“You’ll leave Green soon. You could go back to university, finish the degree you started at Yale. You could even start a company while you’re there.”
She’s described the dream I fought so hard to forget. But it’s so complicated. With my mom how she is and the girls at home, adding something else into my schedule would likely finish me off.
But my mom has this hopeful expression on her face, and she’s reached into the darkest pit of my chest and stoked a fire I thought long extinguished.
“I’ll look into it.”
Chapter 23
ALEX
The film of sun that glows through my curtains paints Ophelia in a sepia wash, flooding the room in a soft, warm light. After a couple of weeks of gray, rainy mornings in the city, this one feels like a luxury.
My phone reads just past 7 a.m., and I’ve already worked out, showered, and had an early call with Harwood. The difference between my good mornings and my bad ones is staggering.
I shut the bathroom door quietly, then slip into some shorts and beneath the covers, unlocking my phone. The tabs open on my search engine are an accurate representation of the inside of my brain. Brochures for houses in New York, Edinburgh, and London. Architecture course information for Yale. Doctors for my mom and schools for the girls in New York and the UK. A whole host of cooking schools for Mia. A desperate search for something, anything that’ll change Fleur’s mind about trading college for modeling with her shitty boyfriend’s dad as an agent.
My mind has become spaghetti. No real direction or plan. Just chaos and a need for change. So many decisions, and yet I’m paralyzed by all of them.
Ophelia stirs beside me, grumbling something incoherent into the pillow.
A week of waking up like this, and I never want it to end. It’s the elephant in the room: the fact that Sorrowsong’s Easter break is coming to an end and the end-of-year exams are barreling toward her.
She’ll have to leave soon.
I swipe my thumb over her cheek. I can’t count her freckles, no matter how hard I try. There are so many, all piled up on top of one another over her nose and cheeks.
Her lashes flutter open, eyes puffy from sleep. “Hey.”
I swipe the hair from her face. “Morning. Sleep well?”
She pouts, eyebrows creasing in a frown. “You know for a fact that I didn’t sleep well.”
“Funny. I seem to remember it was you begging for another round last night.”
She rolls onto her side so her face is buried in my chest. “Yeah, well, you’re old and misremembering things.”
I trail my fingers down the dip of her spine, enjoying the feel of her against me. The dark cloud inside me is quiet. “I actually found a gray hair yesterday.”
She makes an appreciative hum in the back of her throat. “You’ll be so hot when you go gray … are you going to the gym?” she mumbles. Sunlight kisses her breasts, paints her thighs, burnishes her hair to a fiery shine. There’s something so beautiful about her. It’s not the most original word, but it’s the one that flashes through my mind every time I look at her.
“Already been.”
She pulls away, looking genuinely disgusted. “You people sicken me.”
“I couldn’t sleep, anyway.”
She props herself up on her elbow, suddenly more awake. I shamelessly let myself drink in the view. “Bad mood day?”
“No, I’m feeling good. Just hard to sleep in late with you beside me.”
She bats her lashes at me. “Because I’m too pretty?”
She may be being ironic, but it’sexactlythat. If I had my way, she’d never sleep. I spread a line of kisses over her chest, enjoying the way her hips rock when I swirl my tongue around her nipple. This is a dangerous game. I’m going to be late. “Nah, it’s the snoring.”
She pulls the duvet over her head in a rage. Leaving to go to work has never been so impossible. I don’t know how anyone does it. “I’m never wearing lace again.”
“No,” I plead, pulling it off her, the sound of her laughter echoing around the room. “This is too harsh a punishment.”
