is—”
“Don’t blame your actions on the Club,” I tell him, finally finding my voice again. My breath comes in short, sharp, little pants. “Don’t do it. If you have something to say to me, then say it. But don’t stand there and hide behind the club.”
Tristan scowls, but then shakes his head, his raven-dark hair fluttering in the breeze. If I tilt my head just slightly, I can see the Eiffel Tower, standing proud in the pale blue afternoon sky. He takes another step closer to me and then raises his hands to my shoulders, laying his palms gently on them. My body tingles at the touch.
“Marnye,” he starts, sounding so different than usual, almost eager, almost … sorry. “I’m—”
“Well, well, didn’t realize you two were so close,” Windsor’s voice calls out, and I swear, there’s a sudden flash of rage in Tristan’s gaze before a wall smashes down his emotions. I watch in desperate sadness as he locks away whatever he was going to say, and drops his arms to his sides before turning to glare at the prince. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m content to stand here and watch.” Windsor smiles, but it isn’t pleasant. He’s clearly plotting right now. As much as I like him, I always have to remember that I’m walking on a razor’s edge. He’s as dangerous as the rest of them.
“What are you even doing here?” Tristan growls, that practiced self-control of his slipping for a moment. “And I don’t mean at the Eiffel Tower: I mean on this trip, period.”
Windsor shrugs his shoulders, palms up and out, in a helpless little who me? sort of a pose. He tucks his hands in his pockets, kicks at a stray pebble, and saunters over to us, his posture screaming nonchalance. The thing is, I’ve known him for months now, and I can see a tightness around his mouth that isn’t normally there.
“Well, I live purely for the conquest of leisure and enjoyment. And what is Paris, if not the city of excess?” Windsor’s smile slips as the wind rustles his red hair. His hazel eyes are all for Tristan; he barely looks at me. A moment later, his mood snaps, and he’s smiling again. “Besides, I’m the student guide, remember? I lived in Paris for three years. That, and I’ve spent every summer here since I was three.”
The boys are on either side of me, both substantially taller, both handsome but in different ways. My gaze flicks between the two of them, and my pulse picks up speed. I feel almost lightheaded, trapped between two worlds. American royalty and British royalty. It’s a stand-off for the ages, that’s for sure.
Suddenly and without warning, both boys launch their hands at my wrists, gripping me almost too hard. Windsor is on my right and Tristan on my left. I’m left blinking stupidly and wondering why they’re gripping me for dear life.
Tristan’s gray eyes narrow to slits and Windsor smiles nice and wide, but scary. The former says something in French, words that roll off the tongue as easily in the language of love as they do in English. Windsor listens, flicks his attention my way, and then looks back at Tristan. His response is just as lovely, flowing with ease off his tongue. I catch a few words and phrases: la petite amie, belle, and elle est à moi. Or … I think that’s what I catch. But that’s about it. I don’t even know what any of it means.
“Marnye, choose,” Tristan declares, his chin held high, his dark hair obscuring his brows as its tousled in the breeze. “Pick one of us to go with. Right now.”
I gape, and my mouth parts in surprise. Choose? Between my enemy-turned-bet and my new friend? Surely Tristan isn’t egotistical enough to think I’d pick him. Besides, I already made a ‘choice’ once, and it didn’t exactly go over well for me. Before I can even process the thought, Tristan’s grip tightens, but Windsor’s loosens, and he lets go of me suddenly, leaving a cool space where his hand had rested seconds earlier.
He says something else in French, and Tristan’s eyes flash with triumph, but then Windsor tucks his hands in his pockets and leans down to put his lips near my ear. When he speaks, his mouth brushes my earlobe and I shiver.
“I won’t make you choose, love, not today.” He chuckles and I shiver. “But if you really want your vengeance, slip this in his pocket when