Page 4 of Sinful Storms

“Or do,” Samira suggested, and there was definitely a smirk in her voice.

“The day I call Tristan Smith-Chamberlain a god is the day hell actually freezes over.” I sighed, pulling myself upright. Quinn eyed me carefully, concern replacing her humour, and I shook my head quickly. “It’s okay. Really. I don’t know why I’m overreacting so much. Probably because I was taken by surprise. Or maybe I’m just hormonal or something. Whatever.”

“You know you can talk to me about anything,” Quinn murmured. “I might be in a relationship with Roman, but I’d never betray your trust.”

“I know. Thanks.” Speaking of her thing with Roman… “How are you doing after everything that happened at the ball? It feels like we haven’t really talked about it much.”

Quinn shook her head. “To be honest, I don’t really want to talk about it. I’d rather forget it. It still feels like a dream, you know. Or a nightmare, I guess. Finding out that someone I thought was a friend tried to sabotage me…not to mention my boyfriend… It really doesn’t seem real.”

“Yeah. It was so fucked up, and I’m so glad you managed to expose her. And now she has to pay the price. I, for one, am glad to see the back of her. If anything had happened to you…”

“I know. Can we just…I don’t want to think about it anymore. I just want to put the past behind us and enjoy what’s left of the year. We’ll be graduating soon, and I’d like to leave with some better memories.”

I reached out to squeeze her hand. “Of course.” Glancing over at the shelf above my desk where a golden laurel wreath crownlay, mocking me, I added, “Believe me, I have a lot of memories of that ball I’d rather forget, too.” Not least the fact that there had been Hatherley Hall’s version of a prom king and queen vote, which involved the students voting for the six people who would be crowned as gods and goddesses during the ball. How I’d ended up being crowned as a goddess was a mystery to me. I’d never wanted or cared about popularity, and yet, somehow, enough people seemed to like me that I’d actually received enough votes to be a goddess. I was at a loss as to why.

Gracelyn cleared her throat. “I have some gossip if you want a change of subject.”

“Please.”

“I heard from a reliable source that Tristan’s dad is being voted in as the Nottswood mayor.”

“His family really wants to run this town, doesn’t it?” Samira mused. “His uncle’s a big-time judge, his mum’s on our school’s board of governors here, they have a family portfolio that keeps them rich beyond my wildest dreams…do I need to continue?”

I groaned again. It was no secret that my godparents were unspeakably rich and flash with their cash. They’d tried to give me plenty of it over the years. I did appreciate their generosity, but I’d never allowed myself to accept it. The truth was, they pitied me, as did Tristan, and that was why I’d never accept a penny from them. Yes, my mother had died in childbirth. Yes, my father had overdosed and died when he couldn’t live without her. Yes, I’d been brought up by my grandparents, and my grandmother had been in and out of hospital with various health issues when I was little. That had necessitated several stays with the Smith-Chamberlains, the longest of which lasted an entire summer when I was just eight years old. But the last thing I wanted was to be pitied. I had my inheritance from my parents, which provided me with enough to cover everything I needed for school, and my tuition fees were paid directly to the school froman account that had been set up when my mother was pregnant with me. I was in a place of privilege compared to the majority of the population, and I didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for me.

I probably sounded so fucking ungrateful. I wasn’t. I just hated the way I sometimes felt so small around my godparents. The way they treated me like a fragile thing that could break at any moment, like I was something to be pitied.

The fact that the Smith-Chamberlains were my godparents was kind of an open secret, too. At least, I’d always assumed so. No one had really spoken about them to me directly, and Tristan’s parents had never discussed the fact in public, as far as I was aware. Tristan didn’t seem keen on it being broadcasted, either, no doubt because if anyone found out he was associated with me in any way, it would tarnish his golden image.

So…while it wasn’t exactly a secret, it wasn’t something either of us mentioned. Ever. Thankfully for me, I’d been boarding at Hatherley Hall since I was eleven, and my grandmother’s health had improved to the point where I hadn’t needed to be shipped off to stay with my godparents during the holidays. And now I was legally an adult, I’d never need to stay with them again.

That summer when we were kids… It was like Tristan had been a different person back then. Kind. Caring. Gentle.

He’d been as close to me as a best friend, once. Then…around the time puberty hit him, he changed beyond recognition. He turned into an arrogant, superficial caricature of himself, only concerned with looking good, money, and, later, girls. I wasn’t even deemed worthy of his attention anymore. I wasn’t one of the elite, and I never wanted to be.

He cast me aside like I was nothing to him.

The boy who’d held me through the storm was long gone.

3

TRISTAN

“Sorry I’m late.”

My father wasn’t quite quick enough to hide his frown as Aria rushed over to our table in the private dining area of the restaurant of Nottswood Golf & Country Club, but my mother’s impeccable breeding kept her from showing her displeasure outwardly. To be fair, they were more lenient with Aria than they’d ever been with me. Lateness was not tolerated in the Smith-Chamberlain household.

“How’s my favourite goddaughter?” My mother did the fake laugh that always grated on me. Rising to her feet in complete synchronicity with my father, she greeted Aria with air kisses, and then my father kissed her on the cheek. He glanced at me over her shoulder, his brows lifting. I took the hint. With a sigh, I climbed to my feet, pulling out Aria’s chair, and dramatically swept out my hand to indicate that she should be seated.

“Aria, darling,” I murmured, brushing a kiss over her cheek as she sat down. “You look beautiful as always. Like a rose.”

I was laying it on thick, but my parents ate that shit up, and even better, Aria hated it. As for her looking beautiful…if you liked that repressed country club type, then sure, I guessed shewas. We’d both adhered to today’s unspoken dress code. But while I looked like myself in a polo shirt, chinos, and loafers, Aria in a demure pastel pink dress, cardigan, and pearls was a fucking weird sight. Not to mention her jet-black hair, which was currently in loose curls falling down her back with the front pulled away from her face with some fucking sparkly clip, and her honey eyes free from make-up for a change. I knew the only reason she was dressed this way was because my parents expected it. Outside of our little gatherings, she wouldn’t be caught dead in an outfit like this. Not unless it was black and a lot shorter and tighter…

Fuck. I did not need that image in my head when I was in the vicinity of my parents. Diving back into my chair, I willed my dick to behave before flashing Aria a smile that was just as fake as my mother’s.

“Watch out for my thorns,” she hissed under her breath before returning my smile with one that showed all her teeth. “Tristan, I’m so happy you could make it. You had a late night last night with Taylor, didn’t you? Or was it Gemma—no, Emily?”

“Maybe it was all three of them. I guess you’ll never know.”

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