I burrow deeper into the seat, tugging the sleeves of my hoodie over my cold hands while the others laugh at whatever jokes they’re reading about me.
My phone lights up again on the foldout table in front of me.
Unknown
I’d hate for something to happen to your Prince Charming because of you.
Unknown
This could all be over so easily.
Anxiety prickles the back of my neck. Colette swallows, eyes wide. “Don’t agree to meet them, Ophelia. Don’t let them use Alex to lure you into a trap. Let the investigators work on it.”
I attempt to run my hands though my hair, though they’re thwarted by the endless tangles that never seem to go away. “But they’re not getting anywhere.”
“It could just be a student playing a truly stupid prank. You are in the spotlight right now. Keep ignoring it and it’ll go away,” she reassures me, snaking an arm around my shoulders.
Everyone seems to think that, but I’m not so sure. If it was a student, surely I’d have found something out by now.
I slide my phone into my pocket and let her maneuver the conversation to an art gallery opening she’s attending next month, but unease prickles my gut.Prince Charming.Did they see me with Alex in his car?
Threats to my safety have become this constant, dull toothache during my time here, irritating and persistent but feeling increasingly … manageable. Which is a ridiculous thing to say, but it’s true. They’re a part of my daily routine now.Wake up, eat slice of toast, receive death threat, eat second slice of toast, go to a lecture.
But it’s not just about me now. A threat to Alex’s safety?
That, I cannot ignore.
DIVYA STEPS OUTof the bathroom, her mouth dropping open when she sees me. “Oh my god. You look hot.”
I feel embarrassment heat my cheeks. “Don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m not. It’s just been a while since you’ve not worn pajamas.”
“Rude!” scolds Colette, laughing as she dusts something over my cheeks and nose with her brush. “Shut your eyes.”
I do, and a smaller brush tickles across my eyelids. Colette sighs contently. I think she might be in her happy place. She’s given me a dress that she supposedly didn’t want. Except it’s a deep shade ofgreen—my favorite color—and at least a size too big for her, tags still attached.
But she rejects any claims that it’s anything but an old dress she doesn’t want anymore.
Something settles beneath my lash line. Hopefully a mascara brush. “Okay, blink. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.”
“Oh my god.”
She makes me do it all again on the other side and then puts loose waves in my unruly hair.
It feels foolish, getting all dressed up for an event I wasn’t even planning to go to until Colette convinced me yesterday. I’m already anticipating the lingering glances, the looks that sit anywhere from pity to hatred. But I’ve longed for a night out with friends for so long that not attending feels like a disservice to all the progress I’ve made since getting here.
Dressed in a spectacular gothic gown with black lace sleeves like vines that creep over her dark brown skin, Magda tops all of our cocktails up with champagne.
“Finished!” Colette steps back, impressively steady on the pinpoint heels of her navy Louboutins.
I dare a glance in the mirror, unable to hide the smile that sneaks across my glossy lips. There’s a little eyeshadow wing on my lash line, and all the blinking was worth it, because my lashes lookgreat. The purple circles that hang beneath my eyes are gone. The dress is backless, save for a few thin straps that pull my waist in.
Divya grins. “You look so good, right?”
Colette claps. “Well, with such a pretty canvas …”
“I like that you didn’t cover my freckles.”
