Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,33
dated.”
“Auntie Cheryl,” Vic purrs, flashing a villain's grin. “There are a lot of things about me a crazy old bat like you wouldn't understand.” His aunt smiles tightly at him, putting on a show for the rest of the room.
That's when it hits me: what's going on in here is the same as what went on in the street the other day, guns and bloodshed traded out for fake smiles and underhanded insults. It's all a game, a gang war of a different sort.
We take our seats, and polite conversation starts up.
It's pure. fucking. torture.
No wonder Vic was willing to set his gang on my nightmares in exchange for this. What sane woman would subject herself to this hell?
“So, Victor, your mother tells us you're studying overseas, at a boarding school in Paris?”
I almost choke on my bite of watercress sandwich (I had to surreptitiously Google it with my phone hidden under the table before I even knew what it was).
Prescott High, a boarding school in Paris? I'm officially dead. Our piece of shit school is more akin to the catacombs than some fancy academy.
Vic casts me a warning look, and then turns this horrifically blinding smile to the woman in the big white hat. It almost looks like he’s gritting his teeth …
“Oh yes, and I'm loving it. It's helping me iron out my hedonistic tendencies.”
“Victor,” Ophelia snaps, giving her son a warning look not dissimilar to the one he just gave me. “Kids,” she says with a laugh, looking back at the women, and they all titter.
The waitstaff appears to take our orders, and I find myself counting the seconds until I can get out of here. Unfortunately, time only seems to slow as conversation turns to me.
“Bernadette, was it? Such a beautiful name,” an older woman with gray curls says to me, patting my hand with one of her wrinkled ones. “Tell us, how did you two meet?”
We've known each other since second grade; Vic pushed some kid down a slide for pulling my pigtails. The brat broke his nose when his face met the woodchips.
“We met at an airport,” I lie, pulling up some ridiculous fantasy from god only knows where. “I accidentally sat in his seat on the plane.” I glance over and see Vic smirking at me. He rubs his hand over his chin in that way he does. The funny thing is, if his mother had been involved in his life whatsoever, she might know that her son and I met over a decade ago. Or maybe even that he tormented me during my sophomore year. Since she doesn’t though, I feel free to make up my own story. “It was on a flight from San Francisco to Paris actually, after one of Vic’s many visits to his mom.” I turn back to the room and smile in the most saccharine, bullshit-filled way that I know, like I’m that bitch Kali Rose-Kennedy. “I had no idea until the flight attendant came to take my breakfast order.”
Vic snorts, but several of the ladies smile and nod, like this is actually some sort of believable scenario for them. Actually, I stole it from some crappy rom-com. Since when I have ever sat in first class? Never. Been to Paris? Not once. Been on a plane? Yeah, I never have been.
“That is adorable,” one of the women says, putting her hand on Ophelia’s. “Your son and his fiancée are so sweet; you must be so happy for them.”
“Thrilled,” she says, taking a sip of her wine, perfectly shaped brows raised.
An hour and a half later, and I’ve survived the luncheon on BS and recycled romantic comedy trope nonsense.
“This is pure hell,” I say, bumming a cigarette off Vic out back of the country club. We’re smoking right next to a No Smoking On Premises sign which brings me a small, fucked-up piece of joy. I’m going to make sure to grind my butt out on the head of the founder’s statue staring at me from a cluster of shade-loving begonias. “No wonder you figured this a fair price for vengeance. No sane girl would put herself through this.”
Victor laughs, that subdued, dark little chuckle that makes my chest feel tight. It’s hard to hate someone as much as I hate him, especially when my body’s constantly lusting after his.
“Are you kidding me? I could get any girl at Prescott High to do this for me. And I’d only have to pay them in dick.”