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“You’re such a fucking asshole.”
Massimo turns just in time for Eloise to slap his face, whirl, and storm out of the penthouse. The laughter starts to die down again, but Massimo grins and shrugs, getting the good times rolling again.
“Drinks for everyone!” he crows. Everyone’s heading to the bar as he turns to smile icily at me. “This is how I joke, counselor.”
I incline my head. “Hilarious, Mr. Carveli,” I deadpan.
He grins a manic, twisted smile as he steps closer to me, his eyes piercing into mine. “A joke, yes?”
“Of course.”
“Because you’re not actually trying to fuck my wife, right?” he says in a monotone, his smile utterly gone.
“No.”
Trying? No.
I already am.
22
ELOISE
Ten years ago:
I knew this was a bad idea.
The second I see him, I disappear back into the crowd. Music thuds from the big speakers near where the DJ is set up in the kitchen as I push my way through the partygoers, away from the front door.
Where he just walked in.
I haven’t seen Alistair since the charges were dropped. I’ve been working extremely hard to make sure I don’t. I mean, blue dye in his water bottle got him mad enough to break into my dorm room and dye my freaking shower.
I can’t imagine what the fallout might be from a false sexual assault allegation that was investigated by both the police and the school administration.
And I know he knows that’s because of me.
Demi might have made the actual report. But I’m the source of the lies, and there’s zero chance Alistair doesn’t know that. Especially after the investigation into the other accusations revealed that they were bullshit.
There were no other girls accusing him of trying to assault them in their dorm rooms. I suspected that from the get-go, but had confirmation a week or so into the investigation, when I went to The Order’s on-campus mansion and a snickering Ansel gleefully explained that he’d filed the other two reports anonymously as a way to “prank” Alistair.
Pranks are funny, though. There was nothing funny about the fallout from my lies.
The police came to campus and literally took him down to the station in town. He was suspended from all his classes. The law schools he was considering for after Knightsblood started calling, saying they’d be passing on his applications “in light of the allegations against him”.
Luckily, in the past two weeks, the investigation has exonerated him. I think it helped that I went directly to the Dean of Students and pleaded my case, telling him that in fact I’d invited Alistair to my dorm room. And that later, after we’d had a fight, I’d embellished my story.
The only reason I’m not on probation now, or straight up kicked out of Knightsblood, is that Dean Garnier is an old friend of my father’s.
Papa isn’t very happy with me, of course. Neither is the school. And I imagine Alistair is furious.
My little stunt almost ruined his life.
So instead, I slip through the party until I find the sliding door out to the balcony, where the alcohol is being kept. On paper, the consumption of alcohol is forbidden on the Knightsblood campus. The mansions that house the four clubs get a complete pass on that, of course. As long as things don’t get completely out of hand, the school usually turns a blind eye to other parties as well.
Tonight’s festivities are taking place in “The Penthouse”, a suite housing five senior students at the top of Worthington Tower, a dorm which at twenty stories is the tallest building on campus by far. Because of the views and the way it rises above the rest of the campus, “The Penthouse” has gotten a reputation over the years as being a party spot.
The wind has been howling all day, and tonight it’s picked up even more. I shiver as I step outside, joining a few other partygoers in the weirdly freezing April temperatures. I don’t really drink, but when the guy standing at the keg grins and automatically hands me a beer, I take it anyway. Shivering in the chill, I hug my bare arms around myself, wishing I hadn’t just waltzed out here in only a sleeveless top and the cute, but short, skirt I wore to the party.
