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The campus was built some time in the seventies. It’s an uninspiring brick rectangle from the outside, but the inside is quite spectacular. The foyer is double height and features cream tiles the whole way across. At change of class times, it’s furiously loud, with students and teachers bustling one way or another.
Now, as I make my way to the middle and stare out of the sliding doors, it’s almost deserted. Just a couple of people walking through it, and a girl sitting on a bench listening to headphones.
I’m waiting at least ten minutes, which is flipping aggravating, to say the least. I could have avoided that whole early-departure scenario if only Pietro hadn’t got me out here prematurely.
‘Ciao!’ He strides into the foyer when I’m on the brink of shooting him an angry text message, his expression relaxed, his manner as charming as always. He is handsome, elegant and kind and yet I feel nothing for him, except the warmth of an easy friendship.
‘I thought you were here already.’ My response is short and I wince at it.
‘I was finding a parking space.’ He shrugs, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek.
I force a smile, reminding myself that he’s come out of his way because I was forgetful. He’s being kind. I’m not. His eyes roam my face with an intensity that leaves me cold, and guilt runs through me. Guilt that I don’t love him any more when I think he’s probably still in love with me.
‘What’s your appointment?’
‘A fashion shoot around the corner. I’m just scoping out the lighting today.’
Pietro is a great photographer. He’s very creative and that expresses itself in myriad ways, from his impeccable personal style and grooming to his apartment that is a work of art, to his photographs, that are poignant and breathtaking.
‘Anyone exciting?’ I ask.
‘Just supermodels.’ He grins and I laugh.
‘Nice. All in a day’s work, huh?’
‘You got it.’
Noise around us lifts as various classes come to an end and students begin to move to their next destination.
‘I’d better get back,’ I say, holding a hand out for the laptop. But he puts his hand in mine instead and then lifts my hand to his lips.
‘I really had fun with you on Sunday.’ His dark brown eyes are boring into mine and I fight the urge to pull my hand away.
‘Miss Amorelli.’ Connor’s voice is like spiced rum on my nerve-endings. Hot and dangerously addictive. I don’t yank my hand out of Pietro’s but I dislodge it carefully and drop it back to my side, turning slowly to face him.
‘Mr Hughes,’ I say with what I hope sounds like professional detachment. I turn back to Pietro. ‘This is Connor Hughes—one of my professors.’
Pietro’s impressed. He, like I, keeps up with the news. ‘The Donovan barrister?’
Connor’s tight smile is confirmation, then his eyes clash fiercely with mine.
‘I need a word with you in my office.’
My heart palpates. Is he crazy?
‘Fine,’ I say, not sure I want to do any such thing.
I can feel Connor’s enmity towards Pietro and it makes t
he hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
‘I’ll be there soon,’ I say dismissively, turning my attention back to Pietro.
‘Now,’ he insists softly, but with an edge that I understand.
I roll my eyes and Pietro laughs, unhooking my bag and passing it to me. He seems completely oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. ‘I have to go anyway,’ he says with a grin. ‘I’ll see you Sunday?’
‘Yeah.’ I nod, but I’m frowning, wondering what the hell Connor is playing at.
