In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,118

but nice.

I stand in the cemetery in Tristan’s black dress, lifting my head to the sky to look at the gently waving limbs of the trees.

“I heard you stopped by to visit Harper at the hospital,” Zayd says, putting his hand over mine. I glance slightly to the right, and force a smile.

“I tried. She’s got burns all over her face. It’s likely she’ll be scarred for her life.” I look back at the fresh patch of dirt in front of me. The crowd is gone, Jennifer and Marley and Isabella are gone. It’s just me, Andrew, Miranda, and the boys.

“Hung with her own rope, huh?” Zayd whispers, and we all go quiet again. There’s not much to say that’ll make things better. In a few weeks, I’ll be attending orientation at Bornstead University, finding my dorm room, imagining my future.

And Charlie … he won’t be there to see any of it.

My eyes fill with tears again, but I bite down hard and hang my head. It doesn’t stop them from falling into my lap as I curl my hands into fists, probably squeezing Zayd’s so hard it hurts. He doesn’t complain. Not at all.

“I made my choice,” I whisper after a few moments. Zack sits down on my other side, and Miranda tugs on Andrew’s hand, pulling him away to give us some privacy.

“Your choice?” Creed asks, his voice soft and unsure.

“I’ve known since we started dating that I couldn’t keep all of you forever,” I say, still looking at the shiny surface of the tombstone. My eyes blur, and grief rackets through me in a painful wave. It’s like getting hit with lightning … over, and over, and over again. For a few minutes here and there, everything seems like it’ll be okay.

The sun still shines.

Birds still sing.

But … then I remember that Dad is gone, and my whole world rearranges itself. Colors don’t seem as bright, music doesn’t seem as pretty.

I look up and see Tristan Vanderbilt staring at me with a soft tenderness in his gray eyes that wasn’t there before. His arm is still in a sling, but he’ll heal. In time, he’ll heal. Maybe my heart … will feel normal again one day, too? Doesn’t seem like it, but I know life goes on, whether I want it to or not.

“You don’t have to do this now,” Windsor says, kneeling down in front of me.

I shake my head.

“But I do.” I stand up, and the boys move aside, so I can approach the grave, kneeling down to lay out a bouquet of white roses in front of it. I’m smiling now, but I’m crying at the same time. “I love you, Dad. Watch over me, okay?”

I stand up and turn around to see the five of them staring at me.

They’re all so beautiful, each in their own way. I know in my heart that the streaks of wicked darkness inside each of them are still there, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take. All human beings are capable of being cruel … they’re also capable of loving.

And I see love reflected back at me in five pairs of eyes.

“I was thinking … if this were a manga,” I start, sitting down on Dad’s headstone and pretending for just a moment that I’m five years old again, and sitting in his lap. My left hand clamps over the charm bracelet hanging off my right wrist. “If this were a manga—a reverse harem manga, to be exact—then I’d probably pick … Tristan.”

The boys shift uncomfortably, exchanging weird glances.

“You’re not?” Creed asks, voice still hopeful.

“If it were a manga though, I’d pick him but he’d leave me for Lizzie.” Tristan makes a small sound under his breath, but I don’t look at him. Instead, I’m staring at the shiny toes of my shoes. “Windsor would end up dead, probably killed trying to save me from the Harpies and the Company.”

“Ah, so that’s to be my fate,” he whispers, voice mildly amused but respectful.

“Creed would go overseas to live in Paris and be a writer who spends most of his time lounging at outdoor cafes.” My smile gets a little wider, but I can still taste the salt from my tears. “Zayd would become the biggest rock star the world has ever seen, and although he’d still love me, he’d disappear on a world tour, and I’d marry Zack. We’d go to Bornstead U, and he’d play football, and I’d cheer—badly—while I worked on my four year