Page 477 of Filthy Elites

“Yep,” I nod.

Scoffing lightly, his lips tip up into a smile. “I’m Angelo,” he says, holding his hand out for me to shake.

“Starling.” I take his hand and shake it briefly, releasing it quickly and pushing my hand into the back pocket of my jean shorts.

“You’re not like the other kids that go here, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” I agree, dropping my chin to my chest and staring down at my feet.

A honking horn interrupts what has turned into an uncomfortable conversation. “I’ve got to get back to work, but I work at the valet booth over by the cafeteria full time, you should come see me one day, we could get coffee or something.”

“Maybe,” I say as noncommittally as I can.

“Registration is on the lawn outside the administration building, head on down this path and then swing a right, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks, nice to meet you, Angelo.”

“You too, Starling. You take care, you hear me? The kids that go here can be sharks,” he warns with a warm smile etched across his lips.

“Don’t worry, I know exactly how bad these types of people can get,” I tell him sadly, gripping the handle of my case and walking away.

“Welcome to Kingsacre University, freshman,” an overly bright girl says from her seat behind a desk situated out on the lawn under a gazebo.

“Hi.”

“Can I take your name please?”

“Starling Kennedy.”

Her brow furrows as she taps away at her keyboard. “Hmm, when’s your birthday?”

“It’s September 4th.”

“I have a Starling Lockwood, birthday September 4th. Have you changed your name recently?”

My blood turns cold and I freeze, all the breath in my lungs suddenly evaporating. “My surname is Kennedy, there must be some mistake.”

“Is Lockwood your husband’s name? It says here you’re Mrs. Starling Lockwood.” Her chuckle is forced and uncomfortable.

This must be some kind of fucked-up joke. Is this Evan’s doing, messing with me on my first day? It’s been years, and apart from the wedding I haven’t seen or spoken to any of The Elite since the day before I left town. Why would he do this now? It’s not like Sebastian was genuinely hurt by me leaving, he was just angry to lose his control over me.

“I’m one-hundred-percent single, I’m eighteen,” I say with a forced giggle.

“Wow, thank god. I was worried you were like Amish or something. Give me one minute, I’ll just call down to administration and have them double-check I’m giving you the right house number. You want to let your parents know it’s going to be a short wait?”

“I’m not with my parents, it’s just me.”

“Oh,” her brows lift almost all the way up to her hairline. “Okay, I’ll just make that call.”

I nod, waiting awkwardly as she stands up, takes a few steps away from the desk and lifts her cell phone to her ear. She returns five minutes later, smiling. “All sorted, must have been an admin error. You are most definitely the only Starling at the school, cool name by the way.” Sitting back down, she clicks at her keyboard again. A printer starts to whir before she hands me a packet with some papers and a hotel-style key card. “Okay, so your room is in Collinwood House, suite five, which is all the way over on the far side of campus. Orientation is at nine a.m. tomorrow where you can pick up your schedule and get an itinerary for all the freshmen activities. Give this”—she hands me a small card with my name and Collinwood House suite five on it—“to one of the cart drivers and they’ll take you and all your luggage over to the west quad to get your student ID and then to your house. If you have any problems or any questions, the number for student liaison services is in your pack. Also the annual welcome-freshmen party is tomorrow night, in the woods behind the gymnasium. It’s huge and all the freshmen go. I’ve marked it on your map, you don’t want to miss it. Welcome to Kingsacre, Starling.”

With a polite nod, I grab my case and make my way to the golf carts. An older man takes my card and loads my case onto the back of the cart, before offering me his hand to help me inside. I take it, not wanting to be rude, but wonder who here needs a hand to get the twelve inches from the floor to the seat in the cart.

We stop at another set of gazebos, and he helps me out and waits while I have my photo taken for my student ID, where I again have to explain that I’m not married and that my name is not Lockwood. I hate that after all this time Sebastian has invaded my life again with this cruel joke. It can only be Evan who did this. He’s the only person I know at Kingsacre, and the only one here who knows about my short-lived, life-altering interlude with the Lockwood heir apparent.

I wish I knew why he was doing this now. I’m not a part of his or his dad’s life, I’ve never visited his house, or tried to cash in on the Morris name. As far as I’m concerned, Harry is my mom’s new husband and Evan is his son, and that’s it. I’m happy that she’s happy, but given how strained my and my mom’s relationship is, I have no interest in being part of her world. I’d hoped that I could remain distantly civil with my new stepbrother. Perhaps a nod in passing, but this instant attack the moment I walk through the gates, suggests that perhaps just pretending we have no idea who the other is might be a better idea.

The website shows pictures of the campus housing, but until now I haven’t seen it in person. I never had any intention of going here, so I didn’t see the point in coming to take a tour. Apparently the photo gallery didn’t do the place any justice, because the houses are nothing like I was expecting. The housing starts at about five minutes’ drive from the campus buildings with a mini suburb made up of rows of town houses. After that there’s a tiny village of ranch-style homes, then a grouping of craftsman bungalows with each of the houses in the little mini village getting increasingly larger the farther away from the campus site we get. By the time the cart slows to a stop, the houses are huge and spread out, with giant gated driveways, some even appear to have pools. Collinswood house is a massive Queen Ann Victorian-style home complete with a turret, spindle work and a wraparound porch. It’s gorgeous, and imposing and it can’t be the place my scholarship funding is allowing me to stay.

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