Stuck With The Four Hotties

Somehow, someway, I’ll have to choose.

Somehow, someway, I don’t think this is all going to end up wrapped in a perfect bow and hand delivered to my doorstep.

Sometimes happy endings taste bittersweet.

“That’s what I’m saying. I’ve had my share of girls. The only one I really liked before you, she did to me what I’d done to dozens of others. I know I

have sins to repent for, and giving you what you want isn’t one of them. Let’s go to Bornstead together, and I’ll hold your hand, even if someone else is holding onto the other side.”

“You don’t really mean that,” I choke, trying to move around him, but he gently pushes me against the wall with his hands on my shoulders, dropping his mouth to mine.

Windsor York tastes like sweet dessert wine, his tongue edging my lips, tasting me like a fine chardonnay before he even really takes a sip. His tongue moves slowly against mine, like he’s trying to draw out all the flavor. Without meaning to, my hands pull the buttons on his shirt apart, palms pressing flat against the planes of his chest.

“Think about my offer,” he whispers, one hand sliding up my waist to cup my breast through my shirt. He kneads the flesh, encouraging my chest to lift into his hand, offering myself up to him. “But also, think about everyone’s motives. Nobody is fully selfless at any given time. Think about my offer, too, and why I made it.”

Wind releases me and pushes off the wall, stalking off outside. For a moment there, I have to remind myself how to breathe. When I follow after him, I see him moving between the garden house and a large barn, hopping a low fence, and moving over to a black horse.

He strokes its neck for a moment, and then grabs a handful of mane, mounting it and then quite literally riding off into the sunset.

He certainly is the epitome of charming prince, isn’t he? Only … his horse is black, not white.

Maybe that’s a telltale sign right there?

The next morning, Windsor and I have breakfast on the deck with Alex and Charlie before the princess excuses herself for a trip into town. Dad and I play a few rounds of chess before he gets tired again, and decides to settle down with a book.

I notice he opens to the back and reads the ending first.

Chills creep over me from head to toe as I watch him, smiling privately to himself before he flips back to the first page again.

“He’s reading the last page first, so he’ll know how it ends in case he …” I trail off, pausing behind Windsor as he leads me to the stables to pick a horse. We’re going riding today which makes me a little nervous. I think I rode a pony at someone’s birthday party once when I was seven, but that’s as far as my experience goes.

He looks back at me, and then turns fully around, dust settling around his riding boots.

“Sometimes, we take pleasure in whatever we can. Nobody knows how much time they have left, Marnye. Either of us could fall off one of these horses and die today. Who says Charlie has less time left than anyone else? Let the man read his ending, and don’t let yourself fall victim to pity. He doesn’t want that from you.”

“How do you know that?” I snap back at him, raking my fingers through my rose-gold hair. It’s a bit longer now, and it’s starting to curl like Windsor’s does, right on the top.

“Because he loves you. Pity does nothing for the one being pitied. It’s an empathetic agony to the one doing the pitying. Now, come and see what I’ve got for you.” Wind turns around as my cheeks flush, and I exhale, following after him and finding a beautiful … rose-gold horse in the barn.

“Is this a horse to match the Maserati, Windsor? Because if it is, then I’m declining.”

He laughs at me, and strokes the nose of the beautiful animal as it lifts its head over the edge of the stall door to look at us with big, trusting brown eyes.

“No, I’m afraid it’s not. This is my mother’s mare. Her coloring is called amber champagne, but I thought you might like her.” He pats the horse, and then leads her out of the stall and outside where his own shiny black horse from yesterday is waiting.

There’s a set of steps for me to use to get on the horse’s back, the smell of the leather saddle in the hot sun reminding me of Windsor’s own leather polish and daffodil scent. He walks me around the paddock for a while and we start our lessons. Once I’ve figured out how to actually ride the damn

thing without falling off, we go for a short trot around the property, sun streaming across our backs.

We get back to the house in time for lunch, and I find that my thighs are unbelievably sore.

“Happens to all first-time riders,” Wind tells me cheerily (and maybe with a touch of perv, too), letting my dad win at checkers. I take notice of that because I know for a fact that he hates to lose. Despises it. It brings out that awful darkness inside of him.

“Thanks for telling me that now,” I grumble, but it’s hard to stay mad when I’ve got an entire winery to myself, including a pool and hot tub in the back. It’s a ‘natural’ pool meaning there’s foliage around the edges, rock formations, and even waterfalls. It almost looks like part of the landscape.

Dad, Wind, and I spend most of the afternoon in the water and then use up the rest of the evening watching movies in the garden house.

It’s not until the next morning that everyone else shows up.

Zack is the first to get there, parking his orange sportscar in the small dirt courtyard between the two houses and lifting his shades up to examine the guesthouse.

“You led me to believe this was a shack,” he says when Windsor pauses next to the car and folds his arms over his chest. Zack gets a frisking like everybody else from one of the security guards before his car is valeted away to a spot up the hill, out of sight and out of mind.

“Isn’t that the damnedest thing?” Windsor asks, shrugging his shoulders. He pauses at the sound of Alexandra’s voice and then sighs. “Excuse me a moment.” As he passes me by, Wind teases his fingers along my bare arm, and I shiver.

Zack notices, his dark eyes taking me in appreciatively. I’ve got on a short yellow sundress with a sweetheart neckline. It’s made of a soft jersey fabric, and it’s beyond comfy. My only issue with it is that it’s a bit short when the wind blows.Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

“Hey,” he says, and the rough grumble of his voice makes it seem ten degrees hotter out than it is. “I missed you.”

“Did you?” I quip, and his full, lush mouth curves into a smile. I’ve forgiven him for the Jalen incident. We all make mistakes, surely. But … I can’t stop thinking about what he said, about his father and grandfather. They want him with someone who h

as better breeding, more money. Surely