She sighs. “I know. I know. I’m just—ugh! I feel like such a slut. I’m the one who needs to plead temporary insanity.”
“From a thorough dicking?” I smirk.
“Very thorough.” She blushes even harder, which I didn’t think was possible. “I dunno—it’s a rebound or something. It didn’t mean anything. I wanted to feel something, I guess. I haven’t been with anybody but Cole in so long. I don’t know what happened.”
“Who was it?” I know pretty much everyone on campus.
“Sorry—no. Uh-uh. I’m taking this one to the grave.” She’s looking at her hands. I don’t like it.
“You know you could tell me, right? I wouldn’t judge you.” I wonder if it’s a professor or something.
“I know, Tare. I appreciate it. If I ever want to talk about it, I promise I’ll come to you.” She looks up at me shyly under her lashes. “I’m still working through it all. I may have liked it a little bit too much.” Now this is a concept I can relate to.
“Also, you’re not a slut. Don’t ever think that. As long as you’re being safe and smart, you’re allowed to feel good, Stephanie. Sleep with anyone you want. Everyone you want. You get to decide.” I hate that she feels bad about having fun. That she’s holding on to some twentieth century view of promiscuity that isn’t doing her any favors. She deserves to move on. I walk over to throw my arms around her and she startles before hugging me back.
“Geez. Where is my roommate and what have you done with her?” She giggles. “He must have dicked the warm and fuzzies into you!”
I suppress my laugh and squeeze her again. I think she may be right.
“Let’s get your stuff gathered, then we can walk to class together. Sound good?” Her smile is genuine. I wish I had been closer to her when I lived here.
“Wait. Didn’t you have a class earlier?”
She waves away the question. “Pfffft. And miss this? When you texted saying you were coming by, there wasno wayI was leaving. My next class isn’t for another hour. It’s fine.”
“I’m sorry you have to live with Rowan.” She hasn’t mentioned it, but my actions had consequences for her too.
She flushes again. “It’s fine. I’m sure we’ll manage.”
Given the color of her cheeks, I’d guess it’s not fine. She’s obviously trying to be nice to me. Damn it. I hate that I’ve done this to her.
“I can see if he can find somewhere else to stay.” In fact, Liam has an open bedroom now. He’s packing his stuff as we speak. Doesn’t that make more sense?
Again, Steph waves me away. “I don’t care what Rowan does. It’s only for a few months. It’s…whatever.”
Although, as I wander around my old place, I can see the head of the Irish mob has already moved in. My old bed has new bedding, although it’s still in its packaging on the mattress. His clothes are half unpacked into my closet. A gun sits on my desk. I sigh as I walk past it to the TV room, where some notebooks lie where I left them.
It doesn’t take long to gather my overlooked things and put them in a box next to the door. I shrug back into my coat as Steph slips on her boots. She links her arm through mine as we head off toward our classes. To say I was unprepared for what I’d find there is an understatement.
The campus feels noticeably different. The gothic spires and shadowed arches seem to amplify the stares that follow me. I’m not just Taryn Walsh anymore. I’m nowMrs. McGuiness; apparently that’s the headline of the week, and everyone is in on the story.
Whispers trail behind us as Stephanie and I cross the courtyard, the crunch of gravel under our boots drowned out by snickers, gasps, and the view of phone cameras being raised to capture the moment.
“Here comes the bride!” someone calls out from the steps of Harding Hall, their tone somewhere between a cheer and a jeer. Stephanie doesn’t even pause. “Grow up,” she snaps, her arm wrapping firmly around my shoulders. Her glare is enough to scatter the braver gawkers as she steers me toward the entrance.
I keep my head down, wishing I could melt into the gray stone and disappear. It’s all a reminder that this is happening so fast—too fast. I never expected my life to feel like public property.
Before I know it, Elizabeth is at my other side, arm looping through mine. She says nothing, just gives me a nod, a silent show of support. My heart squeezes.
The reality I was avoiding has set in. Theo Nicopolis is leaning against the iron railing outside Harding Hall, his dark wool coat tailored to perfection, the collar turned up against the January wind. He looks like he’s stepped straight out of some glossy magazine. Too polished. Too calm. It makes my blood boil.
“You have some nerve,” I say, walking straight to him. Elizabeth hangs on for dear life, not willing to let me go. Steph steps back to give me some space.
Theo’s hazel eyes flicker with something—surprise, maybe, or guilt—before he straightens. “Taryn.”
“Youtouched my fund,” I snap. “You knew it wasn’t yours, and you still used it. What the hell were you thinking?”
He exhales, slow and controlled, like he knew this was coming. “You’re right. I did. And I’m sorry.”
