Chapter 210

The burn on my arm is about the size of an apple, and it’s definitely second-degree, according to the Burberry Prep school nurse. She gives me a scolding about being careful with the iron, calls my dad, and makes me sit there while he fusses over me.

After word about what happened gets around, the attitude in the Plebs shifts. When I walk down the hall, people scramble to get out of my way. If I step onto an elevator, everyone else vacates. And for the time being, nobody sits at the high table but us.

“Harper’s not done yet,” Windsor says, lying back on the grass and looking up at the blue sky. It’s February now, and still technically winter, but today has been beyond beautiful, sunny and bright with hardly a breeze to be felt.

Thank god because I really needed it.

“Not even close,” Tristan says, looking at the checkered blanket and picnic basket like he’s never been on a picnic in his life. Hell, maybe he hasn’t? I cradle my arm against my chest, buried deep