In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,52
kings and queens. What do you think? You can wear the crown we got for your birthday. It’s the perfect eff you to Harper, seeing as she and her cronies are trying to coin the term Reigning Royals. So stupid. The Idols and their Inner Circle have ruled this school since …” She pauses and then grimaces slightly, looking to me for confirmation.
“Since it was coined by William Vanderbilt the First, in 1919?” I suggest, and Miranda squeals, throwing her arms around my neck and giving me a sweet-scented kiss on my cheek.
I don’t miss Zack’s dark look as he studies me though.
He says he doesn’t care what his family thinks, but maybe he does?
And I’m sure he’s not the only one.
“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” I ask Windsor as we stand inside a bridal shop in Lujo, and I watch the tenth in line to the English throne get a pink bridesmaid dress fitted to his lithe, muscular body. He glances over his shoulder at me, red hair sticking up, hazel eyes twinkling.
“Go right ahead, my darling,” he says as the attendant stands up and excuses herself to grab some more pins. She looked at us like we were crazy when we wandered in here looking to get a dress fitted to a teenage boy as a Halloween costume, even more so when she recognized Windsor and then started frantically texting her friend behind the counter.
Word of this will be all over the Internet by dinnertime. Wind says he doesn’t care, but maybe he does, just not in the way others might think. He might not be ashamed, but he certainly does care: he wants everyone to know just how irreverent he is.
“Why didn’t your mother come to Parents’ Week?” I ask as Windsor examines his dress in the mirror, smoothing his hands down the glittery bodice. He said royals was really a boring theme unless he could dress up like a princess. “I’ve been a prince all my life, what fun is that?” So now both he and Andrew are going in drag. The latter is currently in the dressing room, testing out his pale blue gown.
“My mother?” Windsor asks, frowning, and then shrugging his shoulders like it doesn’t matter much either way. “Too busy being a beloved princess, I suppose. The press worships her, you know. They talk about what she wears to every event, who she dates, how she fucking smiles.” Wind flashes an angry grin, one that’s half mirth, half simply gritting his teeth. “She can barely take a shit without the media snapping photos of her asking what toilet paper she uses. What a horrible existence. Can you only imagine?”
Windsor turns back to the mirror, and puts his hands on his hips, pouting his lips and giving this sassy little sway.
“That bothers you, doesn’t it?” I ask, stepping up on the dais next to him and fluffing his skirt. “Having to share your mom with the world?” Wind’s eyes slide over to me, and he raises his eyebrows at me.
“You think that’s what bothers me?” he asks, smiling sharply. “Oh bloody hell, love. No. It terrifies me, a life like that, having every move amplified until it means a hundred times more than it rightfully should. I don’t want people looking at me like some sort of community pillar.” He turns back to the mirror, pausing as Andrew comes out and plants his own hands on his hips.
The dress … actually looks really good on him, like passably good. He makes a very fishy drag queen (fishy is like … womanly; I have no idea where the term come from, but that’s what it is).
“You should apply for RuPaul’s Drag Race,” I squeal, putting my hands over my mouth. With just the wig, the padding, and the dress, Andrew Payson really does look a little like a princess.
“I feel like I’m always in drag anyway,” he mumbles, studying himself in the five-way mirror. “Okay, we’ll take it.” He nods at the seamstress as she comes out of the back with a fresh pin cushion. She pauses to help Andrew undo the back of his gown, and I study Wind’s tight, stoic expression.
I’ve just barely scratched the surface of Windsor York, but I feel like I have to know more. I need to know more.
I move out of the way, so he can finish up his dress fitting, and then I take a turn of my own.