“And I, you,” he says softly. “I didn’t realise you and Jack were dating.”
A sick feeling slicks over my skin, like a layer of grime I want to scrub away. Desperately needing to get it off my chest, and knowing it will sound strange no matter how I phrase it, I say, “I didn’t spend the night with him. Or kiss him.”
He glances at me, a flicker of surprise crossing his features, before he faintly clears his throat. “It’s none of my business.”
“Of course,” I mumble. Did I think he’d look relieved?Stupid.
“Very,” Toby agrees, sounding bored.
Willoughby seems uninterested in the flowers, and we soon move on. He leads us through the garden, beneath a dark wrought-iron gazebo draped in lime-green foliage. I’d like to linger and take it all in properly, but he strides ahead, leading us to a water fountain with a quatrefoil stone basin.
“Before I forget…” Willoughby spins to face me, reaching into his jacket and producing a single red rose with a flourish.
“For you,” he says with a shy smile. “I picked it just for you. Though I realise it’s not the first offering of the day…”
I try not to look at Brandon or Ellenor as I reluctantly take the flower.
“Wait. Did you get this from the Rose Gardens?” I ask incredulously, staring at the torn stem.
“Yep. I’ve always preferred wildflowers.”
“More like stolen,” Ellenor snorts. “Really romantic.”
“What could be more romantic than a stolen rose?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ellenor says loudly. “Paying for it? With money?”
I half expect Willoughby to look irritated, but he merely shrugs and laughs it off. “You and I have a different idea of romance, Elle.”
“Whatever,” she says. “Come on, the hanging basket thing starts soon.”
The creative workshop is set up on the lawn beneath a white marquee.
I feel absurd carrying the rose, half-convinced the staff will think I stoleit. I can’t exactly toss it, though, so I trim the stem with pruners and tuck it into my hair instead.
Meanwhile, Ellenor seems to have warmed to Willoughby. Apparently, he’s a bigHarry Potterfan—big enough to earn her approval. It doesn’t hurt that he’s promised to reveal the castle’s ‘ancient secrets’ later when we go inside. I can’t quite tell whether he’s really that invested, or simply enjoying how easily it delights Ellenor, but it leaves me with a faint, sour feeling.
The workshop instructor mentioned the place was built in the eighteenth century, but that hasn’t stopped the two of them from weaving elaborate theories about hidden trapdoors, enchanted portraits, and three-headed dogs.
Brandon and I work in quiet tandem, our fingers brushing occasionally as we weave ivy through the pale rattan, the vines tangled and entwined like the silence between us.
I want to speak, to ask,Why her?Why Ellenor?
But what good would it do? I already know why. He’s attracted to my older, more confident sister. And I have no right to be upset.
I should smile and say, “I’m happy for you both. I hope it works out.”But I can’t. Not yet. I’ll wallow in the hurt just a little longer.
“There’s a haunted tower I’ll show you,” Willoughby is telling Ellenor. “Off-limits, but I can get us in. There’s not much up there, just dust and bare walls, but there’s always that creepy feeling that someone—or something—is watching.”
Ellenor rubs her hands together. “Thatsounds like my cup of tea.”
“And how do you propose we get into the tower?” Brandon asks. “It’s guided tours only.”
Willoughby smirks, mirroring Ellenor’s grin. “Oh, Brandon, ye of little faith. Trust me. I have a plan.” He taps his nose. “I know a guy.”
So low I almost miss it, Brandon groans.
“I don’t want to break in,” I say, my tone firm but quiet enough not to draw the instructor’s attention.
