Page 24 of The Bargain

I laugh and shove past her. “Go to class. You’re going to make me late for my meeting.”

“Wow,” she says. “All this just to avoid admitting you have a fucking crush.”

Now my cheeks are definitely red. I stride quickly away from her and call, “See you on the court.”

“Tell your little boyfriend not to interrupt us next time!” she calls back.

I whip around. Not my boyfriend, I almost say, but catch myself at the last moment.

The Spearcrest dining hall sits at the heart of the Old Manor, the oldest building on campus. It’s large and grand, with long tables, wood polished smooth by time and use, underneath a vaulted ceiling. Portraits of former headmasters hang along the walls, and a large stained-glass window overlooks the entire room, depicting Saint Thomas Aquinas, the patron saint of scholars.

But ever since I started at Spearcrest, I’ve always had the feeling that entering the dining hall felt more like entering an arena. The painted headmasters, the glass saints and angels of the window, the other students, the teachers at the staff table—all judging me: what I’m wearing, eating, saying—who I sit with.

The feeling never really went away. Today, it feels heightened, even though I know I’m just imagining it. Walking into the dining hall, I feel as if a sudden silence has fallen, like the air itself is holding its breath.

“Relax, love,” Elias murmurs. His arm is thrown casually over my shoulder. It’s wiry, surprisingly strong. His body radiates ridiculous heat, heat that’s seeping into my skin, trickling into my veins, pooling into my cheeks.

“I am relaxed,” I mutter back tightly.

“You look like you’re walking up to the gallows.”

I don’t reply.

Students are looking up, turning around, wide-eyed, as we make our way through the hall. Looking at us, then one another, gasping and whispering. I should be used to it—it’s the same thing every time I date someone new.

But this time, it feels different. My feet are heavy as they drag me inexorably to the table where I always sit. Lunch has already been served, the smell of meat and fresh-baked bread and too-sweet fruit saturating the air. One by one, I see my friends look up, lower their cutlery or glasses from their mouths, staring.

Mira Rajahn’s pouty, glossy mouth falls open—Emerald almost drops her fork. Their eyes move from me to Elias and then linger on him as he casually drags my chair out for me. I glance at him in surprise, and he shoots me a grin.

My chair is right next to Mira’s—the one next to mine is normally occupied by Dimitri Kavinski’s hulking form. Today, though, Dimitri’s not here—his chair is occupied by his pearl-pale fiancée, like Banquo’s ghost at Macbeth’s feast. Next to her is Blaise, who’s watching me and Elias with a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes.

I hesitate, glancing around the table. There’s enough space for people to crowd together, to make space for one more chair. But nobody moves.

They’re all watching me, waiting to see what I’ll do. Without speaking, they’re telling me I shouldn’t have brought Elias to this table. And now they’re waiting to see how I’ll answer.

“Bit crowded, your table, love,” Elias says, leaning slightly so that he doesn’t have to raise his voice. His lips don’t quite touch me, but his breath flutters the hair at my temples, smelling of peppermint. “Wanna sit somewhere else.” His eyes meet mine, bold, almost daring. “Or maybe you’d like to sit on my lap?”

My teeth clench so hard I feel the dull, familiar ache in my jaw. I want to grab his wrist and walk away, walk out of the hall—but something stops me.

Julian. He’s sitting a little further away, slowly chewing on a piece of bloody steak, staring at Elias. His lips, shiny with grease, are twisted in a smug smile. I remember, suddenly, vividly, Julian’s knives. I turn to look at Elias: the scar on his cheek is a pink line, slightly raised. I notice it every time I look at him—have to stop myself from staring. From asking him why he’s not had it surgically removed, why his adoptive parents didn’t do anything about it.

I meet his gaze and register the quick flash of surprise in his dark eyes when I smile at him.

“Actually, yes,” I tell him. “I’d like that.”

9

Unexpected Complication

Elias

Desdemona Sutton-Knight is a creature of habit. She always wears her uniform in the same way, ties her hair in the same sapphire-blue ribbon, plays tennis on the same days every week.

So when she smiles at me and agrees to sit on my lap in the middle of the Spearcrest dining hall, I’m the one, for once, who’s totally taken aback.

I catch myself quickly; I can’t let anyone at this table sense my surprise, my hesitation. I drop down into my seat, folding my long legs, and pat my thigh with a slight smirk. Desdemona perches herself on my lap in the same way she knelt to pick up her money off my floor: with supreme grace, considering.

I brace myself for the surge of triumph to rush through me, but instead, a hot shiver snakes up my spine. I have to stop myself from reaching for the long strands of her hair, from savouring that fragrant, sun-kissed silkiness. She’s surprisingly pliant, on my lap, her thighs warm against mine. Wrapping my arm around her and brushing a playful kiss along the side of her neck would feel so very natural.