AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“But he’s not just anyone.Anyonedoesn’t have the backing of the Prime Minister. And ceremonial? Don’t make me laugh. This is pure propaganda. It’s a political coup.”
“And even on that basis,” Danny points out, fishing for his shirt — the warm, amorous mood has quickly cooled, “Benji is evenlessqualified to rule the country than Luke. Luke would have at least tried to be a good leader. He’d been thoroughly trained. Benji’s running on a manifesto of entitlement and nothing else.”
“He doesn’t deserve this.” It’s the worst way possible to end this magical night, buttoning up my school shirt dejectedly. “It’s just shit after shit for Luke.”
“Also, Oscarites?” Danny scoffs. “I’m sorry, did I miss something? What the hell’s happened to modern political discourse? Since when do British Prime Ministers have fan clubs?”
Even hearing the nameOscaris enough to make me wince. And yet I can’t deny it — when I met the man in person, he wasn’t anything like the brute I’d expected. Magnanimous, beautifully burdened with tragedy, a handsome man carrying a mean bastard of a temper. A man capable of murdering a rare creature because he could. Because he wanted to.
Rory’s dad. Rory’s blood.
It sickens me that I’d been so wrapped up in his grief. So enthralled by the private sanctuary of a reclusive politician. Enough to lose myself to the power he wields every day, enough to fantasize about that night on too many occasions. To find Oscar Munro seductive despite — or even because of — the lights inside me flashing scarlet.
“He’s a handsome man,” I murmur with my best nonchalance, trying not to remember fingers clamped around my wrist, lips whispering against the shell of my ear.Whisky. “Charismatic. When you look and act like him, I suppose fan clubs just automatically spring up.”
Danny raises an eyebrow at me. “He looks like a sexy reptile and has the morals of a twat.” Danny is so blunt that he startles a laugh out of me. “I know there’s the whole thing about girls liking bad boys but I didn’t realize it extended to political dictators.”
He gives me a frank, assessing look, as though on some level his words are a test. Like maybe he can see straight through me, can read my mind. Like maybe he wants me to tell the truth.
But voicing the truth gives it power, and that’s the very last thing I want.
I shrug, changing the subject, hoping to get away from Danny’s piercing gaze as I knot my tie. “He’s stuffed his cabinet to the hilt with anti-monarchists. Ponsonby made sure of it. Everyone surrounding him is an Oscarite now that the moderates have been demoted to backbenchers.”
Danny nurses the side of his head. “You must be acing politics because I think I got about every third word of that.” He sighs. “Come on. Let’s get the badges and get some sleep.”
I do as Danny says, my muscles aching contentedly as I stretch them around the classroom. Danny smuggles the completed crown badges into his bookbag like the most illicit contraband, tucking them all inside a small coin purse hidden inside an inner pocket. “And tomorrow night’s baking night,” he announces in a bright tone. “Who knew that joining a political cause would make your creativity go through the roof.”
We part with a long kiss before I reluctantly leave for the girls’ tower. It’s well after midnight and my bed is crying out for me, but there’s one thing I need to do first.
As soon as I reach my small bedroom, I strip out of my half-buttoned uniform, dragging a chair into the tiny bathroom and standing on it. I switch on the light and stare into the mirror above the sink, reading the purple words which Danny had painted onto my stomach.
The words are reflected backward, and — I swallow — the cum gives it a thick and clear coating, as though to deliberately resemble varnish.
But despite this, and even in the dim lamplight, the words Danny wrote are unmistakable.
I love you, Jessa Weir.
