In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,91
her expression unreadable.
I don't know what to say to her. Is there anything I can say really? Anything that'll make it better that is?
“You two …” Lizzie starts, but Tristan steps partially in front of me and cuts her off.
“What we were doing in there is none of your business, Lizzie,” he says, and the way he looks at her, I can tell he's sorry, too. He cares about her, but in the same way he cares about Creed. As a friend. That's it. When he looks back at me, there's a brightness in his eyes that makes me catch my breath.
He turns back to Lizzie again, and I remember his words from before. “I was waiting for you to fight for me.”
I step forward and curl my arm around Tristan's.
“I'm sorry, Lizzie,” I tell her, feeling one of the tight knots in my stomach come undone … and another one reform. “I wanted Tristan to choose between us so badly that I didn't think about asserting myself as much as I should have. I—”
“I love him,” she says, her eyes filling with fat tears that roll down her cheeks and land on the black chest of her uniform. “I love him enough to choose him and only him. So what about you, Marnye? Is Tristan your choice then?”
A flare of fear shoots through me, lighting me up on the inside. Do I choose Tristan? Have I chosen him? But … I can't choose. Not yet. Just the idea of it makes me sick. It's only January; I still have months left to make that decision.
“Don't pressure her,” Creed drawls, appearing from the sea of books with my bag and Tristan's both thrown over his shoulder. He saunters out and pauses beside us. If I didn't know him as well as I do, I might not notice the way his fist clenches around the strap of the bag, or how his ice-blue eyes are dark with jealousy. “She doesn't have to make that decision now.”
“Seriously?” Lizzie asks, looking between Creed and Tristan. “It doesn't bother you that she refuses to pick a guy? Not at all? Because that's all I ever wanted: for Tristan to pick me.” Tristan reaches into his pocket and pulls out his handkerchief, but Lizzie doesn't accept it. Instead, she backs up even further.
“Different things make different people happy,” Creed says, coming to stand beside Tristan. “I've gotten everything I've ever wanted, my entire life, just as I've wanted it. For once, there's a what-if. That's enough for me.”
“This is bullshit,” Lizzie murmurs, running her fingers through her hair. “This is … I can't believe this is happening.”
“Don't do this,” Tristan tells her, but when he moves forward, she moves back again.
“I came to Burberry Prep for you, left all my friends behind. I …” she starts, and then stops, turning on her heel and taking off through the library. One of the librarians yells at her to stop running, but Lizzie ignores her, disappearing from view.
Crap.
I squeeze Tristan's arm hard, and he glances down at me.
“I don't regret my choice,” he says, exhaling and glancing over at Creed with a brief scowl. “Take your time; I don't want you to regret yours.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Creed drawls, but Tristan ignores him, tugging me along by the hand. Creed sighs, but lets us go.
Surprisingly, Tristan takes me back to his dorm, sets me up with fluffy towels, and a shower, and by the time I get out, he's brought some pajamas and clothes up from my room.
“You better not have planted a camera in my dorm,” I whisper as I towel-dry my hair, a black robe wrapped around me. Pretty sure it's Tristan's. Just wearing it gives me a little thrill.
He's sitting on his couch, silhouetted against a long window with a view of nothing but the moon, stars, and the distant rolling hills. He's got a glass of alcohol in one hand, and he looks so much older than eighteen. But in a good way. Like, I can see the sort of man he'll turn out to be in a decade or two.
“Not a chance,” he says, sipping his drink as I come over and sit on the opposite end of the couch, perching myself on the arm. “And just so you know: I wasn't aware we were being filmed in the library. That wasn't a game; it was a moment of weakness.”
I pause for a moment, putting the towel in my lap.