Page 60 of Spearcrest Saints

“I’ve already had them all,” Camille says with a wave of her hand.

My blood runs suddenly cold, and I suppress a shudder. Rose almost stops in her tracks. “No, you haven’t.”

“Okay, so I’ve notfuckedthem all,” Camille clarifies, “but I got pretty close. I slept with Psycho Luca and that hot French fuckboy, and I used to fool around with Evan back in Year 9 before he went all weird for Sophie Sutton. I made out with the future Lord Blackwood in the back of a limo, and I got super drunk at a club and bumped into Iakov in the back alley when I went for a cig, and he went down on me—I would highly recommend it, by the way, the guy really knows how to eat p—”

“You never kissed Zachary,” Rose interrupts. “You’re such a fucking liar, Camille.”

“I did! We were both really drunk, but I still remember it.”

Camille looks at me from under her impossibly long eyelashes. She’s dark and voluptuous and passionate—she looks like a princess straight out of an Arabian Nights tale. How could any boy resist her?

It’s not like Zachary is my boyfriend. I have no reason to expect him to be faithful to me. It’s never something I expected from him. In fact, I’ve always encouraged him to pursue other girls.

So why does it hurt so much to hear Camille’s story?

Maybe Camille senses my pain; there’s a sadistic edge to her smile when she turns to look at me.

“Wanna know what it was like?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why should I care?”

“You two are always at each other’s throat,” Camille says. “You’ve got to be wondering about him, at least a little bit.”

“Wondering what, exactly?”

“You know. What he’s like”—Camille blinks that slow, sexy blink that gets all the boys to fall for her—“in bed.”

“You didn’t go to bed with him,” Rose points out tartly. “You made out a little bit at the back of a limo. Hardly the same thing.”

“But I think Theodora would want to know what that’s like,” Camille says, addressing Rose even though her eyes are still on mine, “to make out a little bit with Zachary Blackwood at the back of a limo.”

There’s a deep, lush part of my mind that’s reserved for poetry and literature, the part of my mind that transforms words into rich imagery. It’s normally a sacred place, but its sanctum is suddenly violated by Camille’s words.

A picture appears in my mind, vividly detailed.

Black leather seats, city lights blurring past, dark, cold glass. The smell of expensive leather and champagne mingled with a sophisticated cologne, sandalwood and blackcurrants. A warm lap, an arm around my waist, surprisingly strong, and a hand on my back, fingers fanning out, digging ever so slightly into my skin through the silk straps of my dress. Zachary’s mouth opening against mine, molten heat and desire so strong it makes me undulate like a flame in his embrace.

I swallow and fix Camille with my iciest smile.

“My standards must be a little higher than yours. I can conjure more satisfying fantasies than fumbling kisses with my old debate team rival.”

“Really?” Camille lets out a bark of incredulous laughter. “That’s all he is to you, your old debate team rival?”

“What else would he be?”

Ienterthepartyand sense Zachary’s presence like a beacon. He sees me but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even raise his hand in a wave.

That’s fine, of course. Zachary doesn’t owe me anything. As he said, he’s only ever one step removed from a stranger, and after this year, he’ll go back to being a complete stranger.

But I’m shaken—so much more shaken than I ought to be.

It’s as if the blow Camille landed somehow left an opening big enough for every other blow to land. I feel it all, all at once.

The pain from the summer, the fear of my father, the loss of my dreams, the dread of the future. My longing for Zachary, the realisation I can never have him, that he’ll go back to being nobody. The crushing pressure of Spearcrest, of killing myself getting the best grades when my qualifications will become little more than pretty paperwork. Being an Apostle, the desperation to beat Zachary even though I know I won’t be able to accept the mentorship, lying to Mr Ambrose.

It all hits me like an avalanche.

Rose hands me a bottle of something strong, watching me with amused eyes as I take a sip. She holds her hand out, waiting for me to give her the bottle back after a sip, but I shake my head and drink in long, hard gulps.

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