Page 21 of The Bargain

I almost laugh. There goes the golden girl prefect. Desdemona, painting out white boundary lines around our deal. She’s just as scared as I am, I realise, with a mixture of surprise and disdain. Scared, with nothing to lose.

“What kind of rules?”

The words are barely out of my mouth before Desdemona snaps:

“First rule: don’t summon me. I’m not your dog.”

I shrug. “Granted, but in that case—second rule: don’t ignore my texts.”

She visibly bristles at that. “Third rule: we don’t meet in your bedroom.”

As if she didn’t choose to come to my room last time.

I tilt my head, needling her with a conspiratory smile. “I thought you’d appreciate the privacy.”

She doesn’t take the bait. “I’d prefer somewhere private and neutral.”

“Such as?”

“The head girl’s study.”

I laugh in her face; I can’t help it. “You’ve got an office?”

She remains unshaken and says bleakly, “It’s a study.”

“How is that more neutral than my bedroom?”

“It’s a study,” she repeats in a tone that suggests I have no more intelligence than a worm. “What’s more neutral?”

“It’s your study,” I retort. “Not neutral.”

“More neutral than your bedroom, in any case,” she says. And, with a shadow of a smirk, “I won’t be half-naked, for one.”

Hah. Well played, Head Girl. I step closer, crowding her space, and snatch the victory from her with a calculated lowering of my voice.

“Shame. Perhaps we could remedy that.”

“Perhaps not,” she retorts. “Fourth rule: keep your hands to yourself.”

It wouldn’t surprise me if that was a rule with all her boyfriends. Nevertheless, I say, “Won’t that make it difficult to pretend we’re in a relationship?”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Fourth rule: keep your hands to yourself when we’re alone.”

“You might regret making that a rule,” I murmur humbly.

She sneers. “I can promise you I won’t.”

“Never say never, love.”

“I didn’t say never. Fifth rule: don’t call me love.”

“All your rules so far only make it more difficult to pretend we’re together.”

She hesitates. “I just…” She licks her lips. “I just think it will make it easier to fake a relationship if our own relationship outside the subterfuge has clearly defined boundaries.”

Subterfuge. Why does she speak like she’s fifty? Is that part of her fortress-building, I wonder?

“I disagree,” I tell her. “I think we should muddy the waters as much as possible. Otherwise, nobody will ever buy it.”