Page 12 of Tainted Saints

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It’s too fucking loud, I think as I make my way through the crowded hall of Fairview Academy, conversation pausing when I pass by each group. Smoothing my damp palms down my favourite high-waisted burgundy wool skirt, I take a breath and pull my leather satchel up on my shoulder.

I’m sure the students are similar to every other private school I’ve been to; full of rich entitled brats that have gotten by on Daddy’s money or family name, or a combination of both, never having anything not go their own way.

I suppose, being the British Ambassador’s daughter, one could say the same for me. Except, I know what it feels like to be deprived of basic necessities, though not for lack of money but all in the name of correction.

Don’t think about that now, Aspen. Just find the office.

Taking a deep inhale and trying to settle the rush of dizziness that I know will be with me for the next few days, I walk in the direction of the administration office. I’m due to collect my timetable—or schedule as they say here—and meet my student guide, who’ll show me around the vast campus.

Unfortunately for me, Fairview isn’t a boarding school, the students living close by on the exclusive west side of Fairview Heights and being driven in every morning, just like I was. There is a large car park for the students who have expensive cars of their own, and this morning it was full of Lamborghinis, Bugattis, and a whole load of other supercars that cost a small fortune. I did spot three motorcycles that looked a little out of place, not having the same air of cost-more-than-a-small-island kind of vibe as the rest of the vehicles, but what do I know, maybe they’re classics that cost more than all the cars in the lot put together.

A sigh of relief leaves me when I’m finally standing in front of a carved wooden desk. It matches the whole Etonian feel of the school; basically screams old money even though I don’t think it’s more than fifty years old. There’s a woman sitting behind it, a shiny, light pink iMac in front of her. She looks young with neat, light brown hair and glasses perched on the end of her nose as she concentrates on the screen in front of her.

As I approach, she looks up, and her smile seems genuine enough that it puts me at ease.

“Good morning, Miss Buckingham,” she cheerfully greets, and I’m taken aback for a moment wondering how the fuck she knew my name. “I’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Fairview Academy.”

Of fucking course she’s been expecting me, it’s the first day of term after Christmas and I doubt they have any other students joining so late in the year, let alone in their final year—senior year as it’s known over here.

“Oh, good morning,” I hurriedly reply, giving myself a kick up the arse and closing the distance between the desk and myself. “I hope you had a nice holiday?” When you’re trained from birth to be well-mannered and polite, it becomes your default setting. Though I can thank my nanny, Alison, for those lessons as neither of my parents bothered with me unless it was to show me off at some function or another.

“It was lovely, thank you. I got to spend time with my family which is always nice as we live in different parts of the country,” she replies, reaching into the side of the desk and pulling out a shiny, new iPad Pro. “And you? Did you have a nice holiday? You were in the US for Christmas day, weren’t you?”

“Yes, it was lovely,” I reply tightly, my smile as fake as my words.

After the Tailor ball in Colorado on Christmas Eve, we flew back that night on the diplomatic jet, landing in Washington just a little after midnight. I didn’t see either of my parents all day, there were no decorations, and they both went out to a party in the evening, leaving me alone after a silent Christmas dinner where not even a cracker was pulled.

As for presents, my mother gave me an hour a day with a personal trainer because, in her words, I looked like I could do with toning up as I wouldn’t stay young forever and needed to keep on top of my figure if I wanted to attract a husband. Thanks, Mum.

The Ambassador gave me and my mother matching diamond necklaces, that no doubt are worth a considerable amount of money. I couldn’t help feeling that although beautiful, the jewellery was as cold as he is, and I’m pretty confident his PA was sent out to purchase them on his behalf.

To be fair, once they left for the evening, I was able to put on my favourite old records on my reproduction Wockoder portable suitcase player and just relax.

“Miss Buckingham?” The concerned voice filters through my memories, and I blink, coming back to the Academy and the secretary who’s looking at me with furrowed brows.

“Oh, sorry. Did you say something?” I ask, my cheeks colouring. I’d forgotten how much my concentration goes after a stint in my correction room.

Buckinghams never apologise, Aspen. How many times do I need to tell you that?

The Ambassador’s words float through my mind, harsh and unforgiving, but I brush them aside for now. He’s not here, and I’ve already said it now.

“Not to worry, I just said your student guide is here. He’s one of our scholarship students, Rhett Butler, and it seems he’s brought the other two scholarship students with him. You’re in good hands, they’ve been here since Freshman year so they know the campus inside out.”

Confused as to why a nineteen-forties Hollywood actor is showing me around my new school, I slowly turn only to come face to grinning face with Forest. Blaine and Landon are just slightly behind him, all three of them looking far too gorgeous to comprehend.

“Well, good mornin’ Little Lady,” Forest purrs, but I can barely hear it over the buzzing in my ears, my face tingling as blackness consumes me just like it did when I was locked away all those days ago.

ChapterSix

“Bad Boys” by Azee

LANDON

Forest leapsforward and catches the Ambassador’s daughter just as her eyes roll and her knees give way. Sally gives a startled cry behind the desk, leaping to her feet and quickly coming around as Forest scoops her up into his arms.

She looks too fucking pale, her dark eyebrows stark against her milky skin, her blonde waves tumbling around her face as Forest pulls her close. Blaine clenches his hands into fists next to me, and I know he wants to rip her from Forest, because as much as I want to deny it, a part of me does too, just to see that she’s okay. To feel her breathing when she’s just so fucking still.

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