Page 11 of Cruel Games

Orlando took his seat, while Maxwell stood behind the one next to his friend’s and beckoned me over with a flick of his head. Was he going to pull out my seat like they did on TV? I inhaled a deep breath, acting like I went to fancy restaurants all the time with sophisticated men and lowered myself into the seat.

Maxwell pushed it in and murmured, “Comfortable?”

“Thanks.” I smiled at him.

As soon as he took the seat next to mine, waiting staff wearing white shirts and black pants poured ladles of tomato soup in our bowls. Maxwell offered me a basket of bread rolls. I glanced at the selection, feeling somewhat overwhelmed at the genteel atmosphere. Not even the eleven-year-olds raised their voices.

“Uh-oh,” said Orlando.

“What?” asked Maxwell.

“Elizabeth is glaring at us.”

“Doesn’t she always whenever things don’t go her way?” muttered Maxwell.

“Who’s Elizabeth?” I asked.

“Look to your left,” said Orlando. “But don’t make it obvious.”

I slid my gaze toward the dining room’s doors to find a girl glowering in our direction. Honey-blonde waves cascaded from a face that would be pretty if it wasn’t twisted with rage. Kendrick sat on her side, his hand on her wrist. His features strained as though trying to calm her.

“Who is she?” I selected a whole wheat roll from the basket and wondered if I needed to cut it with the knife.

“The future Lady Liddell.” Orlando broke apart his bread roll between his fingers and covered a piece with butter.

My eyes narrowed. The nasty scowl the girl sent me said it all. If this was Richley, that kind of look signaled a beat down for poaching on her turf. “Who do you normally sit with?”

Maxwell rested his chin in his hands and gave me a dreamy smile. “The most beautiful girl in the academy.”

Implying that I had knocked poor old Elizabeth from her pedestal. I opened my bread roll and spread a light scraping of butter. The only dependable boy in the trio was Kendrick, who had loyally remained true to Elizabeth.

“Which subjects are you studying?” Orlando spooned the soup away from himself, just like the gentlemen did in period dramas.

“Fashion and Textiles, Art and Design, Business Studies,” I said.

“I’m in Business Studies,” said Orlando. “And Max will be in Art and Design with you.”

“Hopefully more,” said Maxwell.

“Do you ever stop flirting?” I asked.

“Not when I see a girl I like.” He spooned his soup in the same upper-crust way as Orlando. “And I want you.”

The corners of my mouth quirked into a smile. “What if I like Orlando?”

“I don’t mind sharing.” Maxwell sipped at his soup.

I rolled my eyes. He was so full of shit. A badass-looking guy like him would want a girl all to himself. Two or three if he could get away with it.

Straightening to attention, Orlando lowered his spoon. A malevolent presence on my left caused the fine hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end, the way it did moments before someone smashed a bottle against the side of a bar and shoved the jagged edges into someone’s throat.

I set down my spoon and turned to find Elizabeth glaring down at me with eyes as cold as frost.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Elizabeth,” said Orlando, “May I present—”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she spat.