Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1) - R.S. Grey Page 0,83

if my blade had finally pierced her skin. All at once, she leaned back in her chair and dropped the innocent mask. It was like watching a snake shed its skin, the way her smile twisted into something sour and her kind eyes narrowed into thin slits.

“Right, well just remember that I offered the easy way. Tell me, Frederick: do you love Andie, or do you love the fact that she’s been spreading her legs for you every five seconds?”

I scraped my chair away from the table and stood. “Leave her out of this. She has nothing to do with my decision.”

“No Frederick, I don’t think I will.” She was so calm then, running her finger along the rim of the glass once again. The high-pitched sound was back, forcing my hands into fists by my side. “The moment you picked her over me, you made that impossible.”

“What do you want?” I growled.

She picked her hand up off the glass and reached for the end of my tie, feeling the material between her fingers. “What I’ve always wanted.”

Her gaze flashed up to lock with mine.

“You.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Andie

I STAYED UP late waiting for Freddie. I tried his phone a few times and even left a message with Georgie (she’d loaded her number in after our tour of the village), but she hadn’t heard from him either. I was close to calling the police or alerting the officials, but he finally texted me back just before midnight.

Freddie: I promised you I would handle this situation, and I will. Get some sleep, we’ll talk tomorrow. XX

I clutched my phone to my chest and read as deeply into his message as those two little Xs would allow. He still wanted me; Caroline hadn’t convinced him otherwise.

I went to bed and dreamt of Caroline’s contorted smile staring back at me in the mirror. I woke up three times throughout the night, jarring myself out of nightmares that never seemed to end. By the time I was awake for good, it was thirty minutes before my alarm was due to sound. I turned it off and wiped the sleep from my eyes. I didn’t bother brushing my teeth or looking in the mirror. I went straight out into the living room to brew some coffee so it’d be ready by the time Kinsley and Becca finally forced themselves out bed. I was halfway to the kitchen counter when I saw a few newspaper pages lying just inside the doorway. They were scattered as though someone had stuffed them beneath the door one at a time. I walked toward it hesitantly and paused when I saw the headline that ran in bold font across the top of the page closest to me. It was just as she had threatened.

Olympic-Sized Affair Leaves Archibald in Hot Water

Fiancée-to-be Devastated to Learn he is “Fostering” International Relations

My knees buckled and I collapsed there, pulling the newspaper onto my lap. Caroline had slipped a note on top, just below the headline.

“Rise and Shine. Kisses, C.”

I ripped the note off and crumpled it up. It’d been blocking part of the photo they’d printed along with the headline. It was the one Caroline had showed me the night before, of us inside Mascarada, blown up to a full page. I blinked and blinked again, confused about why the image was distorted. It wasn’t until my tears started to smear a few words of the story that I realized I was crying.

I wiped my tears away and forced myself to read every detail they’d printed, though my stomach threatened to give halfway through. The newspaper hadn’t held back. Every gory, salacious detail was printed there for people to read, from our rumored meet-ups to my soccer history. They started by contrasting my history with Caroline’s, painting me as the Whore of Babylon and Caroline as Mother Theresa. They juxtaposed an image of me in my sports bra, sweaty and tired after practice with a photo of Caroline in a perfectly tailored pantsuit handing out bread at a freaking orphanage in Croatia. Honestly, by the end of the article, even I hated myself.

I sat on the floor in the entryway and read the article twice before reaching for my phone and googling my name. The day before there’d been a few random interviews from small-scale magazines. My college soccer profile had still been on the front page along with a story my town’s newspaper had printed about me going to the Olympics. All of that was gone.