Rolling to my side, I lean in to read the spine.
Othello.
I blink, sitting up.Is he reading that because I suggested it?
My eyes flicker to his back, rigid as he stands between his brother and me. His fingers grip the doorjamb in a waythat makes my muscles feel weak, and I wish we hadn’t been interrupted.
I wish he’d wanted more thanoffice hours.
“What do you mean you’re going to a Curator party?” Sutton probes. “You’re not an active member anymore.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t attend. A couple of people from my Ancient Civ course last semester asked if I’d join. I didn’t want to say no again.”
“Again? They’ve invited you before?”
“A few times since the start of the year. But I’ve not really been up to attending, so…”
Sutton’s shoulders slump. He doesn’t immediately reply, and I see the shadow from the hall shift, and the top of Beckett’s head appears. Cringing, I dive beneath the blankets, instantly regretting it when I’m enveloped in nothing but Sutton’s scent.
“Who do you have in there anyway?” Beckett asks.
“No one.”
They stay quiet for several beats. Someone clicks their tongue, and then Beckett speaks again. “Come on, just tell me. It’s not like you to entertain guests. Honestly, I was starting to think you were just going to be celibate forever.”
“My sex life is none of your business.”
“But Death’s?—”
“Go to your party,” Sutton cuts him off, his voice gruff.
My stomach twists into a dozen knots.What was the end of that sentence?
Is he seeing someone else? Someone in Death’s Teeth?
I admit my understanding of that organization is still pretty fuzzy, but if there’s some kind of requirement where sex remains between members only, I’m not sure I want to know more.
Surely not though. Sutton barely interacts with other people except when they’re in an audience, a safe distance away.I’ve seen him go out of his way to avoid shoulder taps from colleagues and brushes against other students in the halls.
Still. Jealousy percolates in my gut regardless.
“Oh, is it a student? Someone Father would hate? Because?—”
“Be home no later than midnight, or else I will drag you out in front of your friends.”
Beckett’s sigh is loud and obnoxious. “Whatever you say, Sutty,” he grumbles, and then his footsteps carry off somewhere in the distance, making me think he’s walked away.
After several minutes, the sound of the door clicking shut echoes through the room, followed by the turning of a lock. I peek out from the covers, watching Sutton as he walks back to the bed and flops face down onto the mattress.
Ask him. Ask him about what you saw in the forest, Elle. Ask what those people you hid from in the gazebo were talking about. Demand answers. Don’t just wait around again until something happens.
“Hey, Sutton?”
He groans without moving. “Don’t call me that.”
Every other question I’d been about to verbalize vanishes on the tip of my tongue. “Your name?”
“I don’t like how it sounds coming from you.”
