Page 22 of Divine Oaths

A reminder again of what Vivian had said about Ivy House and Rose House. Ivy for the legacies. Rose for the regular admission.

Even the crest could be a status symbol.

I kept walking, trying to ignore the long glances and whispers that trailed behind me. But the second looks made my blood boil. Just as I arrived at the entrance, a waiter stopped me.

“Move,” I said. And then, realizing this was friendly fire and that he wasn’t one of the nepo babies who kept glaring at me, I added, “Sorry. I meant ‘excuse me.’”

He glanced at the lily crest on my blazer for a long moment before swiping a drink from the tray of champagne flutes that he was carrying.

“Apple cider?” he asked, offering the flute to me.

“Oh,” I said. “Yes.” Of course the university wouldn’t be serving alcohol to its freshmen.

I took the drink but regretted it almost immediately. An image painfully flashed in my mind: the waiter standing in the kitchen moments before, pouring sparkling apple cider into the champagne flutes before spitting into the glasses. A small circle of other waiters surrounded him, and they laughed as they placed the contaminated drinks onto the serving tray for guests.

I couldn’t even be mad at the waiter. Just an hour before, Honey and Joseph had conned us scholarship students into missing the welcome celebration. It wasn’t surprising that some people weren’t taking the slight sitting down.

The waiter stared at me, waiting for me to drink with a measured smile on his face.

“I’m actually okay.”

I placed the glass back on the tray. He looked disappointed but quickly moved to the next empty-handed legacy student, who took the drink and downed it in one gulp. I hid my disgust and looked away before making my way farther into the welcome celebration.

When I walked through the double doors of the main hall, I was greeted by the chilling bite of air-conditioning set three degrees too low. Inside, ribbed arches lined the vast ceilings. The walls of the university were carved out of stone, and the marble floors had been shined to a glowing finish. There were more legacies and regular admits gathered together, all in their own spheres of orbit, talking with one another, networking, laughing, and mingling.

Up ahead, a group of faculty gathered. There were two men, and a blond girl with a pixie cut. I recognized her immediately.

Honey.

She talked animatedly to the two men; the first had pale skin, dark gray eyes, and light stubble on his chin with a chestnut-brown tinge that matched his trimmed straight hair. The second man was of a deeper complexion, his skin a rich shade of brown, his hair shaved into a buzz cut.

Their jackets looked different from Vivian’s or even the one I wore—they were newer, the lily emblem reimagined as a modern tessellation.

For a second, Honey’s gaze fell over me. The gesture, as minuscule as it was, caught the attention of both men.

I tried to pretend that I didn’t recognize Honey or the man with the buzz cut, even as he stared me down. But Jojo had already excused himself from the group. And now he was making his way toward me.

CHAPTER NINE

Roses have thorns

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

I forced a smile at Jojo, gesturing to the party hall around us.

“I’m a student. Obviously. This was my last year to enroll, so I did.”

Jojo looked frustrated, and I could tell that his mind was racing. Mine was too. We hadn’t seen each other in months, and now here we both were, at Westfield.

The irony of it all was laughable. Twisted, even.

“I thought you said you’d never come here,” he said.

“I can change my mind. I’m allowed to do that. And so are you, apparently.” I laughed, nodding to his new haircut and Westfield blazer. “You even shaved your locs. Are you actually Jojo Charles?” I should have known he’d been a fraud. Like, two first names. Really?

Instinctively, I reached for him, only stopping myself when he turned away, my palms brushing his cheek. The warmth of his touch made me ache in ways that tore at me.

I pulled away, clenching my fist. “And don’t say it wasn’t because of this place. I guess a research residency at Westfield is just too hot to turn down, even for you.”