Page 18

“Rowan, sweetheart. How are you settling in?”

I open my mouth, but Damaris is already talking over me.

“The room’s amazing. Huge window. Decent storage. Terrible bread. You’d hate the bread.”

Mrs. Adane laughs through the speaker at something Damaris says next.

Then a torn piece of bread skids across our table and lands beside my tray. I ignore it, but another follows not long after, catching in Damaris’s dark curls and cutting him off mid-sentence.

I follow his gaze and find a dark-haired student grinning openly from the center table, ink climbing out of the collar of his uniform as somebody beside him mutters, “Lucan. Behave.”

The grin only widens.

Damaris turns back to me, plucks the piece of bread from his curls, and holds it up between two fingers. “Did that idiot just throw bread at my head?”

From somewhere farther down the table, somebody shouts, “You’re a filthy bastard,” and the entire group dissolves into laughter.

Damaris squints across the room. “Because if he did, I’m charging him for emotional damage.”

I look up and find the guy with the tattoos—Lucan—still watching us. He doesn’t even try to hide it. He’s slumped back in his chair, offering Damaris an unapologetic grin while tearing another piece from his bread.

“Oh, he definitely did,” I mutter. “And he’s about to do it again.”

“The fuck he is.” Damaris runs a hand through his curls, dislodging the last crumbs before fixing Lucan with a look. “Hey, Ma, I’ve gotta go. Yeah, I’ll call you back tonight. Sure. Will do. Love you.”

He ends the call and immediately pushes to his feet.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, catching the sleeve of his jacket before he can move away.

Damaris glances down at my hand. “You saw what happened, right?” He points toward the center table. “That guy just threw bread at my head.”

“I don’t think it was meant for you.”

“No?” His gaze flicks toward Lucan. “Well, I do.”

“Dama—”

“And I’m going to tell Bread Boy to stop throwing things at my breakfast.”

Before I can stop him, he pulls free and starts toward the table.

I watch him go, frozen, while the noise around us shifts. A few conversations falter. Someone halfway down the table glances up. Another leans back to look past the person beside him. Laughter continues at the far end as though none of this matters yet.

It takes seconds, but it’s enough to make my stomach turn.

Damaris stops at the near end of the table. “Did you just throw bread at my head?”

The tattooed guy leans back in his chair and looks up at Damaris. “Depends. Are you here to tell me I missed?”

Several of the boys at the table seem to find that funny, but Damaris doesn’t. “Next time,” he snarls, “find somebody else to entertain yourself with.”

Lucan tears off another piece of bread before dropping it onto the table. “Shame. You looked more fun from across the room.”

I watch Damaris’s jaw tighten. “Well, I’m not. And while I’m here, you can let him know we won’t be at the party.”

“What, already turning us down?” Lucan leans back in his chair. “That’s cold.”

“Tough luck.” Damaris folds his arms. “Conclusion, the bread’s terrible, and we’re not coming to the party.”