Chapter Five #2
“I think I do.” I offer her a pitiful smile but let it fade.
I’m not just doing this for Isla. I’m doing it for Whitney as well.
She loves my sister. Maybe even more than I do.
The realization fills me with equal parts shame and hope.
I should be the one who loves Isla more than anyone in the world, but the very fact that I’m here and no one knows who I am—no one knows that Isla has a sister—means my love wasn’t strong enough.
A sister who loved Isla as strongly as Whitney clearly does wouldn’t be a secret.
Every unanswered text and missed call in the past year stabs into me like shards of glass.
Isla deserved better than what I’ve given her the past year. But I think she had everything either of us could have wanted in Whitney.
“Where is your coat? You’re not even wearing a jumper, and it’s quite cold out there.
” Whitney marches over to a large armoire on the other side of the room and swings the doors open.
Inside are a bunch of uniform jackets, and she pulls out a cardigan that looks like the one hanging in the closet back at my dorm. “Here. Put this on.”
I do as she says and button it up, hating how long it is, but there’s not much I can do about that. Whitney brushes off my shoulders and holds me at arm’s length, like she’s preparing me to walk into a board room instead of a dining hall.
I reach for my backpack but then remember the yearbook and dossier are inside.
I think about stashing them here, not only because they’d be beyond the reach of whatever rat went through my stuff, but because I want Whitney to know that I trust her.
But safeguarding things here means I won’t be able to access them easily—and something tells me I’m going to want to spend more time with Isla’s notes in her yearbook.
In the end, I offer Whitney a quick wave and get the hell out of there, desperate to escape before it gets awkward.
More awkward. I leave the admin building, Mrs. Brown’s irritated gaze burning a hole in my back.
I only take a deep, cleansing breath once I’m outside on the front steps.
The chilly wind cools my heated cheeks, and a hint of determination fills me, reminding me why I’m doing this.
This is what I came for, right? A different life and a different me. Shedding my old skin and becoming someone new. I’m no longer Billie Vale. I’m Belinda Winters now.
And I need to start acting like it.
…
Ienter the stiflingly hot dining hall, the scent of food making my stomach growl.
I’ve only had an airplane pastry and a soggy sandwich in the last day, and I’m starving.
I head for the hot breakfast line, my skin prickling with awareness when it feels like a thousand pairs of eyes are watching my every move.
Ignoring them, I toss my hair over my shoulder before I grab an egg sandwich and a coffee.
Trying my best to act like I don’t have a care in the world, despite my being the new girl.
I spot Priya grabbing a banana from a table covered in plates of fruit. I head toward her, putting on an easygoing smile the moment our gazes lock.
“Thanks for the wakeup today.” From the flicker of irritation in Priya’s brown eyes, I can tell my easy-breezy tone is grating on her last nerve. Mission accomplished. “Appreciate it.”
“What in the world are you talking about?” Her voice is flat, and her fingers grip the banana tight enough that the fruit is bound to bruise. I wonder idly if she might throw it at me, but she doesn’t. “Last time I saw you, you were soundly asleep. I’m not responsible for you.”
“It’s not Priya’s fault you slept in.” The snide comment comes from a voluptuous, redheaded bombshell who stops right beside Priya, lifting her chin in defiance. I recognize her from the photo in Isla’s yearbook. Abigail Roth. “Need to get with the schedule, newbie.”
Priya and Abigail laugh and turn away from me without another word.
I follow as they head for an already crowded table, not about to let these two ice me out.
I fall into the open chair on Priya’s left, letting my tray land on the table with a clatter.
Everybody lifts their head at my arrival, curious expressions on their faces.
“Everyone, this is Belinda Winters. American money and new resident bad girl.” Priya laughs, and I know for sure she’s making fun of me. “Belinda, this is … everyone.”
“Everyone who matters, you mean.” The droll baritone voice comes from my left, where a tall, thin white boy with dark-auburn hair sits beside me, a slight curl to his upper lip. “Freddie Pembroke.”
“Hi.” I offer him a dazzling smile, and he grins in return, his golden eyes dancing.
“Well, aren’t you a gorgeous little thing. Tell us where you’re from, Belinda.” He props his elbow on the edge of the table, resting his chin on top of his curled fist.
This is going to be hard, getting used to anyone calling me Belinda, let alone everyone.
“Manhattan, of course. The only borough that matters,” I say, parroting his words back to him.
Then I let the spirit of a lesser demon inhabit my body and bat my eyelashes at this boy. God help me, I may never recover.
“I can only imagine all the parties you’ve attended.” Freddie’s eyes sparkle, though they’re slightly narrowed. I get the sense he’s dying to figure me out.
Well, the feeling is mutual, Fred.
“I’ve attended my fair share.” I play it coy. Mysterious. Not about to say too much. I’m positive everyone will go on the hunt for my social media, but they’ll be sorely disappointed by the artfully bland profiles Peter set up for me. “Do you have parties here?”
Freddie’s megawatt smile would probably put any normal person in a trance, but I can see right through him. “Of course. Though I prefer my parties a little more on the … intimate side.”
“Isn’t she a little too old for you, Fred?” An amused male voice, deeper than Freddie’s, asks from over my shoulder.
I jerk my gaze up to find the source standing at the end of the table, his breakfast tray clutched in his hands. I suck in a sharp breath, because this boy? This boy I already know.
Devastatingly handsome is how Isla used to describe him, and I have to give the girl credit—she wasn’t wrong.
Dark-blond hair that he flicks out of his eyes with a quick toss of his head.
Deep brown eyes the color of the earth after a heavy rain.
A thick, cream-colored cable-knit sweater stretches over a crisp, white collared shirt with the Wickham emblem embroidered in gold thread at the tips of the collar.
His white skin is richly tanned, giving I just stepped off a yacht and all I got was this lousy golden glow.
This is Julian Ashworth. In the flesh. And he’s just as mesmerizing as Isla always thought he was.
Why he insisted Isla keep their relationship a secret is something I plan to find out. Soon.
“Not too old. More like too conscious,” one of the other boys sitting at the table mutters before he starts laughing. Because what’s a little dub-con humor between friends?
These people are the actual worst.
Freddie glares at him before turning his attention toward Julian.
“Oh, come on now, Julian. You’re just mad you didn’t get to meet the new girl first,” Freddie taunts.
That smile is still on his face, but there’s a steel edge to his voice that tells me he doesn’t like Julian much.
If I didn’t already mistrust Priya, her description of Freddie Pembroke as “a doll” would have made me question every word that comes out of her mouth.
“That’s Julian Ashworth,” Priya says to me. “And you’re—”
“Sitting in my chair,” Julian finishes for her. His expression remains friendly, and I don’t know why, but I’m ready to bolt out of the seat and gladly give it to him. Something I wouldn’t normally give a shit about.
“I’m sor—”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Freddie interjects, smirking at Julian. “It’ll be good for him to find a new group of friends. Maybe you can reconnect with your former bestie, J. Oh wait … she’s not doing much talking these days.”
The entire table goes silent at Freddie’s knife-sharp words, and I return my gaze to Julian, noting the way his jaw clenches. The friendly exterior is gone, replaced by something cold and hard. I press my lips together and swallow the words I’m dying to say: That’s my sister you’re talking about.
Julian leaves without speaking, settling into a chair at a table clear across the room. Only once the proverbial dust settles does anyone at our table talk again.
“Way to make him feel like shit,” says the dark-haired boy sitting on the other side of Freddie.
“Shut it, Ollie.” Freddie begins to eat like nothing happened, and everyone eventually follows suit.
Especially me, because I’m starving. And while the egg sandwich doesn’t taste as good as the ones I make at home, I still devour it while listening to the conversation happening around me.
Until I notice someone familiar across the dining hall.
It’s the boy who came into my room yesterday.
I can tell he spots Julian at the other table and changes direction, which has my curiosity piqued.
“Who is that?” I ask Priya, nodding in the boy’s direction.
Priya scans the room, her upper lip curling with faint disdain when she realizes who I’m talking about. “That’s Connor Wells.”
“Stay away from him,” Abigail interjects, her tone firm.
The boys say nothing. In fact, the table has fallen eerily silent.
“Oh, well he stopped by our room yesterday and asked where you were.” I laugh, shaking my head. “Guess I forgot to mention that. Oops.”
Priya’s eyebrows shoot up. “He said he was looking for me?”
“You like ’em brooding and destitute, huh, Shah?” Freddie says, loud enough for everyone to hear him.
Priya’s face turns red. “Fuck you, Freddie.” She turns to Abigail, whose lips are pressed in a tight line. I’m not the only one at this table swallowing my words. She looks furious. “I would never.”
Freddie guffaws and even slaps the edge of the table, but I remain quiet. I might have set out to stir the pot by mentioning Connor’s visit to our room yesterday, but Freddie has it bubbling over.
Priya and Abigail have their heads drawn close together, Priya executing a perfect pantomime of fervent apology. What does she have to say sorry for?
“Hi! Are you Belinda?”
I jerk my head up to find a girl standing behind Freddie. Her expression is open and friendly, and she’s got a wide smile on her face, revealing perfectly straight teeth. “Um, yes?”
“I’m Sophia Harrington.” She offers a friendly wave.
“The headmaster’s daughter,” Priya adds, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sophia’s smile fades the slightest bit at Priya’s comment. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
Priya shrugs but otherwise doesn’t say another word.
“Well. I came over to ask if you wanted someone to walk you to your first class? Maybe even show you around campus, if you’d like.” Sophia’s attention never strays from me. “I know coming to a new school can be rough, especially when you don’t know anyone.”
“That would be great, thanks.” And then, because it really was shitty of Priya not to wake me up this morning, I look directly at her when I add, “A warm welcome is so appreciated.”
Before Priya can fire back a snarky remark, a shrill bell cuts through the din.
“That’s the warning bell. We should go.” Sophia waves a hand. “Come on, Belinda.”
I do as she says and stand before I grab my tray.
I head toward one of the trash bins near a set of double doors.
Sophia keeps pace, chattering about the history of Wickham and how old the dining hall is.
Quickly, I glance over my shoulder to see no one is watching us.
They’re still sitting at the table and leaning in, as if they’re all having a whispered conversation.
About me?
Probably.
Though something tells me there’s never been a shortage of gossip at Wickham.