Page 52 of Pretty Secrets

Oliver charges forward, and we both catch up to Eden and Leo at the front door. I let them in, setting the alarm once we’re all inside. Leo tries to let her down, but as soon as her feet touch the floor, she hisses. “Fucking bastards,” she grinds out.

“I’ll raid the bathrooms,” I tell her, hoping one of the past inhabitants left something useful. My cabinets come up empty, but in the room with the unicorns, I find a First Aid Kit under the sink. Bringing it out, I sit next to Eden on the couch. She avoids my gaze as I peek at her feet. They’re an angry red. In some places, it looks as if the skin has melted right off, giving way to the virgin skin underneath. I hate to say it, but the river water probably saved them.

She takes one look at my face and grimaces. “Can an injured girl get a drink in this place?” she asks.

Leo moves into the kitchen and finds a couple bottles of liquor along with some shot glasses. He starts pouring the brown liquid and hands one to Oliver and then to Eden. I’m surprised he hasn’t holed himself up in his room yet. That seems to be his MO, but not this time.

Oliver and Eden raise their shots toward one another, then drink them down, leaving their glasses out to be filled once again.

“This is going to sting,” I say. A doctor I am not, but I know broken skin needs to be cleansed and treated. I dump rubbing alcohol on her foot, and she nearly jumps off the couch. Leo drops the bottle of liquor to hold her shoulders down. “Fuck, sorry.” The nearly full alcohol bottle empties out onto the same carpet that saved it from breaking while I search the kit for bandages.

“Jesus Christ,” she pants. “That fucking hurt.”

Unbelievably, Oliver chuckles.

Eden shoots him a death glare. “Watch it. You’re next, Number Five.” This reprimand makes his laugh deepen.

“Number Five?” I question as I glance over at Oliver losing it. It’s the stress. They need this right now.

“He’s fifth in line to the throne,” Eden informs us, grinning. “Well, should be fifth in line.”

Oliver’s still clutching at his stomach, tears clinging to the corners of his eyes. “Sorry,” he rasps out. “You just reminded me of that time you fell off your horse. We were—”

“Nine, I know.” Eden flinches away from me as I slather some burn ointment on her feet. “Your relatives really didn’t like it when I yelled fuck in the middle of the game. British people are so hoity-toity,” she says, winking at Oliver.

He shakes his head at her. “You did it in the presence of the queen.”

She mock gasps. “The horror.”

“I knew then we were going to be best friends for life.”

Her smile shifts into fondness. At first, I thought there was nothing between these two, even if it was plain as day how much Oliver cared for her. Then, that one night, she gripped his cock and jerked it like it was hers, making him splooge. Hell, if she’d taken my cock, I’d have probably lost it too.

Then, I could’ve rationalized it away, but not today. I don’t like the hold she has over me.

“So, you guys have known each other for that long?” Leo asks, brows rising as he rights the alcohol bottle and places it on the coffee table.

“We met on a polo field,” Oliver explains. “We were super young, untalented little arseholes at the time, but we grew up. Bet you didn’t know this girl could’ve been a professional polo player.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s such a rich people sport. Surfing’s better.”

“You can surf?”

She tilts her head at me as I wrap her feet in bandages. “I love the water,” she says, and the glassiness that comes over her eyes is the only thing that brings me back to what just happened. It’s a sobering fact over the rest of us too.

Leo swoops down to pick up the liquor bottle again. He fills their shot glasses and then hands one off to me as well.

I swallow it down, basking in the fiery wake it leaves as I move to Oliver’s feet.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Eden chides when Oliver shies away from me.

I turn toward her, worry clenching my gut. I held her after the last Trial. This one far surpassed that, but she’s doing everything she can to cover up her true feelings. “We should talk about what happened earlier.”

She clams up, glancing at her feet. “For what reason?”

Without warning, I dump alcohol on Oliver’s feet, and he hisses. “You’re just going to pretend?” I ask.

“No, I’m just not going to sit here and focus on one thing. We’re not idiots. We know someone did that on purpose. But who? How are we going to prove it?” she says. “So, fuck it. I can be mad at the world, or I can move forward in victory.” She swallows suddenly, face paling. “My sister used to say that. She probably got it from my dad.” She clears her throat. “So, no, I don’t want to fucking talk about it. What I want to do is kick all their asses in the Trials. Show them it’s going to take a lot more than that to break an Astor.”

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