She glanced at the fern brushing against her elbow. “Is it right to fall in love so quickly, though? Is it love if it’s quick?”
The fern offered no comment, though one leaf did sway suggestively. So yes? No?
Urgh!
She picked at her sandwich and looked over at the little fountain in the corner. Its steady trickle was far calmer than the mess in her head.
She didn’t resent her friends. Of course not. She was thrilled for them. Deliriously, outrageously thrilled. Especially for Ashley and Thomas, who now couldn’t seem to be in the same room without blushing or smiling like fools. It was… beautiful.
And nauseating.
But mostly beautiful.
Still. Everyone seemed to have paired off in tidy little duets. Everyone except her. Even Sebastian—who had no business being as charming or as witty or as entirely distracting as he was—had become something of a problem. But only because… She wanted to seduce him but couldn’t. She couldn’t just seduce a man. She had to think of the future or her mother…
Not that he’d done anything inappropriate.
Not yet.
Oh no. Worse.
He’dsmiledat her.
He’dlistened to her.
He’dheld her gazejust a beat longer than necessary, and now she was ruined.
Entirely. Thoroughly. Hopelessly ruined. And not in the way of ruined, ruined. Just her heart.
What did she desire? Other than him shirtless in a pond?
Oh, heavens. Just the thought of such a sight… She fanned herself with her napkin. Even her thoughts had become unladylike.
She used to be such a reasonable person. Measured. Steady. The sort of girl who color-coded her potions. Now she was debating her feelings with a fern and contemplating her moral downfall over a cucumber sandwich.
It was entirely Sebastian’s fault.
Everything about him seemed designed to unravel her. His lazy smiles, the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his voice dipped low when he was amused, like he was sharing some private joke with her and only her.
Stop. Stop it.
Maddie pressed her palms to her cheeks, which were now burning.
What she desired most was clarity. That was sensible, wasn’t it?
To understand her own mind.
To know whether this flutter in her belly meant something real—or was simply the result of one too many sleepless nights spent imagining how it might feel to be kissed by a man who looked at her like she wasn’t a background character in his life, but the whole blooming story.
Not just in the hallway yesterday, or when he’d reached out and wiped the foam from her mouth, though her heart had nearly launched itself into the nearest flowerpot then, but this morning, at breakfast, when someone mentioned music and she’d laughed at something ridiculous. He hadn’t even smiled back. He’d just watched her, like the laugh was a song only he could hear.
She hadn’t eaten much after that.
Desire, it turned out, wasn’t all smolder and lust and swooning against marble balustrades. It was sticky and inconvenient and lodged right behind her ribs like a pinch that refused to leave.
Worse, it made her uncertain. It made her reckless.
What if he kissed her? What if she let him?
