In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep, #4)

by C.M. Stunich

“I've already said my piece: the girl is a snake in the grass. Get a fucking lawnmower, Marnye.” Miranda

“I know. But what's done is done. Lizzie can either back off, or I can make her back off. Now, try this dress on and let's see if we can get five guys to get boners all at once.” “Oh, well, that's romantic,” I mutter, but now I'm smiling, too. Lunch with the guys sounds exactly like what I need right now.

“Now, it’s because you’re a person who isn’t swayed by the easy things in life. You demand heart and sacrifice, kindness, generosity. Those sorts of acts aren’t easy. I admire you in a way I’ve never admired anyone else.”

“There’s a purity in you that very well might cancel out the darkness in me. Marnye, I’m not ashamed to admit it: I want you, and I’m willing to fight for the privilege of calling you mine.” “Do

“Only because you don't think you're going to be around,” I grind out, feeling this dark desperation creep over me. I'm starting to realize that I'm a bit of a control freak, but … Dad's illness, that's one thing I can't control. That's one aspect in my life I can't just soldier through. I need him. I need him to see me graduate not just Burberry Prep, but also Bornstead U. I need him to see me get married. I need him to see me succeed. He sacrificed so much for me; I want him to know that I'm putting forth all my effort to make his sacrifices count.

“You're on,” Charlie says, giving me a kiss on the forehead before he heads for the convertible, cursing under his breath and running his hand along the door before he climbs in and takes off. “He's dying, you know,” I tell Zack as Dad drives away. “I know,” he whispers, and since Charlie's gone, I give myself a few minutes to cry while Zack holds me. He does it so gently, so selflessly … I'm positive then that I've well and truly forgiven him.

liken Zayd to a poisonous tree frog (I’ve told him this, by the way) because he’s very pretty to look at, but he’s deadly to touch.

“That’s my girlfriend’s other boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend,” Zayd says, and his friends look at him like he’s lost his damn mind. “Yeah, I forgot to mention that I’m like, poly or something now.” Zayd gestures in the direction of the table with his chin. “Starting with the English bloke on the end, that’s Windsor, you guys know Creed, Zack the football douche, and then Tristan.” “Your girlfriend has five boyfriends?” Blond Tips asks, and Zayd shrugs. I can feel his inked fingers digging into my thigh, and it’s making me feel warm in places that don’t need heating up in my current situation. “About time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. Welcome, Marnye, I’m Aiden. The ass with the blue hair is Benji, just the like dog—” “Hey, fuck you,” Benji says, grabbing

raise my brows as I step out, and they all scatter as Zayd stands up, his eyes widening when he sees me. He’s still wearing the Feminist AF tank, but he’s jazzed up his hair and added a dash of eyeliner. “Marnye fucking Reed,” he growls, moving over to the top of the steps and cupping his hands around his mouth. “Make way for the Idols, folks. Your queen has arrived.” Zayd takes me by the arm, leaving Miranda and Lizzie behind us as we come down the steps.

The other boys are waiting at the bottom of the staircase, fanned out in various states of dress: a blazer, t-shirt, and slacks for Tristan; tight shirt and jean shorts for Zack; what I swear to God is a polo uniform for Windsor; and a loose white button-up that’s most definitely not buttoned up for Creed.

“Your Majesty, indeed. Marry me and make it official. No pre-nup. You can have half my fortune if we ever get divorced.”

“Nice guys don’t say that they’re nice guys,” I tell him, and he smiles, leaning in to pen me against the door with an arm on either side, the cluster of guitar pic necklaces he’s slipped around his neck swinging forward in the space between us. “Nah, you’re right: I’m a total asshole. Here’s the thing though …” Zayd pauses and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I like you enough to try. So,” he stands back up and folds his muscular arms over his chest. “Here’s me, trying. Probably failing, but at least the effort’s there.”

“This next song, I wrote for my girlfriend.” He points an inked finger in my direction and beckons me out toward him, past the safety of the curtain and into the spotlight. “Go!” Miranda encourages, pushing me out and making me stumble slightly before Zayd is there, grabbing me by the hand and dragging me into the center of the stage. There’s some slight booing from some of the girls, annoying catcalls from some guys, but overall, the crowd seems pretty positive. “Marnye Reed, y’all.” Zayd is panting as he lifts my arm up high, and I give a little wave to the audience. “She put up with my bullshit, and my bullying, and this song … it’s just for fucking her, okay?” He laughs and the sound travels through me like a shot, warming me up from my very core. “You can listen, but it’s not for you.” Zayd chucks some of his rubber arm bracelets into the crowd, the ones that say Afterglow Fangirl on them, before turning to me. “This is a new song, okay? So apologies in advance if I fuck this all the way up.” This last part is said with the switch on his mic turned off.

I nod and Zayd exhales, reaching up to turn on his mic. Tattooed fingers rest above the pearly white piano keys, and he starts off with a slow, easy melody that has the crowd swaying with lighters in their hands. His band backs him up with a rougher, more gritty sound that pairs beautifully with the lilting piano notes. “I’ll never be a nice guy, and I’ll never be a saint, but if you’re game to let me try, I’ll make a valiant change. If you could only love me for the asshole that I am, then I swear to God I’d be the man you want to claim.” Zayd pauses and lifts his hands off the keys, glancing back at his band. “Okay, guys, hit it.” The other three boys hit their instruments hard, rocking the stage as Zayd stands up on the bench, taking his mic with him. “I’m sorry, Marnye, but I do feel bad,” he croons, sitting down on the top of the piano, sweat dripping down the beautiful inked planes of his skin as he rakes his fingers through his hair and makes it stand up straight. “If there’s any chance of trust, can you give me another chance? There’s so much fear inside, no place to hide. But can you see the real me?” I’m such a sucker for a good apology, I think as Zayd reaches out, takes my hand, and pulls me into his lap. He’s so freaking warm, and he’s shaking, too, fueled by the adrenaline of the crowd. I swear, it transfers into me as I sit there, listening to him sing a song he wrote, feeling the bass and the drums pummel through my body.

“Just barely. There were quite a few other offers—and not all of them from pleasant or even neutral parties.” Windsor smiles at me, but it lacks some of his usual glitter. He’s exhausted. Whatever is going on behind the scenes, it’s wearing him down. And I don’t want that. I don’t want him working himself to the bone for me. “I just paid ten times what your house is worth.” Windsor laughs and scrubs a palm down his face. “Harper really, really wanted it.”

“You’re not going to raise the rent, are you?” I ask, but it’s just a joke. My heart is thundering in my chest, and I just … I want to hug him. So I do. I slide my arms around his waist, and give him a squeeze. He returns the gesture, and then places a ring of keys in my hand.

“Yes,” Lizzie groans, putting her hands over her face. She drops them by her side and stares me down, exhaling. “I … don't take this the wrong way, but … dating five guys is kind of unusual, right?”

“Get the fuck out of the way; I'm warning you.” Myron crosses his arms over his chest, and I sense violence coming like a storm. I step forward and everyone turns to look at me.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and I nod. “Even with your sister trying to team up with the Harpies?” “She's hurting,” I tell him, glancing his way and meeting the narrowed dark slits of his eyes. He looks so tough all the time, with his big, broad shoulders, and that fierce gaze of his, but underneath, he's like a teddy bear. A defensive lineman teddy bear. Yep. “Once she gets past that, she'll see the Harpies for who they are.” I turn back around and look down, watching the wave of faces that turn as Harper marches into the chapel with her cronies behind her, and takes up the front

damn hot.” “Uh-uh.” I put my palms on his chest and push him back just enough to look him over. He really is beautiful, his hair like dark chocolate, his eyes just as decadent, his body hard and toned to perfection. He’s certainly come a long way from the bully of Lower Banks Middle School, now hasn’t he? “So you have a thing for cheerleaders, huh? Good to know. I’ll have to keep an eye on you.”

Aaaaand, there it is. You’re letting Harper win, letting her get to you. This is exactly the sort of poison dart she meant to throw. Exhaling and squaring my shoulders, I take off toward the limo and climb in. When Tristan gets in behind me, I scoot right onto his lap, grab his face in my hands and kiss him. The sensation of our mouths touching is sharp, almost painful, like he’s cutting me with a knife and making me bleed, but then healing me right after. Pain, pleasure. Sharpness, soothing. A dichotomy. Tristan Vanderbilt’s mouth, much like Zayd Kaiser’s tattoos, is a warning. I’m hot and wild, and desperate for your touch … but stay away from me or you’ll taste my venom. With a groan, I pull away from him, and he looks at me like I might be the most confusing thing he’s ever encountered in his entire life. “I hate football games,” he tells me, but he lets me pull him out of the car anyway, leaving me only when I’m safely deposited next to Coach Hannah.

“We got it,” I tell him as Windsor appears over the railing above us, leaning over to tickle my hair. “I’ve ordered you a cup of tea,” he says, glancing back at the counter. “And I’ve warned the barista of the consequences of failing. Join me?” He stands back up, and I nod, grabbing Creed’s hand … and then Tristan’s. I pull him away from Lizzie, but not before I see her lips part in surprise. The way she frowns when she joins us at the table a few moments later tells me that that one small action was a bold move in her eyes. I can only imagine that things might amp up from here on out.

“It’s hard, to watch someone you love suffer, isn’t it?” Windsor asks, and I remember that his dad passed away a long time ago. I’ve never asked why. It seemed too personal of a question. Maybe … I could ask in private sometime? “Come to my family’s estate in Napa. We’ll be celebrating … what is that grisly American holiday that celebrates genocide and racism, Thanksgiving is it? … yes, we’ll be celebrating Thanksgiving there. Mother will be attendance, if stuffy princesses are your sort of thing.”

“Question: is Lizzie Walton invited?” he asks, and then both boys turn to look at me. I pretend to be too busy sipping my tea to answer that. I want to know their opinions on the matter … “Oh come on, Marnye, don’t tell me her constant hounding of Tristan doesn’t piss you off.” “I, well …” I’m in polite company, so I may as well … “Okay, yeah, it frustrates me. I can’t get a second alone with him. She’s literally always there.” “We’ll make sure her invitation gets lost in the mail then,” Windsor says, standing up and then smiling at the pair of us. “Take your time finishing the tea. I’m in desperate need of a shower.” He starts toward his room and disappears inside, leaving the door cracked. I can hear the water when he turns it on, but I can’t see anything.

“Forgive her. She speaks ten languages, but Japanese is not one of them.” Wind sighs and holds out a hand to indicate his mother. “Princess Alexandra Mary Elizabeth Windsor, formerly Alexandra Duchess of Westminster. And yes, she was most certainly taking the piss when she named me.”

“Tristan’s father, William, is now married to Lizzie’s mother’s best friend.” He takes another sip of his wine as I gape at him. “She’s a wealthy heiress to a massive hotel chain. The entire reason the Waltons didn’t want their daughter with a Vanderbilt—that is, their endless void of debt—is not so important now. It’s going to get paid off.” “Lizzie told me she won a bet against her parents, so that they’d consider Tristan …”

“And she did, and they did. The marriage only just happened last week; I’m probably one of the first to know about it.” He finishes his wine and sets his glass down. “So … Tristan could choose Lizzie, if he wanted. And maybe then, his father would take him back?”

“Zack’s family want him with someone presentable, someone with good blood. Probably one of the very girls you’ve already ousted from the school—or will oust, more than likely.” “Why are you telling me all this?” I ask, looking up at him again, a veritable god draped in sunlight and quiet cruelty. He’s telling me this because he wants me to know how hard their choice would be, if they were really and truly to pick me.

“Creed, well, you could probably have Creed if you wanted. Easily. Kathleen is essentially a Pleb herself, a self-made woman. She likes you, a lot. They seem like a nice family, too.” “Seriously, Windsor?” I snap, standing up and feeling my breath come in sharp pants. I’m not sure why I’m so angry. Maybe because the little bubble of Burberry is popping, and it feels like the world is rushing in to drown me?

“And Zayd, well, his grandmother won’t like you, but she doesn’t like her son much anyway either. Zayd could be with you, if he really wanted, but do you trust someone like that? A rock star?” Wind moves aroun...

“Then there’s me. I have my own fortune passed down to me from my father. It’s more than enough to live on, and have fun with, too. We can do all sorts of things together, Marnye, if you wanted.”

“We’re only eighteen,” I whisper, looking away. My heart betrays me, pounding too hard, beating too fast. I feel lightheaded, almost dizzy. “Who says I have to choose a life partner now?” “Nobody. But we both know that when school ends, everyone will scatter, and that’ll be it. You might not have to choose a life partner, but you have to pick a thread to follow.”

“No. I don’t give ultimatums to friends. Milady, I don’t care what you do with the other boys. If you want me to stick around, I’m here. I’ll give you whatever you want. And if what you want is to tangle those threads around your fingers, and drag them to Bornstead, fine. I’m trying to tell you that I’m not the problem.” “You’re saying you don’t care if I keep dating them, even in college?” My voice comes out a cracked whisper, half strangely hopeful but also broken and melancholic. Because college seems so far away, and I know that even if somehow, Windsor is offering me an impossible chance, I won’t get this from everybody.

“That’s what I’m saying. I’ve had my share of girls. The only one I really liked before you, she did to me what I’d done to dozens of others. I know I have sins to repent for, and giving you what you want isn’t one of them. Let’s go to Bornstead together, and I’ll hold your hand, even if someone else is holding onto the other side.”

“Sir,” Zayd says, shaking out his shoulders and exhaling. “I understand your concern, but I want you to know that … I’m in love with your daughter.” He grits his teeth, like this is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. “I have been since Halloween of first year, I just … we’re all mixed up in a bunch of bullshit.”

“But we’re trying to get out of it,” Zack adds, looking at Charlie. “I won’t let anything like what happened during first year happen again. I’m in love with your daughter, too, and … I can never say enough about how sorry I am over what occurred in middle school. I’m willing to spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it.”

“I’d also like to take this moment to profess my love,” Windsor says, putting his palm over his heart and lifting his chin. “It’s a royal proclamation.”

“I love your daughter, too,” he says, and I swear, if there was a single spot on my body that wasn’t red, it would be now.

How the hell am I supposed to choose now? Fuck you, love. Like, seriously, fuck you.

How the hell am I going to manage an entire harem of bullies for the rest of the year? Guess only time will tell that.

“I had you on my list, you know, for revenge.” I stand up and gather my things in my arms, my bookbag clutched in tight fingers as I look over and meet Lizzie’s eyes. “But you were so heartbroken when you saw Tristan and Harper engaged that I couldn’t do it anymore. That was it. I thought you were hurting enough. But if I’d wanted to, I could’ve gone a lot further. Look, I’m giving you a fair shot at him because I want him to be the one to make the decision, but what you did to me was wrong. I hope you truly realize that.”

“Why do you like those boy-on-boy comics so much? Do you have fantasies you haven’t told me about?” “Yes, I’d love to see you topped by Tristan Vanderbilt, but that’s not going to happen. What will happen if you don’t study, is me going to college with your sister, and you going home to sleep a gap year away in the Hamptons.”

“What do you think about me and Lizzie?” Tristan asks carefully, his voice like velvet, his smell like cinnamon. His warmth transcends the distance between us, making me shiver. “What do …” I start, thinking about the way he used to look at her, like she was his long-lost love who'd galloped away on a different knight's horse. But … that was the way he used to look at her, right? I try to think of the last time I saw his gaze soften in her direction. It’s been awhile, that’s for sure. “What do you mean?” “Do you want me to get with her? Do you ship me and Lizzie for some reason? Because I swear to God, it feels like you do sometimes.” He stares at me so hard that I feel like all my inhibitions are being shed like a banana peel, stripping right down and leaving my pale yellow flesh quivering. Whoa. That was a totally weird metaphor. Scratch that. Pretend I never said anything at all.

“Right. So why are you so pro-Lizzie?” he demands, and I blink back in confusion. “And why do you smell so damn good?” he adds, almost under his breath, glancing to the side for a moment before looking back at me. “I'm not pro-Lizzie,” I tell him, and there it is. All these feelings come rushing to the surface, and I can't seem to hold them back. “I've … I wanted to be friends with her. And I felt selfish. She loves you so much, and I'm dating five guys, and …” “So fucking what?” Tristan slams his palm against the bookshelf, still clinging to my wrist with his other hand. “You're dating five guys because we all refuse to let you go. What does that have to do with Lizzie? You want to trade me like a baseball card, so she doesn't feel left out?”

“You were waiting for me …” I start as he looks up at the tin ceiling tiles above us. “I was waiting for you to fight for me,” he says, turning back to look at me, his gaze slashed through with violent heat that seems to ripple in the air between us. “What's that old saying? Don't be so sweet that people will eat you up, and don't be so bitter they spit you out?” He pauses and exhales. “Sometimes I think you're too sweet. But then I wonder if it's my job to be your bitter.”

“I might be cruel, but I'm selfish, too. I want you too much to let you go.” Tristan puts his hands on my hips, and I feel my body start to quiver. The tension between us is making me sick. “It kills me to know they've all touched you, that they've all been inside of you …” His voice softens, but seems to get darker at the same time, like velvet shadows wrapping me up in a cocoon. “Every crush of yours but me …”

“They can piss somewhere else,” he growls, kissing me again. The heat between us amps up, and I feel myself giving in finally, losing everything I am and everything I have to Tristan Vanderbilt.

“I love you, Marnye Reed,” he whispers in my ear, just as my climax hits like a wave and shatters me to pieces, body, heart, and soul.

“I haven’t decided. I … I know you guys are probably desperate for me to make up my mind, but give me until graduation day. If I’m not dead by midnight, then I’ll … make a choice.” It’s meant to be dark humor, but like Charlie’s attempt, it just sort of falls flat.

“You picked me once,” Zayd whispers, and the yearning in his voice makes my heart ache. “Do it for me one more time.” He points at the Never Again tattoo on the side of his neck. “I’ll never hurt you again. You’ll be my little rock princess.” He pauses, nibbles at his lower lip. “No, you’ll be my rock goddess. We’ll travel the world together, and we’ll fuck in every country at least once.” My mouth curves into a smile, and I feel tears prick at the edges of my eyes. I’m not sure why. They’re just there, and I can’t stop them. “We have chemistry like nobody’s business. Stay friends with the other guys, I don’t care, but nobody can fuck like me and you.”