In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,61
sure, why not?” Creed sits up and narrows his eyes on his tea. “Fucking boiled plant water with milk and sugar in it. Forgive me if I’m not overly impressed.”
Windsor’s nostrils flare and his own hazel eyes narrow.
“Would you like me to rescind my invitation?” he whispers, his voice edging on dangerous. “Insult the queen’s beverage again, and I’ll be forced to defend the drink of my country.”
Creed looks up at him, and then tilts his head to one side.
“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.
“Come back to my room with me,” Creed whispers, and the sound makes me shiver all over. Doubly so when he runs his finger down the back of my neck. It’s in that moment that Windsor happens to pause in a spot where I can see him undressing, dropping his clothes to the floor and revealing a lithe, muscular form that has my entire body going up in flames.
He sees me looking, smirks, and then walks over to shove the door closed.
“Okay,” I tell Creed, finding it suddenly hard to talk as I glance over at him. “Absolutely. Yes.”
A slow, sultry smirk curves over his mouth as he stands up and takes my hand. I make sure to reach out, grab his teacup and finish off his drink before we go. Don’t want to piss the prince off, now do we?
Creed and I head back to his room and end up late for class the next morning.
It’s worth it though, oh so worth it.
It’s only about a two hour drive from Cruz Bay to Napa Valley where the Royal Vineyard and Princess Winery is located. They produce almost thirty thousand bottles per year and have their own shop with specialty cheeses and smoked meats.
The drive itself is gorgeous, rolling hills of grapes on either side of us, trees lining the road, the sun shining up above. The Maserati drives like a dream, and Dad sings the Police for almost an hour before his voice gives out, and he stares out at the hills in quiet contemplation.
When we arrive at the gate, I punch in the code Windsor gave me, and take the winding dirt road up to the gorgeous chateau on the top of the hill. Wind jokingly told me via text oh, I don’t live in the main house—I live in the garden followed by several laughing emojis. In my mind, I somehow imagined like, this old brick shack with a fireplace. Small, but cozy. Just a few guest bedrooms that we’d all have to cram into … But then we pass behind the main house and find another that’s only slightly smaller, but just as nice waiting in the sunshine, olive trees clustered near the front door.
Windsor’s waiting on the porch with a box of those sparkling ciders that my dad likes so much.
First, of course, we’re frisked by security, and our luggage is hauled away for examination.
“Mr. Reed,” Wind greets, giving Charlie a gentle hug. “I’m glad you and your beautiful daughter could make it.”
“You’re a sweet boy, Windsor,” Dad says, and I raise my eyebrows. If he only knew … “Is your mother around? I’d love to not only thank her, but I did promise Jennifer I’d get her to sign this picture.” Dad reaches into his pocket, and I hate to see how much his hand shakes as he pulls out a photo of Princess Alexandra, one of the reigning queen’s granddaughters.
“She’s in the house. I’ll take you to meet her if you’d like.”
“Where’s everyone else?” I ask as we make our way to the back door of the chateau. It’s slightly ajar, and there’s a white cat sitting there, licking its