“Fair enough.” Shifting gears smoothly, I steer out of the carpark and aim for her neighbourhood.
“What were you doing with Ophelia in the office yesterday?”
Chelsea makes the question sound blasé, but a glance at her tight jawline tells me it’s anything but.
I stick near the truth. “Bribing her out of reporting me.”
Her face relaxes. “You know me and my friends would back your side of the story. If it’s between Ophelia’s word and ours…” She gives a sniff.
“Thanks. It’s good to have your support, but it’s not worth risking expulsion again. Not over something so petty.”
“Is being expelled really something you’re worried about?”
Her eyes are too sharp, expression too curious. I aim for indifference. “Not for myself but Dad’s getting pretty sick of smoothing ruffled feathers with the school trustees. Besides”—I shoot her a cheesy grin—“I don’t want to leave now I’ve met you.”
The play works far too well and Chelsea’s hand lands on my thigh. My expression slips for a second and I duck my head, fumbling for the right script.
Regret. Nervousness. Play it soft, apologetic.
I cover her hand with mine, just firmly enough to set a boundary without shattering her pride.
“Sorry, but this…” I give a reluctant sigh and pause, letting the weight of the moment hang. “This is difficult because I really like you.”
Her lips are slightly parted, the rest of her features unreadable. I rub the bridge of my nose, feigning a nervous tic.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. “It’s just…”
“It’s okay.” Chelsea squeezes my forearm. “You don’t have to be nervous. I’m a virgin, too. If you want to wait, that’s fine.”
Not where I was going, but this works just as well. “Youare? No way.”
She laughs, tossing her head. “It’s true.” Her teeth sink into her lower lip, really biting it. “My boyfriend cheated on me the night we were…”—she waves her hand—“you know.”
“Sounds like a lucky escape.” When she nods, I hazard a guess. “Did he… with Ophelia?”
Her wince tells me I’m right before she nods.
“I’m grateful you felt able to share that with me.” I cover her hand with mine, then transfer it back to her lap, and grip the wheel. “Listen… are you free the weekend after next? My dad’shaving a party…” I shake my head, chuckling. “I know how lame that sounds, but there’ll be lots of important people there.”
“It doesn’t sound lame at all.”
“Black tie, and don’t worry about the dress, it’s on me. We have an account at Effie Walker’s boutique, but I can borrow the jet if you want to try an Auckland designer?”
“Effie’s is fine.” Her fingers tighten on the seatbelt. “Did you want to help me select an outfit?”
“Sure. We can coordinate.” My voice drops half an octave. “Then everyone will know you’re with me.”
Her expression softens. As I pull back onto the road, I’m pleased with the trajectory of the entire conversation. Hopefully, my father will be, too.
After dropping off Chelsea, I turn towards home, letting out a long breath now there’s no one there to hear it. The night’s conversations replay in my mind and I analyse each pause, each flicker of emotion across her face, with far more scrutiny than during the actual moment.
I park the car in the garage and walk the long way around to our main entrance, steps crunching on the quartz gravel. Crossing the lobby, a whiff of cognac tells me that my father’s here, and I divert towards the basement. His favourite set of rooms in the entire house.
Cold air emanates from the door even though it’s draught proof. The underground suite is carved directly into the hillside rock, cool in summer, freezing in winter.
You could scream your lungs out down there with no one hearing.
I did.
