The only bad thing is the thing I want to talk to you about.
It’s you.
Sometimes I get caught up in this life, and it’s not that I forget about you, but I’m not thinking of you and then I do and I feel guilty. So bad. Because I’m out here living and you’re down there. In the ground.
I used to want to be with you, but now I want him and I don’t know what that says about me. I worry you’re mad at me, even though that’s not who you were. I worry I’m already breaking the promises I made you, but I’m not. I won’t. I just need time.
I still miss you, but would it be all right if I didn’t write quite so often?
Would you still love me if I let go, a little?
Love always,
Becky
Chapter forty
Turtle
Becky
A few weeks later, a sister I don’t know well, Daphne, stops me in the hallway.
“Carrson left a message,” she says. “He wants you at Ashford House for dinner.”
The words are so unexpected that it takes a minute for themto sink in.
Dinner. At Ashford House. At night.
I try not to read too much into it.
I fail immediately.
That’s not a casual invitation. Not here. Going to Ashford House is reserved for bonded women unless it’s a party or some big event.
Which means…my pulse spikes.
Carrson’s ready to make us public. To claim me. Maybe as a first step toward bonding later. We’ve been talking about it since that first night when he snuck into my room. Discussing the possibility, what a future could look like for us.
A slow, giddy warmth expands my chest, impossible to contain.
I haven’t seen him all day. He’s been locked in meetings. This is the first chance he’s had to reach out for me. And he did.
I’m in a blissful haze as I change for dinner, picking out my prettiest dress. The turquoise one that sets off my eyes, makes them bluer. I brush my hair until it shines and slip on my heels, the low wedges that don’t pinch my feet. I want to look good, not be distracted. There’s nothing I want to miss tonight. One last glance in the mirror while I dab on pink lipstick, and then I’m out the door.
It’s summer now, mid-June, with one week left of classes. The air is warm as I step outside, the kind that wraps around like a shawl instead of pressing down. The sun is low, slipping behind the trees, painting everything in rose gold. Shadows stretch long across the path between Rosewood and Ashford, the grass glowing green on either side like something out of a dream.
The campus feels different at this hour. Quieter. Slower. There’s a hush to it.
The breeze lifts my hair as I walk, carrying the scent of cut grass and something sweet blooming nearby. Laughter drifts from behind me, coming from Rosewood Hall, but it fades as I move farther up the hill.
Towardhim.
Ashford House rises ahead. Warm lights and wide windows, glowing against the darkening sky.
Months ago, I was turned away from this same front door.
Now I’m being invited in.
