Page 47 of Outcast

A snort caught in the back of my throat. “Says the girl caught on camera sword swallowing! Look, I didn’t even record your blowjob. Maybe you’ve done it so many times, there’s dozens of videos of you in circulation.”

“I doubt that,” she snapped.

I raised a shoulder. “All I ever wanted was a ceasefire. Why on earth would I have jeopardized that for a stupid prank?”

Charlotte pursed her lips, eyes burning with hatred. I shifted my weight onto my other hip and folded my arms. She could resent me all she wanted for encroaching on her imagined claim on the triumvirate, but I expect she couldn’t deny the truth in my words. It wasn’t me who broke the agreement.

Her lip curled. “If you’re lying, I’ll—”

“What? Have me wake up in the middle of a pond? Put arsenic in my tea? Someone who hates you just as much as you hate me shot and broadcasted that video to the entire house. Look elsewhere. I’m not your enemy.”

“Then why did you take my place at the head table?” she screeched.

“If someone offers an olive branch, I’ll take it. You’re the ones who couldn’t stop making uncouth comments.”

Blake strolled up to us, looking the resolute playboy with the burgundy blazer skimming his lean physique. He placed his hands in his pockets and took his time in reaching where we stood. Tendrils of messy black hair framed his tanned features, and he flashed us a panty-melting grin.

“Problems, ladies?” he asked.

Charlotte whirled on him. “I can’t believe you’re being civil to her after what she did.”

“Oh.” His brows rose. “Care to elaborate?”

“That video,” she hissed.

“The one I told Bingham’s assistants to play on the projector?” Blake asked.

I clapped my hand over my mouth. Blake must have stolen my phone while helping us put up our tent. I had wondered why he was being so attentive, but after that tiring trek up the hills, and our multiple failed attempts at deciphering the instruction, I finally gave in and let Blake help us. I had been too busy scrutinizing him for signs of sabotaging our tent to notice him take my phone out of my waterproof jacket.

Charlotte staggered back, eyes bulging. “What?” Her bottom lip trembled. “Why?”

His grin widened. “I wanted to see the fallout. Wanted to show the world your prowess. Wanted to brighten up the evening. Take your pick.”

I held out my hand. “Thanks for framing me. I found the fallout invigorating. Now, if you’ve quite finished with my phone, I’ll take it back.”

He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out my smartphone. “I didn’t try to guess your passcode, I swear.”

“Right.” I didn’t believe that for a minute. I turned to Charlotte, whose hazel eyes glistened with tears. Any pity I might have had for her public humiliation and subsequent betrayal spilled away with the hot chocolate she had thrown in my face. “You see? There’s your pornographer. Now you know I didn’t make or broadcast that video.”

“No, but you claimed to have shot it,” she spat.

My lips tightened. Wasn’t she going to say anything to the guy who humiliated her in public? Apparently not. Another example of how the privileged got away with their crap.

I stepped back. “I’ll leave the pair of you to work out your differences. If I were you, Underwood, I wouldn’t call people trollop or whore when you’re the one acting the part.”

The look of hatred she shot me said that Edward might have announced a ceasefire, but she was determined to bury me six feet in the ground.

Chapter 17

For the rest of the week, I sat with the triumvirate at each mealtime, occasionally persuading Rita to take up their invitation. At those times, she remained quiet but answered their polite questions. When she didn’t sit with us, she ate with the other scholarship students. Henry continued to kiss me on the cheek each time we met, then Blake started to greet me with a peck. It was bizarre. Not Blake’s kiss. He was a natural flirt, and I expected no less from him, but the warmth I received, even from Edward, made me think they might be setting me up for a giant fall.

The boys sat with me in each class I shared with them, causing Charlotte and her doppelgängers to make disparaging remarks. On Friday morning, I sat between Edward and Henry at breakfast when Mr. Carbuncle brought Edward’s mail to the head table.

I stared down at the letters arranged neatly on a silver plate. One of them was even secured with a golden, wax seal. “Why can’t you go to the mailboxes yourself?”

“Edward’s correspondence goes to the new house,” said Henry.

“What’s that?” I asked.