“No.” Why would I?
“He’s the deputy head at Brookfield Academy—our rival school. But what people don’t realize is that my father applied for the headmaster positionherewhen it came openseveral years ago. My dad wanted that position so badly, and Peter Vale put a stop to it. He convinced the board that my father would be a terrible choice and campaigned hard for Harrington instead,” Julian explains, his voice dripping with disgust. “One more thing my father wanted that Peter Vale took. Dad was distraught for weeks, and then he got … angry. So angry. He’s not the same man he was before it happened.”
If anyone can understand hating Peter Vale, it’s me. But could Mr. Ashworth have decided to take his anger out on his nemesis’s daughter? My gut says Julian was telling the truth when he said he wouldn’t hurt Isla or anyone else. But what about his father? How far might he be willing to go in the name of a twenty-year-long grudge?
I’ve been assuming that whatever happened to Emily and Isla had something to do with the two of them—what they knew, or did, or said. But maybe I should have been thinking about Peter this whole time. Who else has he harmed? And who would want to harm him in return, maybe by hurting his daughter? I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the list of people Peter has pissed off is a mile long.
Is Isla in a coma because of our father?
Scrambling for a response that doesn’t reveal I’m considering whether Julian’s dad could be a murderer, I ask, “But wait—if your dad works at another private school, why do you even go here?”
Julian scoffs. “I’m a seventh-generation legacy. You don’t justgive upthat kind of social capital.”
I think I just experienced the living definition of “rich people problems,” and I have to say … zero out of ten stars, would not recommend experiencing again.
I’m saved from having to respond toall thatwhen Julian continues. “What Peter Vale did … it convinced me that every complaint and bad feeling Dad has been going on about my whole life was with reason. The Vales are terrible people. I firmly believed that.” Another exhale leaves him, and he shakes his head. “And then I met Isla.”
It’s the reverent way he says my sister’s name that has me perking up. “You hated her on sight?”
Julian sends me an incredulous look. “More like love at first sight, though I know that sounds unforgivably pedestrian of me. But she was so damn beautiful. Sweet and funny, with the best smile. She fell for me as hard as I fell for her, but we were destined to be nothing but Romeo and Juliet. Because no two houses at Wickham hated each other more than the Ashworths and the Vales. Well—at least not until the Wells-Pembroke feud unfolded in real time this year.”
An aggravated sound leaves me. I do not want to talk about Connor and his problems right now. “Don’t change the subject. Do you really expect me to believe you kept the girl you were madly in love with a secret because you were afraid Daddy might take your feelings as a personal betrayal? You know Shakespeare is fiction, right?”
“Of course I know!” Julian’s cheeks are red, and his eyes flare wide. He looks angry. “And of course now, with twenty-twenty hindsight, I can see that I should’ve been open about my relationship with Isla from the start. Maybe then …”
His voice drifts, and he presses his lips together for a moment before he speaks in a hushed tone. “Maybe then someone would let me see her. Let me sit next to her and hold her hand and—”
Julian turns his back to me with a loud sniff. It’s like he can’t face me if he’s showing any real emotion. A small part of me feels bad for pushing him to confess his feelings. His very big, obviously very real feelings for my sister.
When he turns to face me once more, he’s got his hand clenched into a fist and resting against his mouth. His eyes are glassy, but I don’t think he’s shed any tears. I guess it’s true what they say about the British and their stiff upper lips.
“I miss her terribly,” he whispers when he drops his hand. My heart aches for him.So do I, I want to tell him. Neither of us should have to be alone in our grief, but missing Isla together would put finding the truth in jeopardy. So I keep my mouth shut, letting this boy believe he’s suffering in solitude.
It’s just one more way I’m lying to the world, but it feels like a brand-new low.
“I’m sorry, Julian. I’m so, so sorry.” And I mean it. I am sorry that he’s gone through this. Julian has never seemed as terrible as his peers at Wickham. Maybe a broken heart has softened him.
“It’s been so difficult, not knowing how she’s doing. I can’t believe she still hasn’t woken up. What if she never wakes up? I can’t ask anyone about her, either. Can you imagine if I rang up her father and requested an update? My father would kill me, because you know Peter Vale would rush to tell him.” Julian’s voice breaks, and I can’t hold back anymore—I close the distance between us and wrap him up in a big hug.
Julian returns it, the both of us clinging to each other. His shoulders shake, and maybe he is crying after all? I almost want to cry, too. We’ve both been suffering in silence, and it’s just not fair.
I only realize someone else has entered the clock tower lobby when I hear the clang of a door slamming. I lift my head, and Julian does, too, both of us glancing toward the entrance to find …
Connor.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ispring away from Julian as if he’s contagious with a deadly disease while my brain scrambles to come up with a proper explanation. Seeing the confused expression on Connor’s face as he stares at us doesn’t help. The flicker of irritation in his silvery gray eyes is more than obvious, and it sends my heart into free fall. My first impulse is to run to him and beg for forgiveness.
Forgiveness for … what, exactly? You haven’t done anything wrong.
“Hey Connor.” I offer him an awkward wave and immediately drop my hand because wow, I must look guilty.
He nods, his gaze shifting to Julian. “Julian. Are you all right?”
Connor’s voice is hesitant. This is probably the last thing he expected to see, and my second impulse is to overexplain everything to him in painfully specific detail. Throw it all out into the open, though I can’t. After all, most of this isn’t my story to tell.
I glance over at Julian, who’s got a contrite expression on his face as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m … good, mate. Thank you for asking.”
