2. Aria
2
ARIA
“ O f everyone in this school, why do you always end up in my vicinity? You’re like a fucking cockroach that won’t die.”
Tristan’s brows lifted, his lip curling with amusement as he slid into the empty seat next to mine. “You want me to die? I’m wounded, little scorpion.”
“ Don’t call me that. It’s bad enough that I have to be in the same classroom as you, not to mention that farce of a ball where we were forced to dance together. Now you decide you want to sit with me? Why? Why would you even want to sit here?” I pointedly glanced around the classroom, where there were plenty of seats available, far away from me.
He tutted, shaking his head, his stupidly blue eyes sparkling with humour. “Such a filthy mouth from a supposedly classy girl.”
I took him in. Navy blazer with royal blue piping. Zero creases. Pale blue shirt and a tie in the school colours. Perfectly pressed navy trousers and a shiny metal badge pinned to his lapel. I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, Head Boy. I can’t bring myself to fake it like you. Golden on the outside but depraved on the inside.”
“Maybe you just bring out the worst in me. Did you ever think of that?”
“No. That’s all you. You don’t get to blame your personality defects on me. Now, please leave and find someone else to piss off with your irritating presence.” I jabbed my fingernail into his solid bicep to emphasise my point, and he smirked, flexing his muscle. Dickhead.
“Miss Harper. Mr. Smith-Chamberlain. Are you quite finished disrupting my lesson?”
My gaze shot to Professor Watkins, our politics teacher, who I hadn’t noticed standing in front of our table, his arms folded across his chest and his mouth set in a thin line.
“My apologies, Professor. Just a slight disagreement regarding the seating arrangements, but I’m sure we can work through it,” Tristan said smoothly, flashing our teacher one of his patented fake smiles. Ugh. Everything about him was so fucking fake, his rich boy arrogance radiating from him like a repelling shield. Having said that, there were plenty of deluded people who fell for his supposed charm. And that was why he was the head boy and why he’d slept his way through…no, I didn’t even want to think about his ridiculously high body count. I shuddered as I crossed one leg over the other, smoothing out the resulting crease in my navy, black, and royal blue tartan skirt. Getting near his diseased dick—the thought made me gag.
“Very well. See that you keep it down and stay in your seats. I’m expecting the two of you to set an example.” Professor Watkins spun on his heel and strode back up to the front of the classroom.
“The two of us? He must be joking. Speaking of the two of us, why would you even think it was a good idea to sit next to me? Surely everyone knows by now that I hate you, including you.”
“That hate goes both ways, and you know it. Most people would be dying to sit with me,” he hissed, his mask finally cracking and his irritation slipping out.
I smiled in response to the first genuine reaction I’d seen from him today. His jaw tightened, but he recovered quickly, mouthing hate you and blowing me a kiss with his middle finger. I returned the gesture, to which he flashed me a proper smile.
I hated it.
I hated him.
And most of all, I hated the way he made my heart beat faster with his smile.
“Can you believe the head boy actually had the audacity to sit with me? He always sits at the front, and now he’s just trying to make my life a misery.” I groaned as I flopped back onto Quinn’s bed in the dorm room we shared with Gracelyn and Samira. A shaft of sunlight slanted through the tall lead-paned window above the bed, a golden strip bathing the Cotswold stone walls in a honey glow, and I glared at it. Even nature was out to get me, reminding me of the golden boy everywhere I went.
My roommate laughed, glancing over at Grace and Mira, who I just knew were rolling their eyes. Whether it was at my complaint or about the fact that they, too, knew just how much of an arrogant dickhead Tristan was, I couldn’t be sure. Probably both.
“It’s bad enough that I’m constantly forced into his proximity with you and Elena dating Roman and Knox. Two of the three gods— Oh, fuck my life! I cannot believe I actually referred to them as the gods. I’m gonna throw up.”
Quinn laughed even harder. “It’s not like you to be this dramatic.” She stroked a soothing hand through my hair. “Everyone calls them the gods, so I wouldn’t worry about it. Just don’t call them gods in front of Tristan, unless you want him to comment on it.”
“Or do,” Samira suggested, and there was definitely a smirk in her voice.
“The day I call Tristan Smith-Chamberlain a god is the day hell actually freezes over.” I sighed, pulling myself upright. Quinn eyed me carefully, concern replacing her humour, and I shook my head quickly. “It’s okay. Really. I don’t know why I’m overreacting so much. Probably because I was taken by surprise. Or maybe I’m just hormonal or something. Whatever.”
“You know you can talk to me about anything,” Quinn murmured. “I might be in a relationship with Roman, but I’d never betray your trust.”
“I know. Thanks.” Speaking of her thing with Roman… “How are you doing after everything that happened at the ball? It feels like we haven’t really talked about it much.”
Quinn shook her head. “To be honest, I don’t really want to talk about it. I’d rather forget it. It still feels like a dream, you know. Or a nightmare, I guess. Finding out that someone I thought was a friend tried to sabotage me…not to mention my boyfriend… It really doesn’t seem real.”
“Yeah. It was so fucked up, and I’m so glad you managed to expose her. And now she has to pay the price. I, for one, am glad to see the back of her. If anything had happened to you…”
“I know. Can we just…I don’t want to think about it anymore. I just want to put the past behind us and enjoy what’s left of the year. We’ll be graduating soon, and I’d like to leave with some better memories.”
I reached out to squeeze her hand. “Of course.” Glancing over at the shelf above my desk where a golden laurel wreath crown lay, mocking me, I added, “Believe me, I have a lot of memories of that ball I’d rather forget, too.” Not least the fact that there had been Hatherley Hall’s version of a prom king and queen vote, which involved the students voting for the six people who would be crowned as gods and goddesses during the ball. How I’d ended up being crowned as a goddess was a mystery to me. I’d never wanted or cared about popularity, and yet, somehow, enough people seemed to like me that I’d actually received enough votes to be a goddess. I was at a loss as to why.
Gracelyn cleared her throat. “I have some gossip if you want a change of subject.”
“Please.”
“I heard from a reliable source that Tristan’s dad is being voted in as the Nottswood mayor.”
“His family really wants to run this town, doesn’t it?” Samira mused. “His uncle’s a big-time judge, his mum’s on our school’s board of governors here, they have a family portfolio that keeps them rich beyond my wildest dreams…do I need to continue?”
I groaned again. It was no secret that my godparents were unspeakably rich and flash with their cash. They’d tried to give me plenty of it over the years. I did appreciate their generosity, but I’d never allowed myself to accept it. The truth was, they pitied me, as did Tristan, and that was why I’d never accept a penny from them. Yes, my mother had died in childbirth. Yes, my father had overdosed and died when he couldn’t live without her. Yes, I’d been brought up by my grandparents, and my grandmother had been in and out of hospital with various health issues when I was little. That had necessitated several stays with the Smith-Chamberlains, the longest of which lasted an entire summer when I was just eight years old. But the last thing I wanted was to be pitied. I had my inheritance from my parents, which provided me with enough to cover everything I needed for school, and my tuition fees were paid directly to the school from an account that had been set up when my mother was pregnant with me. I was in a place of privilege compared to the majority of the population, and I didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for me.
I probably sounded so fucking ungrateful. I wasn’t. I just hated the way I sometimes felt so small around my godparents. The way they treated me like a fragile thing that could break at any moment, like I was something to be pitied.
The fact that the Smith-Chamberlains were my godparents was kind of an open secret, too. At least, I’d always assumed so. No one had really spoken about them to me directly, and Tristan’s parents had never discussed the fact in public, as far as I was aware. Tristan didn’t seem keen on it being broadcasted, either, no doubt because if anyone found out he was associated with me in any way, it would tarnish his golden image.
So…while it wasn’t exactly a secret, it wasn’t something either of us mentioned. Ever. Thankfully for me, I’d been boarding at Hatherley Hall since I was eleven, and my grandmother’s health had improved to the point where I hadn’t needed to be shipped off to stay with my godparents during the holidays. And now I was legally an adult, I’d never need to stay with them again.
That summer when we were kids… It was like Tristan had been a different person back then. Kind. Caring. Gentle.
He’d been as close to me as a best friend, once. Then…around the time puberty hit him, he changed beyond recognition. He turned into an arrogant, superficial caricature of himself, only concerned with looking good, money, and, later, girls. I wasn’t even deemed worthy of his attention anymore. I wasn’t one of the elite, and I never wanted to be.
He cast me aside like I was nothing to him.
The boy who’d held me through the storm was long gone.