Page 43 of Vying Girls (Girls of Hazelhurst #2)

Nic

‘I’d let you strap me,’ Haz says, punctuating her announcement with a hearty belch. She thumps her chest, looking at me sat on the armchair. ‘Come straddle you now if you want, baby.’

I shake my head, sighing through my nose.

It’s only the second time I’ve been to one of these formals but it’s a black-tie sort of thing.

I’m wearing what I had last time, hoping no one’s that eagle-eyed.

Navy waistcoat, brown blazer and tie, the shirt underneath a grey plaid.

It’s all a tad oversized, can’t bear the fitted look.

The wooden buttons on the waistcoat are my favourite accessory.

I play with one between my finger and thumb, enjoying the cold, polished feel of it.

I check the time on my watch, the one I’m wearing for the evening. Tilda’s got time but I’m still antsy.

‘You do look fucking cool,’ Elly says, adding to Haz’s statement. ‘Love the loafers and no socks. Very hipster.’

I flash her a smile, fingers twitching with the urge to crack out some whiskey. I refrain, knowing there’ll be a shit-tonne of it at the meal. Zaccaro’s favourite tipple.

‘Want me to go check where she’s at?’ Haz asks, intuitively sensing my impatience.

‘Nah.’ I force myself to relax back on the chair, resting an ankle on my knee. ‘Leave her.’

‘You going out afterwards?’

‘Nope.’

‘Not to the Vaults?’

I swing my eyes to Haz’s, levelling her look with one of my own. ‘I just said we’re not going out.’

She nods. ‘Good. Fucking right.’

I sigh again, thinking that might be less detrimental than spending a few hours in close proximity to Tilda. I’ve had a word with myself, countless actually. Just for a day, one fucking day, I’m going to try and block the rest of it out.

It’s nearly nine now; the day’s practically over. We’ve had lunch and opened presents and eaten the cake Elly managed to ship over from the mainland. We’ve done okay, but we also weren’t alone. Haz and Elly are as good a buffer as any. The real test starts now.

I hear her on the landing, the sound of a door closing. Then she’s padding down the stairs, black velvet whispering against her legs. I straighten up as she comes into view, eager to see her in my offering.

‘Ho- ly fuck.’ Haz sits forward, running her tongue over her lips. ‘Where the hell have you been hiding that?’

Tilda smooths her hands down her hips, darting a look my way. ‘Nic got me it.’

Haz smirks over at me. ‘Did she now? Impeccable taste all round.’

I look away, watching Elly reach out to pull Tilda towards her. She says something I can’t make out, Tilda chuckling in response.

‘Don’t think I’ve got another in me,’ Tilda murmurs, making it obvious what it is they’re whispering about.

I let out a silent huff. They’ve been fucking all damn day.

Tilda looks at me again, her face as wary as it is eager. ‘You ready?’

I nod, standing up. ‘Looks like it fits,’ I say uselessly, swallowing against the urge to say more.

I’m pushing it down, the attraction, the pull, the thrumming in my blood at the sight of her.

The dress fits like a glove. Doubt it would be anything she’d choose herself, but at least I went with black.

With her tattoos and piercings and tiny dagger necklace, she’s a heady mix of alternative and elegant.

She smiles. ‘Perfect fit.’ Her eyes skitter over me. ‘You look ace. Love that suit.’

‘Thanks.’ I look at my watch, at the clock on the wall. Anywhere but at her. ‘Ready to head?’

‘Dunno. Gonna tell me where we’re going?’

‘Just a meal. I told you.’

‘You told me literally nothing. But yeah, I’m ready.’

‘Enjoy your date, kids,’ Haz calls.

I gesture Tilda through to the kitchen, leaving Haz chortling behind us.

Tilda fiddles with a strappy bag, tucking her phone inside. ‘I’ve only got my Docs. I cleaned them, but—hope they’re okay.’

‘They’re fine.’ I offer her a small smile, tucking my own phone into my pocket. ‘I won’t let them kick you out.’

‘I can take that, if you want.’ She holds out a hand. ‘It’ll fit in my bag.’

I hesitate before handing it over, feeling more significance in that small act than in inviting her out with me at all.

‘Alright,’ she says, drawing in a breath. ‘Let’s go do legacy shit.’

I watch her take it all in, the circular stone room; the stained glass domed roof, the moon a white smudge on the other side; the legacies, elites and other poshos sitting at the round table.

She looks starkly out of place, in her demeanour if not her outfit. Her eyes dart around, fingers toying with the edge of the tablecloth. Everyone’s talking, laughing, sipping from crystal glasses of water. I eye the decanters of booze on the table, wishing they’d get on with it.

‘Who is everyone?’ Tilda asks, voice low.

‘Don’t know everyone, but’—I nod to the people directly opposite us—‘that’s Zaccaro, then Fina.

She was the one with the wolf that you saw.

Next to her is Violet. Don’t really know her, but she’s a Savage.

Probably one of Margot’s nieces. She’s got a few.

’ I slide my eyes over Margot herself, pursing my lips at the next girl. ‘I don’t know that one.’

‘That’s Aurelie. She’s in Margot’s class with me. She lives with Blakely.’

‘Look at you, knowing more about my friends than me.’

‘She’s the only one of them I like.’

‘In that case, I’ll probably hate her.’

Tilda tuts. ‘Such a contrarian. Who’s that one?’ She nods to Zaccaro’s other side.

‘Fina’s cousin. Luca. Don’t really know her either. I get the impression Fina doesn’t like her much.’

‘She’s looking at me weird.’

I frown across the table. Luca’s staring alright. Her blue eyes, so at odds with the rest of her, hold a slight predatory glint. ‘You’re fresh blood.’

I put my arm across Tilda, drawing Luca’s gaze to me instead. She looks up, smiles, then runs her tongue over her lips.

Tilda sucks in a breath. ‘Split tongue! Man, I’ve always wanted to do that.’

I remove my arm. ‘According to Fina, she’s majorly fucked in the head.’

‘Yep. Can definitely see that.’ Tilda picks up her glass, takes a sip, puts it back down, then goes back to playing with the tablecloth. ‘Are you sure I’m allowed to be here?’

‘They wouldn’t have let you in the door if you weren’t. Chill, will you. We’re allowed plus ones.’

She hums. ‘Probably not scholarship though.’

‘Don’t box yourself in.’ I slide my eyes to her. ‘What happened to you being an all-powerful witch?’

Tilda looks at me, expression solemn. ‘She lost her powers when her familiar left.’

I look away. ‘Well. She’s here tonight. You belong here as much as any of these toffs.’

She smiles. ‘You’re technically one of those toffs too.’

I shrug one shoulder. ‘Feels more like a game to me. I don’t take any of this shit seriously.’ I toss up a hand, looking around the obscenely opulent room. ‘How can you?’

‘I get the feeling these lot do.’ She leans in close and hisses, ‘Are they all Mafia?’

I chuckle. ‘Maybe the Italian ones.’

‘I bet Luca’s a hitman or something. Hitwoman.’

‘Wouldn’t put it past her.’

‘I mean, only the Mafia would have pet wolves, right? Like, surely that isn’t legal.’

‘Surely. But who’s going to take on Zaccaro? We just have to sit pretty and drink his whiskey.’

Tilda wrinkles her nose. ‘Suppose I can’t say no, can I?’

I shake my head. ‘He’s beheaded students for less.’

Tilda smiles absently, her eyes trained on the man in question. I refrain from rolling my eyes. Of course she’d have a thing for the middle-aged bad boy.

But that’s fine. Less of her attention on me.

From across the room, scotch in hand, I watch her converse with Zaccaro.

Well, converse would be too strong of a word.

Zaccaro’s lips are moving, that polite, eager, undoubtedly manufactured light in his eyes as he lords himself over Tilda like some kind of celebrity.

Which he kind of is around here, albeit for all the wrong reasons.

Tilda just nods, smiles in all the right places, barely blinking as she laps him up. He does this at these meals, makes it a point to personally speak with everyone.

That slit in her dress faces me, a long, dagger-shaped line of skin exposed. I made sure not to get pissed tonight, not beyond this gentle buzz that’s making everything bearable. The rich meal helped, but it’s been hours now. Hours of Tilda beside me in that fucking dress.

I don’t know what’s worse, that red number that barely covers her ass or this one that makes her stand taller, classier.

She keeps finding my eyes, relief in them each time they land.

Still feeling out of place, then. I fog up my tumbler with my snort.

She’s the poshest-looking bitch here. Objectively the prettiest.

Not so objectively, too, if I’m going to be honest.

I cast my eyes over the room. The table’s been cleared, the lights dimmed.

The music is louder now, the people too.

This is usually when I bail. Can’t be fucked with the shmoozing, the awkward dancing that goes with it.

Be more bearable if Blakely showed her face at these things, being Fina’s bestie and all, but no, she’d rather be throwing fists in a cage.

Directly across from me stands the blonde girl who Tilda knows. She’s got Zaccaro’s man with her, the lanky, creepy son of a gun who always accompanies Zaccaro out and about.

I can hear Tilda’s voice in my head. Only Mafia have bodyguards, right? I smile despite myself, still watching Aurelie. She gazes out coolly, as if she’s the only one in the entire room. Is she royalty or something? Mafia princess?

I’m interrupted from my wonderings when Tilda returns, seeming a little breathless.

‘I just spoke to the Mafia and survived.’

‘Congrats. He only spared you because it’s your birthday.’

She runs a hand over her forehead in mock relief. We watch the others dance for a bit. Fina spins Violet, the two of them pissing about. Clearly not fucking unlike Violet and Blakely. They holler stuff at Margot who rolls her eyes good naturedly, plastering on a glare.