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I wait for Laura’s cheeky response, but it never comes. Peering into the room, I look for my friend, but don’t see her. My curiosity quickly reveals me, sadly. The movement catches the attention of a few of the girls. There are whispers and turned heads, and then suddenly, everything stills.

All eyes are on me.

Trying on a smile, I say, “Hey,” and step into the room.

“Oh, look, everyone,” Kathleen turns around, “it’s thePrincess.” There’s no mistaking the sneer in her tone when she says my title.

My stomach twists painfully. “I know,” I laugh, trying to cut the tension, “it’s weird. Likesuperweird, but I’m still just me.”

“Where’s your tiara?” Daphne chimes in and the girls around her laugh. The sound is mean, scathing.

“I, uh—”

“Got a princeling in there yet?” Maggie’s dark eyes drop to my stomach. “You do look kind of fatter.”

My cheeks heat and my hand instinctively shifts to my lower belly. “Uh, not that I know of.”

A chill settles over the room and slowly they all turn away, returning to their beauty routines. Family dinner is the one night everyone puts a different sort of effort into their appearances. People here dress a little nicer. No midriffs or exposed bras, no tanks or basketball shorts. It’s not quite a Princess level of formality, but it’s the rule.

Mostly, however, they ignore me. Kathleen, Maggie, Andrea–who I’ve known since high school–Daphne, Arden, Jaden… Their eyes look right through me. It’s as if I’ve become the ghost Wicker warned me about last night.

Steadying myself, I squeeze in next to a frosty Kathleen, where my locker is located. I jerk it open, and freeze at what I find inside.

Nothing.

It’s completely empty.

“Where’s all my stuff?” I panic, reaching inside, even though I know my phone and purse are clearly absent.

“Your mom tossed it.” Maggie says, applying a layer of blue eyeshadow. “You know, after you abandoned DKS.”

“I didn’t abandon anyone,” I argue. I’d love to tell them about the negotiations between DKS and PNZ. The Monarchs. The bigger goals. But I’m not at liberty to share any of that, and it cuts me like a fucking knife. Sliding my gaze to Kathleen, I say, “Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t take the chance if you were given the opportunity.”

She slams her locker, drawing every eye back to us as she raises her chin defiantly. “No, Verity, I wouldn’t. Some of us can’t be bought with shallow public gestures, fancy roses, and expensive cars. I made a promise when the Dukes let me into this gym. My loyalty is to them and no one else.”

Andrea sneers, “But DKS boys don’t come with trust funds, so they’re obviously not good enough for you.”

Before I can protest, Jaden jumps in. “DKS protects us better than any pampered East End fuckboy could.”

“You know what’ll happen if you don’t get knocked up,” Kathleen offers, her eyes full of distrust, but also something else. Concern. “They’ll destroy you, V. You’ve seen enough rejected Princesses to know better.”

“And when theydoreject you,” Maggie steps toward me, only an inch away, “there won’t be any crawling back to West End. Not to these men. Not to your mother. Definitely not to us.”

“That’s enough!” Every eye snaps to the door where Lavinia Lucia stands. There’s fire in her eyes as she stares them all down, a hand propped on her hip. Her lips quirk up when she sees me. “Lurch out there tipped me off that you were here.” Her eyes cut back to the girls in the room. “I’m going to pretend like I didn’t just hear the nasty bullshit being spewed in here. Verity is one of us, and that’s forever.” Her gaze locks in on Maggie. “She’s got more DKS roots than that ombre dye job on your head. Don’t forget that.”

“Vinny,” Kathleen says, eyes wide and incredulous, “she’s East End now.”

Lavinia shrugs. “And I was North Side. A little part of me will always be.” She lifts her foot and puts it on one of the benches, exposing her leg. A snake wraps around her calf—Remy’s artistic skills having brought it to life over the past couple weeks. “We’re in a new era–one where the women of Forsyth stop bashing on one another. At least as long as you’re in my house.”

No one says anything to this, but I see the shift as people begin packing their grudges away. West Enders have always been good at storing malice as future ammo.

Great.

She lowers her foot and throws her arm around my shoulder, telling the girls, “Verity isn’t just a guest tonight. She’s family. We treat her as such, got it?”

Kathleen nods, and even though she doesn’t meet my gaze, leaning toward the mirror to apply some mascara, she casually asks, “So what’s it like having Whitaker Ashby’s perfect cock buried in your body?”

Andrea smirks. “Is it as big as his hockey stick?”