“I don’t want it,” I say, and that stills his hand over the buckle of the satchel. “Burn it, wear it, bury it—I honestly couldn’t care less.”
His mouth tightens and he lifts his gaze to me. “It’s a generous gift.”
There’s no gratitude in the way he says it.
“So wear it on a generous day,” I retort, a smirk slithering over my lips, “when the stars shine brightest for you.”
And how bright they will shine on the undeserving.
I don’t add that last part.
I don’t need to.
The look on my face is enough.
Under the dim light, his tanned complexion is a bit darker, and his eyes swirl like cinnamon. Even his ordinary brown hair takes a shine like honey.
Yet I find he’s nowhere near as handsome as I remember him to be.
His murmur is sarcastic, low, and yet I hear it—
“What it must be like…”
I arch a brow. “Pardon?”
That gaze of his darkens. He rolls his tongue around his cheek, then straightens up. “To be so frivolous.”
The bitter, curt laugh jolts me.
That cologne was only around £2,000, if I remember right.
I decide now that Eric Harling will make for a cheap husband who cries over pennies.
Poor Asta.
My smile is tight as I push into a backstep, leaning my weight away from him.
The glare he returns to me is cold.
Bet he expected me to be so different coming here, crying over our failed attempts to be together, yearning for him, all that nonsense.
Bet he thought he mattered to me.
I turn on my heels and stalk for the door.
I pause at the desk to snatch my bag back, then look over my shoulder at him.
“Oh, one more thing.”
Just an idea that struck me.
One I grab onto.
Eric lifts a brow, waiting.
“I expect my grades to improve this semester.”
His face furrows.
