Page 83 of Twisted Elites

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” asked Sebastian.

“Of course.” I pressed my lips on his cheek and gave him a tight squeeze. “Afterward, I’ll take the train down from Gretna Green.”

Sebastian gave me a sharp nod. “Come as quickly as you can.”

“Thanks for understanding.” I wrapped my arms around Sebastian and inhaled his sandalwood scent.

The kings would be leaving me alone in the academy, allowing Miss Claymore to strike. If I managed a few hours of sleep between now and dinner, I’d be able to stay up all night to keep watch.

Hours later, after Sebastian texted with an update on his grandfather’s emergency heart bypass, I huddled on his sofa, struggling to stay awake. Two wooden wedges sat at strategic points under the door, and a chair stood propped under the doorknob. Every sound in the hallway made me flinch, but I clutched Leopold’s cricket bat to my chest. If anyone breached my early warning system, I’d crack them over the head and deal with the consequences later.

Eventually, my eyes drooped shut, and I dreamed of standing back-to-back with Cormac in an empty church. Each of us brandished a cricket bat at hoards of bullies who surrounded us like hungry zombies. Bruce Wilmington and the Riley twins tore at my wedding dress, with Ashley egging them on from the sidelines. Miss Claymore stood at the doorway with Leopold and Sebastian slung over her shoulders, and Mr. Byrd carried Prakash and swung him in the air like a besotted bridegroom.

“Willow?” a heavy knock on the door broke me out of my nightmare.

My eyes snapped open. It was still early, and pale wisps of sunlight streamed in through Sebastian’s tall windows, casting its yellowish light on the silver comforter. “What?”

“We’re leaving in an hour,” said Cormac. “Give me a knock when you’re ready.”

I stretched, yawned, and blinked. “Sure. Thanks for the wakeup call.”

After a quick shower, I wore a fifties-style, pink dress Mom had bought me last year. It had a fitted bodice Mom said showed off my narrow waist and it flared at the hips. Since Ashley had burned most of my favorite clothes the day she raided my room, I put on a cashmere cardigan that cropped at the waist and hoped it looked okay for a wedding.

As I headed for the door, my gaze caught the cricket bat I’d left on the sofa. I would love to smash it over Geraldine’s face when she and her sycophants pigged Cormac, but doing so would get me locked up for assault. Perhaps I really would offer Cormac tea and sympathy when things inevitably went wrong.

Cormac stepped out of his room, dressed in a smart, charcoal-colored suit with a burgundy waistcoat. “Do you like it? I thought it could double up as something to wear for interviews.”

“Wow.” I smoothed down his lapels. “You look so handsome!”

His cheeks colored. “Thanks. It means so much that you agreed to be my best man.” He smirked. “You know what I mean.”

I looped my arm around his, and we walked down the hallway. “Aren’t you going to wear a flower?”

“Geraldine’s having them all delivered to Gretna Green,” he said. “We can pick them up at the blacksmith’s.”

“Oh.” My brows drew together.

I bit down on my bottom lip and stepped through the doors leading to the stairwell. Two things about what Cormac had said were disturbing. The first was the wedding venue. Historically, runaway couples from England would marry at the blacksmiths. It was world-famous and likely couldn’t accommodate last-minute bookings.

We descended the stairs in silence. The second thing gnawing at me was the flowers. Which bride didn’t want her bouquet delivered to her directly?

I glanced at Cormac, whose cheeks remained flushed with joy. “Are you sure about this?”

He opened the door leading to the ground floor hallway and beamed. “Geraldine is spoiled, attention-seeking, and can be a little catty, but she’s a completely different girl with me. You’ll see.”

Anxiety roiled in the pit of my gut. Cormac was walking into a trap. We both were, and every bit of common sense screamed at me to stop my best friend from hurting himself, but short from tackling him to the ground and holding him hostage, I didn’t know what else to do.

Cormac pushed open the academy’s double doors, letting in a warm, dew-scented breeze. A vintage Aston Martin convertible waited at the bottom of the steps. He clapped his hands together and laughed.

“Whose is this?” I asked.

“Geraldine must have hired it. She talked about driving off in the sunset in a 1970’s Aston Martin Volante, but I didn’t think she’d ever find one.”

“Oh.” I marveled at the wooden steering wheel and vintage, leather interior. Maybe I was wrong. No one would go to such efforts for a pigging.

After we got into our seats, Cormac started the engine and pulled the sports car out from the front of the academy. He launched into a dialogue, explaining that Geraldine had been training the two blonde fifth-years who accompanied her everywhere to walk in step down the aisle and that they would spend two nights in the blacksmith’s cottage before flying off to the Maldives.

“Where are Brunswick and Garraway?” he asked as he steered the car through the academy gates and into the main road. “They follow you everywhere.”