Page 5 of Unwritten Rules

“And classes are going well, I take it?”

Obviously noting my immovable features and less than eager demeanour, the Chancellor keenly switches to a safer topic. My thankfully deceased sire and the obscene ball they will, no doubt, be throwing in his honour are the very last thing I wish to speak of.

“Yes, indeed, Branson. I’ve more than doubled the number of tutorials, and I still don’t have enough hours in the day to get to those on the waiting lists.”

Having successfully steered the topic to smoother seas, Higgins, an apparent imbecile, stupidly veers back to choppy waters, getting straight to the point of his visit.

“My niece told me you’ve cancelled her sessions. Might I inquire as to your reasons, Nathaniel?”

That stupid cow.

Obviously, my attempts to keep the female students, namely Miss Monica Higgins, at arm’s length have been in vain, and thus drastic measures must be taken.

Reclining deeply, I steeple my fingers, bringing my joined pointers to rest underneath my chin. Then, I begin tapping my middle ones against my lips as I intensify the depth of my gaze.

He fidgets under my scrutiny while I allow the tension to build between us. The silence is heavy and fraught until he clears his throat, splintering the ear-piercing stillness of the room.

“Nathaniel, I—”

“Did you know Monica has a mole on her left areola?”

Linking my fingers together, I rest them on my stomach, the picture of indifference. I allow a hint of a smile to tug at the corner of my mouth while Higgins’s face falls faster than the Dow Jones on Black Monday.

“Now, Branson. Ask me how I know that.”

I arch an eyebrow, taunting him to take the bait – which he does spectacularly.

Having composed himself somewhat, Higgins lurches to stand, doing his utmost to tower menacingly over me.

“Hawthorne, if you have so much as laid a finger—”

Unfurling my frame from my seat with a speed that sends Higgins stumbling back in sheer shock, I rise to my full height to loom above him.

I tut loudly. Sarcastically.

“I don’t fuck little girls, Branson.”

My chest tightens, and nausea claws at my gut as I repeat the phrase that changed my life only ten short months ago. Memories threaten to spill over into real-time as I frantically shove them back into that vault at the back of my mind. The one I can’t allow myself to open.

I clear the frog from my throat and step around the side of the desk, invading Higgins’s personal space. “But Monica certainly didn’t get the memo when I rejected her advances.”

I pause, letting the tension build before growling. “Oh no, instead, I come back here…” I gesture around the room. “…after my final tutorial last Tuesday, only to find Monica spread-eagled and buck-naked on this very desk.”

When I pound my hand onto the solid oak, he flinches like the sound has hurt his ears and his eyes widen impossibly.

“When I told her to vacate my private space, your niece proceeded to tell me that I would regret my decision—”

Her words ring through my ears from ten months ago.

“You’ll regret that, Nathaniel Hawthorne. Mark my fucking words – you’ll live to regret this fucking moment.”

I shake my head, brows deeply drawn together in frustration at my inability to keep her from my thoughts. Branson uses the time to stare open-mouthed, trying to compose himself unsuccessfully.

“I-I’m sorry. I…I…”

Having effectively put a lid on the Pandora’s box inside my mind, I get a grip on myself first.

“Obviously, you’ll understand why I can no longer continue private tutorials with your niece, Branson. Monica has a very much unrequited crush, and I’d rather not encourage it.” I soften my tone slightly, feeling a little remorseful now about how I chose to deliver this news.