The view from my room is stunning. The front of Arbourne with its carefully trimmed hedges and fields, is already beautiful enough, but it doesn't truly do it justice. From my window on the third floor of Manners House, I can see down to the golf course and the small lake right on the edge of Arbourne property. When I look closely, I catch sight of a graceful glass building—their greenhouse—in the distance. At Arbourne, you get what you pay for. And you pay for a lot.
They've even furnished our rooms for us, at least with the basics. They allowed us to call in and order things directly to the school, promising to set it up for us. They delivered. The elegant cream bed and mattress I ordered are arranged in the corner opposite of a matching desk and wardrobe. I've decorated my room as I see fit with a luxurious persian rug resembling the night sky and various other trinkets, and piled my cream suitcases back into the assistant's car. Sparky left to attend the new parent coffee.
Compared to other places, it's a tad small, but my room also exits into a common room which I share with two others, along with a bathroom.
Suddenly, I hear a scuffling, and a door slams open. Speak of the devil! That must be one of my roommates.
I hear a string of rapid-fire Spanish and decide it's a good time to enter the common room. Why not?
Immediately, I'm greeted with a mountain of suitcases toppling onto the floor of the common room. A girl my age with honey-blonde hair in an elaborate braid stands, looking at her mom exasperatedly. "Mamá! Look what you've done!" she protests exasperatedly.
"You're the one who wanted to bring it up on your own," her mom fires back. I swear I've seen her before—there's something familiar about the curve of her nose and the sweep of pale brown hair.
"It was fine until you tried to help," the girl sighs, turning towards me. She sees me, and her eyes widen.
I wave sarcastically. "Bad time?" I joke.
Her cheeks flush red. Her mom turns to me, and then it hits me. I have seen them before! It's la Reina Mariana and Infanta—
"Esmeralda," her mom, the queen of Spain, reprimands, "introduce yourself!"
"I was going to! Hi, hello," Esmeralda, the third princess of Spain, says with a nervous glance in my direction. "I'm Esmeralda."
I grin. Interacting with royalty isn't all that nerve-wracking if you know the right people. "Yeah, I know. Daniele and Gaetano told me all about you."
In an instant, her nervousness falls away, and her face lights up at hearing those familiar names. "You know the twins? Are you Italian?" she exclaims.
Daniele and Gaetano are the twin sons of the prime minister of Italy; they've met Esmeralda at numerous diplomatic events before. I nod. "Valentina Bianchi. It's nice to meet you. I guess we're roommates."
Valentina shakes my hand vigorously, and I wait politely to see if the queen wants to offer as well. She does, but her handshake is lighter, and she looks over me as if appraising me. I suspect her appraisal went well because she turns to Esmeralda with a smile. "Well, you certainly got lucky with your roommate. I'm glad you two share friends. I'll be leaving for the coffee now; have fun, girls."
Esmeralda waves at her mom, beaming. As soon as her mom leaves the room, she rolls up her sleeves and springs into action, hauling the suitcases upright and shoving them over to her dorm in a very unladylike fashion. It allows me to really look at her. Her elaborate braid and similarly formal dress are awkward on her wiry body. She looks like she'd be more at ease in golf clothes or riding gear than the muted red cocktail dress she currently wears.
"Esmeralda, you do golf, right?" I ask, helping Esmeralda move some of her suitcases into her room. "The twins told me how good you are."
"Yes, I really like golf! And you can just call me Es. We're basically friends, since you know the twins too, right? I'm really glad you're my roommate then." She pauses her movement, lowering her voice. "To be honest, I was scared that I'd room with someone who's obsessed with the royal family or something. There are people like that, you know. It's probably very far-removed from your life, but—"
"No, I get it. That'd be like having live-in paparazzi."
Es's expression is absolutely radiant, like we've just connected on a spiritual level. "You get it! Do you—sorry, we've never met before—what does your father do?"
"Land development in China," I say, shrugging it off nonchalantly. "You wouldn't have heard of him. We have family in Italy though. Have you met Gia Bianchi, my mom? Her family owned land before the wars."
Es shakes her head regretfully. "No, I have never met her."
As Es sets up her room, we chat some more about people we both know. I offer to help but she waves me off; I figured as much. She really seems like someone who wants to do everything herself. Her decoration taste is minimal and practical, and she's done in no time. "Ah," Es exclaims, collapsing onto the comfy couch in the common room, "aren't we meant to go down to the convocation luncheon soon?"
I nod, checking my watch (compact and elegant; a vintage rolex). "In ten minutes."
Es springs up, glancing around. "Where's our third roommate then?"
Their absence is unmistakable.
"Maybe they're late. I guess we should just go down without them," I say, shrugging.
Es looks uneasy but she follows me out of our dorm. The hallway is packed with luggage and people. We barely manage to navigate around the clamour to the elevators, but they're so busy that I suggest we take the stairs instead.
There's a noticeable change in Es's demeanour as we leave our room. She clams up, straightening her spine and trying awkwardly to look dignified. I watch her carefully out of the side of my eye. Is she nervous?
I guess that's better for me then. Compared to her, I must look positively dazzling.
꧁꧂
Having a princess on your side, even a socially awkward and silent princess (actually, that's even better—a shy princess doesn't overshadow you), makes you a lot of friends.
A prince of the Netherlands sat at our convocation table, as well as two daughters of Parliament members. Not to mention the son of the current president of Argentina. Even after the luncheon, there are people coming up to us as we're leaving. Es has gone completely quiet, leaving me to mediate and make small talk with all the people who've come to gawk at a princess.
When we're finally walking back to Manners House, it's a breath of fresh air. A little tension escapes Es's limbs. She sighs deeply. "Do you think I can just skip the House bonding activities later?" she asks.
I grin wickedly. "Don't you want to give autographs to all those adoring fans?" I tease.
"No!" Es exclaims fiercely. "Oh, you were joking. Well, no anyways."
I wave her off. Even if I'd rather have a princess on my side, I can do without. "Go skip if you want. I doubt they care much."
As we enter the main hall of Manners House, Es slips away and takes the stairs. That leaves me alone. I straighten up and survey the room. They're separated into clear groups. I set my sights on the loudest and the largest; they're clearly important.
I hear a guy telling a wildly funny joke concerning two blondes and a Bugatti as I approach. As he reaches the punchline, I giggle just loud enough to be heard over the group's laughter. All eyes turn to me.
"Sorry," I say, stifling a laugh. "That was funny. Do you guys know what we're doing this afternoon? I just transferred, so ..."
"Oh, a transfer!" someone exclaims.
"You were the one walking around with Es earlier, weren't you?" someone else asks.
I nod. "Valentina Bianchi. I'm going into year twelve."
"Us too!" the guy who was telling the joke exclaims. He has pale skin and tousled black hair. His eyes glimmer with amusement, like the world itself is a walking punchline. "I'm Tae Seung-jun. Bianchi, Bianchi ... I swear I've heard that name before."
"I'm Italian, if that wasn't obvious," I say sarcastically, earning a round of laughter from the group.
"Our House prefects are giving us the usual speech, and then I think we have icebreakers," an excitable-looking girl says in response to my question.
"Like we don't know everyone already," someone else mutters.
"You can stick with us for that," Seung-jun says, grinning. "You'll be our token transfer student."
And with that, I'm officially in. Introductions follow like a waterfall. The excitable girl is Diamond Lee, black american and heiress to a tech empire. There's also Cyra Esfahani, whose family made a fortune off of microwaveable snacks, and Cahyono Rizky, son of a steel magnate in Indonesia. Mikhail Lisitsyn's family owns an oil company (and it's rumoured that they're descended from the Romanovs), Manon Allard's family does land development in Andorra, and Nandika Vyas's mother is a Silicon Valley power player. And of course, Seung-jun, who's family is a tech chaebol from South Korea. It's difficult to keep all their names straight, but I manage. Seung-jun even tells me that there are more, just in different Houses.
"Where's Es?" Manon asks—she's the one earlier who was close enough to the princess to call her Es.
"Didn't want to deal with the paparazzi," I say.
"Shame," Cahyono mutters.
"You're absolutely delusional," Cyra says, flipping her luxurious black hair over her shoulder. "You think you have a chance with a princess?"
"You never know!" Cahyono protests.
"Utterly delusional," I say, examining my nails with a mock disapproval.
Cahyono has the grace to laugh at the jokes. I can tell that the group has relaxed a little; I'm one of them now, and they're getting comfortable.
Our conversation is cut short when the prefects come to give us a lengthy lecture about House rules. There honestly aren't that many. Parties are allowed. Alcohol isn't, but the side-eyes that the others give me tell me that the alcohol rule isn't well-enforced. Issues are to be reported to the prefects—but handled privately first, if possible. It seems like they rule the Houses very laxly. I suppose they can't discipline their students too harshly, considering how much money everyone has to pour into lawsuits if needed.
There's also a new rule this year that apparently wasn't in force last year. The curfew for visitors is now set to 9:00 on weekdays, in an attempt to enforce better sleep schedules.
I see Seung-jun and Manon exchange a look. "Jasper's going to be devastated," Seung-jun snickers.
"Who's Jasper?" I whisper.
"He's kind of a player," Manon whispers back, which doesn't really answer my question, but does explain why he'd be devastated about an early curfew for visitors.
"He's definitely going to try to sneak in somewhere. Ten quid it's Courtney House," Seung-jun says.
"Ten quid it's Manners," Manon shoots back. "Didn't you hear how he ended his situationship with Safia? She lives in Courtney. He's going to be avoiding that House for a while."
"It's only the start of the school year," I say, amused.
"You've never met Jasper. You have to meet him to know," Seung-jun informs me. "Just you wait. He basically rules the school; a stupid curfew rule isn't going to stop him from getting what he wants."
I laugh, and then quiet down when a prefect shoots our group a dirty look. "Then I'll put ten pounds on him going for someone in Somerset first."
"He lives in Somerset."
"Exactly," I point out. "Which would make it ideal, if there's a rule making it difficult for him to go to other Houses."
Seung-jun and Manon stare at me. "You've outsmarted us," Manon says, "so this now means war. I'm introducing him to as many Manners girls as I can."
"We'll see who wins in the end," Seung-jun says, smirking.
"It's not going to be you," I inform him.
"Oh yes it will!"
"I'm with Valentina on this one. You are so losing."
"Wait and see!" Seung-jun protests.
I grin. "We'll wait."
꧁꧂