvis grinding me against the speaker …

If the Marnye Reed I was three years ago could see me now, well, she would be well and truly shocked at the transformation. The thing is, what we did was fun. It was consensual. It felt good. There's nothing wrong with that.

“I'm surprised she didn't dump you immediately after seeing your tiny dick,” Creed drawls on the end of another yawn. “It's so little, at first I thought a girl with a weird clit had snuck into the boys' locker room.”

“Aww,” Zayd purrs, putting his hand over his chest, “that joke might've worked before we slept together, but now that Marnye knows how skilled I am, some virgin boy is going to have serious trouble catching up.”

“Better to be a virgin than some diseased man-whore,” Creed snaps back, but Zayd just throws his head back and howls with laughter. “Seriously, man, screw you.”

Zayd stops laughing just long enough to catch his breath, leaning back against the window that separates us from the driver. He rests his inked fingers against the side of his face and smirks in this smug, satisfied male sort of way that would be infuriating if it wasn't so damn sexy, too.

“Don't be mad that we all know your secret. You kept it well. I was convinced you were an even bigger man-slut than Tristan.”

“Please and kindly, shut the fuck up,” Tristan says, tapping his fingers on his thigh. Lizzie is sitting on his right, but I can't decide if that was by her design, his, or just purely accidental. I remember sitting next to him in the limo last year, and my heart clenches painfully.

“His majesty is trying to think,” Windsor says, speaking up and tapping the side of his head with a single finger. “It's not easy for him, so please, quiet while he concentrates.”

Windsor's newest favorite thing to do is call Tristan his majesty in the most dry and sarcastic voice known to man. It's really heightened the tension between them, and I'm left wondering yet again how long I can do this, keep this ragtag little group of ours together.

“Be nice, Windy,” I tell him, feeling this rush of anxiety sweep over me as the car pulls up to the courtyard steps. The Towers loom above us with their white stone walls, and the flags on the side of tower one whip in the wind. There's an American flag, a California state flag, and a flag that features the academy crest on it. In the center of the courtyard, the bronze stag statue stands proudly, water pouring into the serene circle of the fountain.

“We've got this,” Zack whispers, noticing my expression. He shrugs out of his letterman jacket and passes it over to me, making me smile. I take it and slip into it, his grapefruit and nutmeg scent surrounding me like a familiar hug. All the boys are watching, and none of them looks particularly happy. Even Miranda has her eyes slightly narrowed. Lizzie looks … kind of thrilled, actually.

“Don't show weakness in the halls. Save the squabbles for behind closed doors,” Tristan says as the limo comes to a stop, and Lizzie climbs out ahead of him. He's right behind her, with Miranda, Windsor, and Zack following behind.

“Don't stress,” Creed tells me, his eyes heavy and half-lidded. He curls his fingers through mine and runs his tongue along his lower lip. “Just focus on kicking Tristan's ass in the class rankings again.”

I nod, exhaling and letting Creed pull me from the car while Zayd follows along behind us.

I have to say, we make a fairly impressive entrance, all of us lined up in all black, bookbags held at our sides or over our shoulders as we march across the courtyard and the other students part like a wave.

That is, until we get in the hall and run into my sister.

Half-sister, or otherwise, I can't tell because Dad won't talk about it, but there she is, standing with a group of other first years … and Harper du Pont.

“Not even ten steps in the fucking door, and we gotta deal with this shit,” Zayd growls as he takes off ahead of us. He's not polite when he storms up to them and inserts himself into their little half-circle.

“Good morning, Zayd,” Becky spits out, giving him this poisonous look that sets me on edge. She has no right to look at him like that, especially not after she and her friends tried to drown me, and then attempted to brand me like chattel. “What do you want?”

“When Idols walk, you get the fuck out of the way.” He looks over at Isabella, and she returns his stare with a stony version of her own.

“Make us,” she says, tossing her glossy chestnut hair over one shoulder. Harper smirks, but Zayd's already gritting his teeth and nodding his chin in the direction of our new posse.

“Girls deal with girls, it's the rule,” Tristan tells me, putting his hand out to keep me from moving forward. Briana Chow and one of the new girls, Daisy Sandberg, I think it is, step up and go to grab my sister on either side. Part of me wants to defend her, but the rest of me knows the truth.

She's got that bully blood in her.

And I won't allow bullying at my school, not anymore.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Isabella snarls as Ileana and Becky step in to defend her. The other girls on our side move forward until there's a bit of a stand-off.

For all the Bluebloods we destroyed last year—like Anna, Ebony, Sai, Greg, and John—Harper's recruited new students to take their places. This is looking to turn into a fight, especially when what's left of The Company shows up. Jalen looks ready to kill somebody, to be quite honest. Maybe because we got his girlfriend kicked out of school?

“What's the problem here?” Myron Talbot asks, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. His eyes are dark, and his face is as closed-off as Tristan's ever is. “When the Idols walk, you move.”

“We don't agree that they are the Idols,” Harper says, but even she looks nervous with Myron staring at her like that. He takes a step forward, and all the girls but Isabella and Harper move back.

“This isn't a debate, du Pont. Get your ass, and your new pet's ass out of the way.”