Bad, Bad Bluebloods(Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,81

boat into a harbor and severely injuring several partygoers.

Also, no surprise: he’s a major lothario. He’s slept with dozens of famous people already, and he’s only sixteen. Apparently, he’s a major scandal to the crown. So while he technically has a fortune of his own, his mother is still legally in charge of his person until he turns eighteen. Fascinating.

That weekend, gossip about a party in the woods has spread like wildfire. It’s not a club party, but it is being sponsored by the Idols. Surprisingly, I open my door to a knock on Saturday morning and find Windsor York waiting for me. He’s dressed in a loose blue shirt with a V-neck, jeans, and what look like brown riding boots.

“Good morning, ma chère,” he says, but I’m not impressed. I’ve heard him call, like, six other girls ma chère. Although I have to say, his French is impeccable. “Did you get my texts last night?” I nod, and do my best not to smile. Windsor’s been sending me all sorts of amazing articles with prank ideas that I could use on the Idols. They’re a bit extreme for my tastes—remember: let them hang themselves with their own rope—but I appreciate the effort. The prince seems to have taken this whole revenge thing on with a gusto. “And did you get my voice message this morning? It’s rude to ask a lady out via text, so I’ve improvised and simply texted a recording of my voice.”

“How … debonair of you,” I choke, but I’m smiling anyway. “No, I haven’t checked my texts. Where, exactly, are you inviting me?” His eyes sparkle as he stands up straight and raises an eyebrow at my cracked bedroom door. With a sigh, I step back and let him in. He takes in the room with a single sweep of his eyes before spinning back to me. His red hair is nice and clean, and sticking straight up in the front. I’m not sure how though because I don’t see any gel. Guess it’s just a random quirk of his.

“Whenever I transfer schools—and I transfer schools a lot—I always make sure to hit the first party of the year running. I hear there’s one in the woods? Not quite my usual scene, but I’ll take it.” I smile as I head into the kitchenette area to make some tea. Windsor watches me plop a Lipton tea bag into a cup of lukewarm water and toss it into the microwave.

He looks like he might puke.

“Most of the Bluebloods are banned from going off campus for the remainder of the year,” I explain as I press the buttons on the microwave. Without skipping a beat, Windsor reaches over my shoulder and grabs my hand, gently pulling me back. He then goes about pulling out a kettle from one of the cabinets, filling it with water, and putting it on the single burner stove. “What are you doing?”

“Making you a proper cup of tea.” He crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t be a proper English bloke if I allowed that”—he points at the microwave and sneers—“to be consumed in my presence. Don’t you stupid Americans know how to make tea the right way?”

“There’s a right way?” I ask, and he groans, putting his face into his hands. He’s like a caricature of a prince, all over-the-top, sweeping bows, speaking in French. It’s almost too much. And yet, I kinda like it anyway. “Well, excuse me. I grew up in an abandoned Train Car on instant ramen noodles and pb&j sandwiches. My mom abandoned me and my dad when I was a kid, and we did the best we could.” Windsor slowly parts his hands to peer out at me, and I realize I’ve just done it again: showed him all my damn cards.

Crap.

“Welllllll,” he drawls, dragging out the L in that word far past it’s usual point, “even if you’ve committed an atrocity against crown and kingdom with your god-awful tea, you seem to have turned out alright. Most people suck on the dick of money like it’ll come cash in their mouths and make them rich. You seem … beyond despondent, more disgusted. I quite enjoy that.”

“The dick of money?” I ask as the kettle starts to steam and Windsor pulls it off the stove with a pot holder I never use. He looks through my cabinets and finds the loose leaf English breakfast tea that Dad gave me for Christmas.