“You didn’t even say anything about my outfit, and I wore it just for you.”
Connor and I exchange a look, and I know we’re both desperate to peek around the edge of the couch to see what Priya is wearing. I shake my head once, because there’s no way we’re risking discovery for the sake of Priya’s sartorial choices.
“Let me have a look at you,” Abigail says. “Go on, do a little spin.” A beat of silence practically echoes in the room, and then Abigail—I think?—sucks in a sharp inhale. “You know how I feel about thigh-highs, P. They look absolutely darling when you have your legs over my shoulders. Now come here and let me apologize properly …”
There’s no more talking. Instead, I hear lips connecting and little whimpers. I relax back against the sturdy couch. Connor does the same because I’m sure he realizes we’re stuck here for the long haul. Who knew this was the chosen make-out room at the Pembroke residence? Connor was right with his predictions, too. Couples fighting. Couples hooking up.
Look at us.
Connor nudges me in the ribs, and I turn my head to find he’s crossing his eyes. He twists his lips, making a ridiculousface to try and make me crack, but I don’t. I’m made of stronger stuff than that. I mime zipping my lips and point at him, but he just flashes that dopey grin of his, the one where the dimples pop, and my resistance melts.
I hear a little moan coming from the girls and send Connor a knowing glance before I focus my gaze straight ahead. The couch is close to a massive window, and the ledge is covered with framed photos in a variety of shapes and sizes. I study them in the dim light coming from outside, squinting to see them better. Some of the photos are in black and white, they’re so old, while others are from more recent times. My gaze stops on one photo in particular, and I barely contain a gasp.
A teenage boy wearing the classic dark-green Wickham uniform jacket is standing beneath the too-familiar tree near the cliffs. There’s a younger girl standing in front of him wearing an adorable blue dress, her hair in two ponytails topped with silky white bows. He’s smiling, staring straight at the camera while the girl looks up at him. The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning.
It’s the boy from the statue in the alumni garden. I know it is. He looks a little younger here, like the photo might’ve been taken when he first started at Wickham, but it’s the same person who had his arm around my mother’s shoulders in the class photo. Who’s the girl? Are they both related to the Pembroke family somehow?
“HOT TUB!” someone screeches from the corridor, making me jump.
Priya and Abigail jump as well, presumably. They both squeal, and when I check on Connor, I have to cover my mouth again for fear I’ll start giggling. He’s making anothergoofy face, his eyes crossed so hard I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself. I try to shove him away, but he uses his strength to crowd me. I back away at the last second, averting my face from his seeking mouth.
“We should go join everyone at the hot tub,” Abigail suggests, her tone lighter.
“It’ll be full of people.” Priya’s voice is slightly grating. Either Abigail has a brat fetish or Priya really is the whiniest snob. “Let’s just stay in here.”
“It’ll feel good to soak in the water, and then we can catch up on the good gossip. Plus, I want to see you in the pink bikini. Youdidbring the pink bikini, didn’t you?” Priya must nod, because Abigail says, “Good girl. Come on. We can do this later.”
Definitely a brat fetish.
Within seconds, the door clicks shut. Connor and I stare at each other for a moment before he finally speaks.
“Well, that was a close one.”
“Generic Ativan?” I raise my brows.
“Probably helps them sleep after they pop all that Ritalin to stay awake and study.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“Uh-huh.” I let him kiss me this time, his soft yet firm lips working their magic within seconds. Everything in me screams to let him lean me back on the soft carpet, let him cover my body with his. When Connor kisses me, the low-level worry constantly humming under my skin goes quiet. With our eyes closed and our bodies doing all the talking, I can be Billie—I can be myself. It’s all I want right now, to strip away the Belinda parts of me and give Connor the truth of who I am.
But instead, I press my hands against his chest to shovehim away.
I’m not here to be me or lose myself in a cute boy’s hot caresses. I’m here to investigate a murder, and it’s time to act like it. Peter warned me not to get distracted. If he could see me now …
Well, let’s just be grateful he can’t see me now.
“Maybe we should go to the hot tub, too.”
He frowns. “It’ll be crowded, like Abigail said.”
“I don’t mind. Especially if you brought the pink bikini I like so much,” I say in a terrible imitation of Abigail’s accent. Connor chokes out a laugh but backs off, adjusting himself as he stands and extends a hand toward me. When we’re both upright again, I pull him in for one last kiss.
It’s what Belinda would do. Probably.
“You should leave the room first, don’t you think?” I say against his mouth.
“Why?” He pulls back, looking genuinely confused, which is adorable. I guess his panic at being caught before was more about being discovered in a private moment than it was about being discovered in a private momentwith me.
I scoot closer so I can slip my fingers into his dark, soft hair. I sift through the silky strands once. Twice. I decide to test my hypothesis. “We don’t want to get caught together, right?”
