Page 132 of Feed Your Fiends

“By any means necessary,” Stassi mutters.

Hale wrinkles his brow, his eyes boring into her. “Isn’t that the point of any game? To win?”

“When you literally can’t afford to lose,” Alistair says smugly. “Stassi, I’m fine, and Hale’s right: this isn’t just a friendly little game. We put a bet on it, and Hale’s just trying to recover what he put down. If I knew it’d be this intense, though, I would’ve told Bart to lower the charge.”

Bart shrugs as Hale’s face grows redder by the second. “I thought five thousand was fairly friendly. Just enough to get everyone excited over the losers’ covering dinner.”

Dinner?! For five thousand?

“I’m not upset about the money,” Hale snaps. “You’re just upset that you lost. To me.”

Another long pause.

“And you’re going to lose to me,again.” He’s talking to Alistair, but his eyes fly to Stassi’s at the last word before he turns to Bart. “Thanks for inviting me to your turf. I’ll see you on mine tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bart says, a twinkle in his coal-black eyes as he holds a smirk at bay.

It’s hard to believe that he and Alistair are friends. Not because they don’t run in the same social circles, but because Bart feels more youthful.

“His turf? As in Pierrot’s?” Delphine says, and I can’t stop my eye roll as I spot her. “As in Pierrot's, thestripclubs?”

“And as in the clowns,” Alistair says. “I bet he doesn’t even know its origin in France.”

Aria’s mother says something in French, and that laughter I can only classify as richha ha ha’sresounds before tapering off elegantly because, clearly, everyone understands what she said except me.

But it’s only the parents who laugh. Aria gives her mother an annoyed look before averting her eyes.

“It’s what his mother dresses herself up as,” Delphine says. “I ran into her at Beaulieu on the first day of school. I could hear her coming before I even saw her with all those tacky gold bangles.”

“I think her bangles are pretty,” Aria says. “They show off her culture. Maybe that’s why you don’t like them.”

“Aria,” her mother chastises.

“What?” Aria asks innocently. “I’m just saying I know you don’t take fashion inspirations fromethnic minorities, Delphine.”

“Neither does your own mother,” Delphine cuts back sweetly. “I do adore the new line, Marselise. I ordered theElodiehandbag from Milan already. It’s very sleek and classic. Unlike those gaudy monstrositiestheytote around.”

Marselise smiles.

“There’s a time and place for everything,” Bart says. “We can all use a clown in our lives. Alistair, that was you back in school.”

I find that damn near impossible to believe.

“Hale’s great entertainment, and I need to unwind after months of back-to-back business deals. That’s why I hired him to throw me a private event at the penthouse, although old habits die hard because I’ve still mixed in a bit of business.”

“What’s the party for?” Aria asks.

“A few things. A celebration for Gant and me finally closing on an old business deal and to honour Marisol. Her second death anniversary passed a month ago, and now that I’m finally home and surrounded by her friends and family, it’s time I did something big to mark her honour.” He touches Delphine’s shoulder, and she averts her watery eyes to the pitch.

Gant, however, remains frozen in place, including his blank expression. Still, my heart flutters at the sight of him. I wouldn’t see him again until Beaulieu.

No more late night dinners or early morning breakfasts over the sunrise.

No more dance classes that end in him begging to lick my slit.

No more steamy showers and cosy cuddles after he’s soaked his cock in me and sucked my soul through my clit.

No more bubble.

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