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I give him a weird look, my mind caught on the fact that Li and Rory are still a thing. I suppose like attracts like, and both of them are vicious deviant fuckheads. “What does it even matter?”
“Ye know whit?” Finlay asks, perking up. “Ye dinnae even have tae take just me. Take Luke, an aw. Hell, take Danny. We can a’ go as a happy quartet.”
The stuff Finlay comes out with is so ridiculous, it makes me want to laugh. “Yeah, sure. I’m really going to take aprinceto the Christmas dance.”
“You really let his royalty get tae ye.” Finlay’s mouth flicks up. “Ye know he isnae royal anymair, right?”
“No, he just acts like it.” I sigh, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. “Luke ignores me. Rory provokes me. And you — well, I don’t know what your game is.”
He sighs, giving me a pitying look. “I’m arock star. I’m supposed tae be the envy o’ millions — well, thousands, I’m just starting oot — so if I cannae pull a lass at a school where there are a hundred lads for each one, then I’m failin’ in my part as a rock god. Understand?”
My mouth twists. “So you want to use me as the only available option around, that’s it.” I huff. “That’s all you boys ever do. Youusegirls. You use us.” It crosses my mind again that if I’d been tighter with Arabella’s gang, if I’d been smarter and kept my mouth shut, then maybe we’d have been stronger united. Instead we’ve splintered, and now there’s no end to guys hunting me down like I’m some kind of straggling wildebeest.
“I’m no’ askin’ ye because of a secret bet or anythin’ like that,” Finlay says, as that thoughtalsocrosses my mind. “The only bet we ever made was at the start o’ the year. Rory waged to get rid o’ each girl and Baxter.” He returns his gaze to the ceiling. “But that isnae happenin’ anymore.”
I frown, remembering Rory’s words when Freya had said her goodbyes —looks like you’re doing all the work for us…
He hates girls enough to enjoy watching them leave.
“When ye’re one o’ us, ye need tae hustle. There are reporters faeTattlemagazine followin’ every stage o’ oor development, every rise and fall o’ oor bank balances, every social event we attend. We might be teens, but we’re targets for well-tae-dae mothers who want their daughters tae marry the best. I hear some even keep spreadsheets.”
I don’t think my face can scrunch up any harder. Perhaps it’s naivety but I thought we’d all developed as a society away from marrying up to improve one’s social standing. Jane Austen must be delighted to hear it’s still the fashion among the rich. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you dinnae know any o’ this. Because you think we’re all assholes for no reason. And because I’m a rock star, which means I’m apparently no’ a good marriage candidate foranyone.” He shrugs, leaning back against the stone wall beside my bed. “Fuck ‘em. In the last edition, they rated me on their yearly bachelor rankin’ list as a three. Oot o’twenty. And the points I did get were only for my looks.” He scoffs, thudding the toe of his boot against the heel of the other. “I’m mair than a three.”
I get the impression it bothers Finlay even more than he claims it does. He adds in a ridiculously snooty accent, “‘An acerbic Scot whose hair has never been introduced to a comb. PROS: Charismatic rock star confidence despite anodyne musical output. Growing funds via frequent touring. CONS: New money. Unintelligible accent. Terrorist-sympathizing politician mother. By the end of the night, you’ll be wishing for your own independence away from him.’” He scowls up at the ceiling. “Not gonnae lie, that one hurt.”
“Seems kinda cruel, writing you off in one small paragraph.”
His lips turn upward. “High society is a cruel sport. You have nae idea what ye’ve let yerself in for by attending this school.”
My stomach lurches. They’re not going to write paragraphs about me and rank me out of twenty, are they? I’m just a scholarship girl, not someone from money. Why would they care about me?
But then I realize: Finlay’s warning me. They might suddenly care about me if I partnered up with him.
“What about Rory?”
There’s a bright gleam in Finlay’s eyes. “Rory Munro, son o’ celebrated Prime Minister Oscar Munro? Oscar Munro, who’s one o’ only four hundred folk who own large swathes o’ land over Scotland? Oscar Munro, whose luxury restaurant business has benefited spectacularly since his time as PM?” The twist to his lips turns into a pained grimace. “Oscar Munro, whose son could be on the front page o’ a magazine. Whohasbeen on the front page o’Tattlecountless times.” He turns his gaze to me. “Rory got twenty points. Full marks tae good ol’ Ro-Ro.”
There’s so much bitterness there, and part of me wants to unpack that, to have a deeper understanding of the relationships between the chiefs. The other part of me wants to reel the hell away from them all and stick to a simple life of having fun and reading books with Danny.
Lovely, simple Danny, who only gets to attend Lochkelvin because his dad used to be the minister here.
“Rory’s dad owns part of the country?Four hundredpeople own the land here?”
Finlay’s expression is grim. “Aye, he owns Lochkelvin and the estate that extends up tae the northwest.”
I blink at him slowly, my mind whirling. “What?”
“Rory’s dad owns Lochkelvin. It’s been in his family for generations.” Finlay tilts his head at me, mistaking my shocked silence for disgust. “Fuckin’ rich people, aye? It’s a good thing this school creates the next leaders o’ the world, because by God dae I want tae change the world.”
