But there’s a pretty girl with him this time, laughing and touching his arm. Sam feels herself stiffening up, the words in her chest folded away again. Before Ari can untangle himself, Sam is already hurrying away, her smile mechanical, her heart confused and bruised, trying not to imagine Ari embracing the girl in some private corner.
She pours her personal frustrations into her alchemy lessons. It doesn’t take long for Sam to surpass the rest of the class. Her memory stores every book they’re assigned, and six months later, she’s done with them all, and then she’s halfway through the Observatory’s library. It’s all so straightforward that she feels like she should have always been here. By the final semester of senior year, she’s so far ahead of the curriculum that she doesn’t know what to do with herself.
Eagerly, she waits for Will to show up again, so that she can show off what she’s learned and tell him she needs more challenges. But he doesn’t.
“I’m sorry, Miss Lang,” Hanover tells her when she asks. “Mr. Taylor has been traveling lately and won’t be around the estate for weeks.” At her visible disappointment, he gives her a sympathetic smile. “I’ll pass your request along to him.”
“No, don’t,” Sam says, embarrassed. What is she thinking? Of course Will’s busy, he’s running a global corporation. “It’s okay.”
“Do you have a question for him that you’d like me to forward?”
“No, Hanover, no questions. It’s fine.”
One morning, after months without seeing him, Will steps unannounced into the Observatory’s classroom right before the session is to begin.
His sudden presence is like a winter draft—the conversation around the room halts as if paused by a button. Sam holds her breath, watching him as he crosses the room and leans in toward their professor. As they exchange quiet words, the others watch him with a mix of respect and fear. Sam marvels at the way he can command the attention of the entire space—how, without making a single gesture, he seems to suck all the air out and replace it with himself. How does he do that? Why does she respond?
Then the exchange is done, and Will steps away to head for the door. Before he goes, he glances across the room and lets his gaze lock for an instant on Sam.
A white-hot shiver jolts down her spine, and her eyes dart down to her desk. But the gaze is so brief that a second later, when she looks up again, heart hammering against her ribs, he’s already gone, the door closing in his wake.
When class ends, Sam packs up her books, then heads down the winding stone path and under the rose archways until she reaches Will’s house. She stands there for a while, hesitating, shifting from one foot to the other, before she finally knocks on the door.
She’s never been here before, and she doesn’t expect anyone to open it. But after only the first knock, the handle turns, and she finds herself looking at an expectant housekeeper.
“Your name?” the man asks.
She has to clear her throat to answer. “Sam—Samantha Lang.”
The man looks over his shoulder. “Samantha Lang, sir.”
There’s a pause, followed by the distant sound of Will’s voice. “Let her in.”
Inside, the rooms are painted a dark, soothing gray-blue, and the wallsare lined from floor to ceiling with books. She spends a beat admiring what looks like a period fireplace, restored to perfection, before heading down the hall toward the study from where Will’s voice had come. Her shoes click against the wooden floorboards. She itches to take them off—her mother would have scowled at the thought of Sam wearing her shoes inside a house.
She steps into a cozy library, where Will sits writing behind a mahogany table. He doesn’t bother looking up at her, but even being alone in his presence is enough to make her nervous, and for a second, she lingers at the entrance, suddenly unsure what to do next. Will ignores her and says nothing.
“Can I come in?” she says after a moment.
He gestures at her without looking up. She approaches, then stops and stands before him.
“Well?” he asks, voice flat, eyes still down on his papers.
How had she even gathered her courage to come here? She smooths down the edges of her skirt, suddenly afraid in his presence, and says, “I was just wondering if there’s a more difficult class I could take.”
He doesn’t react to her words. “Is that all?”
She takes a deep breath. “I’ve already memorized the texts being used for the rest of the year. I’ve read the bioalchemy books, which aren’t even what we’re covering. I’m ready to try out a transmutation. I have nothing to add during class discussions, because none of the discussions are new to me. I’ve just been using them to remind myself of what I already know.”
“This is a problem?”
She steels herself and tries a different approach. “I don’t think you’re getting your money’s worth,” she says. “You’re paying me eight thousand dollars a month to sit around every afternoon learning nothing new. I’d like some more challenges.”
“I’ll log your request.” He pauses to write a line on the notepad beside his arm.Sam is bored.
Sam’s hackles rise at his inattention. He still doesn’t look up at her, so she walks around the desk until she’s standing beside his chair. “I’m not a child anymore,” she says in a low voice.
“Then don’t complain like one.”
