Page 47 of Unwritten Rules

“His mum, Ana, was quite the beauty.” Johanna’s voice draws me from my thoughts.

“She was the light of the estate during her time here, though she preferred to while away her days at the Lake House further into the property. May the good Lord keep her.”

I nod, silently committing the image to memory before handing it back carefully. “Thank you for sharing that, Johanna.”

She shoos me away, putting the box back in this mysterious Wetherby’s room before going on about her work and leaving me to my musings.

By the time Monday morning rolls around, I’ve had nothing to do but think all weekend.

And, though I’d be keeping it to myself for now, I’d finally written the first five chapters of a book I’d been fleshing out for the longest time.

It was in no way, shape, or form a masterpiece of any kind, but I adored the idea of being inspired in Nate’s childhood home. The home of my most favourite author.

Of my most favourite human.

Cal picks me up in the afternoon, citing that he wanted to see Nate’s home.

“Nosy fucker. You’ve had your fill. Let’s go!”

Cal’s tiny little blue Volkswagen Polo ambles back down the driveway as Cal sends longing looks back at the main house.

“You’re such a closet fanboy, Richards.”

“I think you’ll find, DeMarco, I’m most assuredly not in any kind of closet.”

We laugh pretty much the whole way, so the trip to Walden-Forbes takes no length.

Once Cal has parked, we grab a quick coffee from the campus coffee shop, The Daily Grind, before setting off to our only class of the day.

Professor Hawthorne’s advanced Shakespeare workshop.

If I said my stomach wasn’t churning with nauseous anticipation, I’d be a big, fat liar.

Entering Frampton Hall, the home of the literature department, side-by-side through two massive double doors, we walk into an enormous open space with a vaulted ceiling reaching up to the second floor. There are doors dotted throughout the lobby, but Cal bypasses them all with me in hot pursuit as he heads straight for a wide staircase.

There’s a hive of activity at the entrance to Nate’s classroom. Students—primarily female, mind you—are milling around, fluffing their hair and touching up their overly made-up faces.

A large printed sign has been stuck to the centre of the door to proclaim:

Shakespearean Debate: Romeo & Juliet

The loud whispers of all and sundry assault my ears from all angles.

“I’ve been waiting for his class all week.”

“I wonder what he’ll be wearing today. His ass is….”

“Seriously, I would climb him like a fucking tree!”

“What the fuck happened to finishing Hamlet?”

An irate Cal turns to me. “Fucker wasn’t done with Hamlet yet.”

I shrug, none the wiser as to why Nate would change to a different play without finishing the previous one.

Before I can muster an answer for my friend, the door to the classroom opens, and the influx of students begins, with Cal and me drawing up the rear, having been entirely nonplussed about fighting through a crowd.

Upon entering, I heave a sigh of irritation, rolling my eyes skywards. “Seriously? Could they be more on top of the man?”