I pretend not to be impressed.
I halt across the circle, the safest distance from him. I’m not sure how he’ll react to me, if he’s still angry, or if he found out I was in his office.
It would’ve been smarter to avoid him today. To leave him alone and let things cool off. That was the plan when I woke up this morning in Rosewood Hall, in an unfamiliar room with a pink bedspread and white lace curtains.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, voice flat. “I told you to stay put.”
“I think we’ve already established that I don’t follow your orders.” I arch a brow.
“Indeed,” he says, his gaze moving over me. He quirks his head. “What are you wearing?”
The question throws me for a loop. I glance down, suddenly aware of the fabric against my skin in a way I hadn’t been before, the way the white belted jumpsuit clings and traces curves I usually keep hidden beneath loose, forgettable clothes.
I’m not used to this. Clothes have always been about utility and coverage, whatever was cheapest, lasted longest, didn’t draw attention.
This is different. Softer. Fitted. Expensive.
The nicest thing I’ve ever worn.
Warmth creeps up my neck, but I force myself not to fidget, not to tug at the fabric and ruin the illusion.
“It’s Louellen’s,” I say, brushing it off lightly even as I take a step closer. “She let me borrow it.”
His brows draw in slightly, like he’s working through an idea, and I brace myself for an insult. That it doesn’t suit me. That I’m playing dress-up. That I’ve misjudged the shape of my body.
“I like it,” he says finally. “You hide in those oversized sweaters, and you shouldn’t. This…” His eyes roam over me again, slower now, and everywhere they touch heat blooms. “This suits you.”
I duck my head, suddenly shy and a little overwhelmed. A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it, small and helpless and entirely his fault. My chest feels strange, full and fizzy. I don’t know what to do with any of it. Such little words, said so easily, shouldn’t make me feel like this.
“Umm…thanks. I’m going to get the rest of my things tonight,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Take them over to Rosewood.”
He nods once. “That’s good,” he says, like nothing shifted between us, like he didn’t see me in a way no one else has. Then, almost as an afterthought, “I’m still going to ream Lou for letting you out of her sight.”
“Don’t,” I say quickly. “She thinks I’m in class.” A leaf drifts down between us, tumbling, and I follow it to the ground, trying to hide how flustered his attention makes me. “I should be in class.”
“Why aren’t you?”
I shrug, my gaze dropping, fingers brushing absently at the smooth fabric at my waist. “I don’t know.” The answer is weak even to me. I hesitate, then add more quietly, “I wanted to…” I glance up at him, then away again. “Make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.” He pushes off the tree and comes toward me, and it’s only then that I see the way his left foot drags with each step.
“Then why are you limping?” I ask, as I walk over to him. The trees shift overhead, a break in the branches letting a shaft of light fall across his face,and I catch the swelling around his eye, the dark bruising already setting in. “And your eye, what happened?” My hand comes up to my mouth. “Did Jackson come back?”
“No.” He reaches up and gingerly prods at his eye, then grimaces. “I fought three more brothers last night.” A pause. “Two of them at once.”
“What?”The word comes out high, overly loud.
I step closer again, close enough now that I can see the faint sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, the way he holds himself slightly off balance, how he’s favoring his side.
Understanding sets in slowly, the pieces aligning no matter how badly I want to ignore them. This didn’t happen on its own. I ignored his note. I made myself visible.
And he’s the one who paid for it.
“I’m sorry,” I say, quieter now. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t—”
“It’s fine,” he answers, and I hear it, the finality, as if he’s already moved past it. “I brought you in. Jackson’s always waiting for an opportunity to knock me down. If it wasn’t you, it would’ve been another thing.”
I hesitate, then press anyway. “Then why the others? Why did they want to fight you? Were they Jackson’s friends?”
