In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,86
will be. Don’t try that kill them with kindness crap with me. It doesn’t work.” She lifts her chin and tosses her hair. “I am nothing like you. I … am a Carmichael.”
“A simple DNA test would prove otherwise,” I tell her, and she stands up, nostrils flaring.
“You know, I only came in here because I felt sorry for you.” She tosses her hair in a shiny wave. “My friends and I were getting together for a study thing yesterday, and on our way past the girls’ chapel bathroom, Sharon announced she had to pee. We all took a detour, and well. It’s not looking good for you.”
“Just spit it out,” I murmur, leaning back in my chair and rubbing at my temple. Talking to Isabella makes me feel sick, like looking at a shattered illusion that’s now become distorted in a funhouse mirror.
“Tristan was in there, you know. Him and that Lizzie girl.” My mind flashes back to that moment when I found Tristan and Kiara in that same bathroom, and a wave of nausea sweeps over me. “We walked in and found him fucking your friend. Doesn't that bother you?”
“Get out.” I rise to my feet and look her dead in the eye. “This is my school, my dining hall. Leave.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but—”
“Out. Now.”
Isabella smirks, and even though I know she’s doing this to bait me … it’s working. She rises to her feet, turns, and sashays her way out of The Mess, leaving bullshit and lies in her wake. Little sister, what the hell am I going to do with you?
Her words stab through me like a knife, and I feel myself bleeding emotions all over the floor.
“Are you okay?” Zayd asks, hopping back up on the dais and leaning down to look into my face.
It takes me several breaths to get control of myself, but I manage it. Just barely, but I do, looking up and into Zayd’s beautiful eyes. Even if Tristan’s chosen Lizzie, I’ll be okay, won’t I? I have Zack and Creed, Windsor and Zayd. It’ll just make my choice twenty-percent easier, right?
So why the fuck does it hurt so much?
“I’m okay,” I tell him, taking his inked fingers and giving them a squeeze. It’s just rumors and gossip, that’s all that it is. Secrets like this are what caused so much damage with the former Bluebloods. Lies and bullshit.
I can’t take it seriously, not unless I talk to Tristan about it.
“You sure?” Zayd asks, kneeling down to look into my face. “Because if I have to kick that little girl’s ass to keep you happy, I’ll do it.”
“I know you would,” I say with a laugh, kicking out the chair Isabella was using and gesturing to it. “Now sit down, and let’s talk Becky Platter.”
Tristan is shoving binders back onto the library shelf in a fury. Clearly, he's upset about something, but I can't seem to figure out what it is.
“Are you angry with me?” I ask, trying and failing not to think about that moment in the library during first year when I reached up to grab that book without any panties on under my skirt …
“What on earth gave you that idea?” he deadpans, shelving the last book and moving back over to the table to write a note on his tablet. He jams the stylus into the screen in a way that makes me cringe.
“You've barely spoken to me in weeks. You sit next to Lizzie in The Mess every time we eat together, and …” I pause, my eyes tearing up even though I don't want them to. I told myself I would let Tristan make his own choice. If he has then …
He stops and turns to look at me, silver eyes blazing. There's fury in them that just barely reaches the surface. I can sense it, all of that anger boiling inside. He is really and truly angry with me, that much I know for sure now.
“Do you really want to know, Charity?” he asks, getting that vicious twist in his voice that he used to lash out at me so much during first year. Tristan steps forward and slams his palms into the shelf on either side of me, breathing hard. His blazer button is open, the two halves of his jacket hanging down as he stares at me from under a fall of shiny raven hair. “Because the very fact that I have to tell you is what's