Page 8 of Pretty Secrets

The servants were busy last night. I peer around, noting all of my boxes are unpacked and put away. My directions were followed to the T. Just like I expect. Surveying the space further, I admire its cleanliness, though it’s small. Cramped, even.

Right now, those same servants I brought with me are shacking up in a house I rented a mile away. The plan is to convince Eden to move off campus eventually, but that’ll take time.

It’ll be safer there. The Knights are dangerous. I may not be fully sold on the fact that they had anything to do with Dee’s sad death, but they do prey on girls.

And I’ll be damned if I let that happen to Edie.

4

Eden

Iopen the door to Oliver casually leaning against the doorjamb. He looks like he just stepped off a polo field with a collared shirt and khaki shorts. He’s even wearing loafers with a pair of dark sunglasses perched on top of his head. I asked him once if he ever got tired of dressing like such a spoiled rich kid. He told me to bugger off…and I love him for it.

I see his point about needing different clothes to fit in, I just wish I didn’t. Shedding this one last layer will be the only remnant of who I was.

“Chin up, Astor. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Says you. You love this shit.”

He scoffs as he steps back, gesturing for me to lead the way down the stairs. “You act as if we didn’t have the same upbringing. Quit being a snob toward elitists.”

“Said no one ever,” I complain. I escaped to the West Coast to get away from all this. I don’t want rich friends who would rather stab you in the back than fight at your side. I don’t want my money—or lack thereof—to matter more than who I am. And I certainly don’t want to be farmed out to another rich family like Delilah is.

Was.

My stomach clenches, but I breathe through it. I have a sneaking suspicion Mom and Dad tried that shit with me, but they didn’t get any takers. No one wants the black sheep of the family, and I’m perfectly fine with that. It pays to be the wild child sometimes.

The rooms downstairs are empty. With the impression I made on my new roommates last night, they’re probably avoiding me. Maybe Oliver was right. I could’ve tried to be nice, but really, who touches a dead girl’s things? I can’t even see a scenario where that would be okay.

This is the level of privilege I’m dealing with here.

Oliver skirts in front of me to pull open the main door. The line of Mini Coopers is now gone. Among the luxury sedans, SUVs, and sports cars in the parking lot, my Jeep sticks out like a thorn among roses.

“Want me to call my driver?” Oliver asks, reaching for his phone. Ever since he got into a car accident that made international news, he’s had a thing about driving in America. Now, he brings a driver with him everywhere.

“Don’t be afraid,” I tease. “Hop in. Point me in the right direction.”

He peers over at me before lowering his sunglasses. “You don’t know where to go?”

“I know where to go formyclothes. Shouldn’t you know where to go foryourclothes?”

He heaves a sigh and pulls out his phone. “Sure thing. I’ll look up ‘stores for normal people’.”

I crack a smile. “Let’s just get this over with, Pretty Boy.”

A few touches to the screen later, and the robotic GPS voice filters through the phone speaker. Oliver leans back in the seat as I reverse out of the space. With the windows down, the wind tangles my hair as we take the main road into the closest town. It’s not large by any means, and I’m pretty sure it only survives because it’s a place for all the CU students to get away from campus. I’m honestly surprised it didn’t take us to the bigger tourist town nearby, but who knows, that stop might be next if Oliver has anything to say about it.

As the mechanical voice directs me to park, Oliver sits up to stare out the windshield. He spies the small shop called Trendz, his raised brows barely skimming the tops of his sunglasses. I love him to death, but he is the definition of a snob. Despite his scandalous lineage, he doesn’t want for anything. A fact that is solidified by the generous account the queen secretly filters money into. “Come on, this was your idea,” I remind him.

He pushes the passenger door open with a disgruntled look and steps out. We meet at the front of the Jeep where he holds the crook of his elbow out for me. I snake my hand through, and we walk arm in arm to the main door. A clanky bell that sounds as if it retired after a few hundred Christmases rings overhead when we enter. The browsing patrons don’t pay us any mind while we scour the place. Immediately, Oliver leads me to a section that looks like my mother single-handedly designed every piece.

My stomach pulls tight with memories of her dressing me up like Dee’s clone—putting bows in our hair, matching outfits…fucking frilly dresses. I never minded regular dresses, but dear God, don’t put me in anything with ruffles.

Oliver spies the frown on my face and gives me a heartfelt smile. “It’s the only way, Eden. Dressing like everyone else is the lowest rung on the fucked up ladder compared to what you’re here to do.”

I finger a blue, silk blouse…with frills. “I guess it just feels the most personal.”

“Because you identify with being the Astor who doesn’t conform. I get it.”

---