“Ha. No. But some of the students in my workshop found her sort of...” “Bland,” Claire had said. “Too much Cinderella, not enough Snow Queen,” Erinma said. “Nice,” I finished weakly.
“Hm. What do you think?”
“I think she’sreal,” I burst out. “She’s swept off to this magic country where she isn’t in control and she doesn’t know the rules and she’s still finding her way. Fitting in. She’s doing what she’s been told to do all her life. Be quiet. Be good. Be kind. Smile.”
“How’s that going for her?”
“I... She’s surviving.”
“I’d work on that,” Oscar said. “Throw her out of her comfort zone, threaten her life, and see what happens.”
My protective instincts surged. Or maybe that was panic.But she’s just a little girl, I wanted to protest. “That sounds pretty scary.”
“But interesting, am I right? Scary never hurt Stephen King.” He chuckled. “Or me, for that matter. Try it. See what your girl does. She might surprise you.”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
“I’d be interested in reading it. When you’re ready.”
“I don’t feel like it will ever be ready,” I confessed.That I’ll ever be ready.
“Occupational hazard. Send me a proposal, when you have it. Say, the first three chapters and an outline.”
“Wow. That would be...”Almost the length of the entire dissertation. “Amazing. Thank you so much.”
“There’s a group headed to The Duke when all this is over, I hear,” he said. “Are you going?”
I wasn’t dressed for networking. “I wouldloveto,” I said honestly, flattered by his invitation. “But...”
“Oscar, here you are.” It was the dean, Richard, resplendent in tweed and an unironic scarf, doing the rounds. “We have another American with us tonight. I believe you know Grayson Kettering.”
I froze like a possum in the headlights as the man beside him stepped forward with a ready smile and handshake.
Gray?Here?
“Oscar, good to see you again. I didn’t know you were into literary fiction.” The gibe slid in, slick as a stiletto, before he turned to me. “And Dee, darling, how are you? I hoped I’d run into you tonight.”
“Always happy to support a fellow writer’s debut,” Oscar said.
Gray smiled, his eyes crinkling, broadcasting charm. “Ah yes, the appeal of young talent.” Smoothly, he moved in. His scent enveloped me, Dior Homme and starch and the faint, intimate smell of his neck. At the last second, I managed to turn my head, so his kiss only brushed my cheek. It flamed like a brand.
I felt ambushed. Sick. Flattened, as if I’d been hit by an eighteen-wheeler on the highway.
They were all looking at me. At least, I thought they might be. They must be. Ryan and Claire shooting glances from the shelter of the refreshment table, Maeve’s dark eyes boring from across the room, Dr.Dalton with a distracted frown.
The conversation rolled around me as I stood there in my vintage sweater and stretchy pants, my face fixed in a rictus possum grin, like roadkill.
“Quite inspiring, isn’t it?” Gray said. “Being surrounded by all these fresh young minds.”
“Trolling for ideas, Mr.Kettering?” Maeve Ward inquired truculently from behind him. “Or graduate students?”
Gray stiffened. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Maeve Ward,” she announced.
“Maeve is Miss Gale’s supervisor,” the dean said.
Around the lobby, conversations slowed. People turned to stare. Like drivers passing a car wreck, helpless to assist. Curious. Horrified.
