Page 68 of Coveted

Past the flickering candles on the table, the severe angles of Lucan’s lower face come into focus. His tongue runs along his bottom lip to catch a drop of dark wine. He eats like a wolf, all roaming eyes and sharp canine teeth.

My stomach aches in a way that has nothing to do with food, and suddenly I know what to write as my confessional.

It’s the worst idea in the world, but sometimes, just maybe, I want him.

Out of an abundance of caution, I use plain lettering. Lucan, the weirdo that he is, probably knows my handwriting. He seems to know nearly everything else.

Folding the paper with a thrill of foreboding, I stuff it into the box and pass it along.

I scan the table again and count forty-two people. There’s a minuscule chance he’ll select mine. Even if he does, anyone could’ve written about wanting some guy they shouldn’t.

Yet I still fidget from nerves as the box finishes its journey around the table.

Lucan is one of the last. He writes his confession with zero hesitation before adding it to the box.

By the time the meal finishes, my face is flushed from wine and anticipation.

“And now,” calls the boar-masked man, “we partake in the sweetest dessert. Secrets!”

He unlocks the box.

With a devilish smile, he retrieves a single folded piece of paper to keep for himself. Then the wooden box makes a second round of the table.

Watching its progress keenly, I notice guests discuss the confessions they selected with their neighbors.

Determinedly avoiding Lucan’s stare, I reach into the box for a secret.

Maybe I’ll pick my own. No harm, no foul.

But why would fate be so kind?

Passing the box to the next student, I unfold the paper I chose.

I see my future in her eyes.

The girl on my right glances over and reads the confession aloud, at a volume the whole table can hear.

“That’s sweet,” she adds, just to me.

“Yeah, it is.” My eyes whip around the guests. “I wonder who wrote it.”

Lucan’s busy removing his mask. It’s a wonder he wore one at all when his face is more menacing than anything he could put over it.

The girl grimaces at hers, reading out loud. “I can’t stop jerking it to feet pics.”

I giggle. “I guess we all have our vices.”

With the food finished, the feast turns into a party. Most people take off their masks, including me. Guests spread through the underground room and music thuds from a speaker.

I’m talking to Clara and Juliette when I notice Lucan’s still at the table. Sitting alone, he glares at the piece of paper in his hand.

The room suddenly feels like it’s closing in on me.

He got my confession. Of course he did.

Weaving through the crowd, I make my way to him.

I’ll deny it. I’ll say the girl next to me wrote it. Surely she won’t mind if I throw her under the bus for such a good cause.