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3
My room in the girls’ tower is smaller than I remember. It takes a moment to reorient myself, to not picture a luxurious bed in place of my cramped single one. To not fantasize about tangles of muscled limbs, of submerging into slick, warm, naked hugs.
A draft emerges from the arrow-slit window. I shove a balled pair of socks into it as usual.
Tradition. Business. I know what to do now.
Unpacking is harder this time, however. Along with my textbooks for the year, it seems like my suitcase is full of mementos. Danny’s sci-fi. Benji’s yo-yo. Two-thirds of a red ribbon.
I flit around my tiny bedroom, putting everything back in its place. The jeweled helmet I wore for the talent show, its angel wings protruding spectacularly, is placed on top of my wardrobe again like an all-seeing eye. Something to bring a little jolt of pride and victory as I remember what a badass I’d been.
When there’s a knock at my door, I expect the worst. The usual. The way things can sometimes happen here like clockwork.
“What is this,” I mutter, opening the door, “my annual Arabella dress-down?”
Leaning against the wall, Rory raises an eyebrow at me. “Sorry to disappoint.” He looks incredible. The shock of him so close to me, here, in the girls’ tower… The shock of knowing he’s mine… The way his blazer sculpts his body, the dark blond fall of his hair into his eyes… I can’t even construct full sentences anymore. As I stand there gawking at him, he raises his eyebrow higher. “Can I come in?”
Like a lovesick fool, I open the door wider. When he’s inside, he’s the one to close it behind me, taking control. The door shuts with a quietsnick. Rory’s eyes are on me the whole time, and I get that squirmy sensation in the pit of my stomach, the one telling me toRun. The one I ignore, because I enjoy being the prey to Rory’s driven hunter.
“Did you want something?”
His gray gaze appears to zone in on me. “Yes.”
In a heartbeat, my mouth dries. My palms grow clammy, and it genuinely feels as though my body’s reacting to a fever. I want nothing more than for Rory to slam me against the wall and fucking… rail me.
I nurse the side of my head. God, what has this boy done to me?
But then his demeanor changes. He peels away the balled socks from my only natural source of light and glances down at the grounds. “Why was your mother here?”
I scowl down at my open suitcase and busy myself by arranging my clothes. “To annoy me.”
There must be something in my tone, because Rory’s gaze on the back of my neck is sharp enough to feel like needles pressing into my skin.
“She came all the way here to annoy you?”
“I dunno. Yes.” I gather my school blouses and fasten them onto hangers.
There’s a moment’s silence as Rory continues watching me, reading me. “At any rate, she should never have been here. I don’t know what Baxter was thinking, letting a complete stranger dine with us tonight. I’ll be having words.”
“Don’t,” I say, knowing Baxter’s full wrath only too well, knowing how it could only ever fall on me and never Rory. “And mymotherisn’t exactly a stranger.”
“True. But I can see she succeeded in opening old wounds.” His gray eyes assess me avidly. “You let go of the past this summer. You blossomed, little saint. And in one conversation, she’s managed to undo it all. What skills she must possess.”
I swallow the hard lump in my throat. Letting go of the past, looking forward to the future — those things can only ever be a temporary diversion for me. “Forget about it. What’s done is done.”
But Rory stalks toward me. He turns me slowly on the spot, so that I face him and not the contents of my suitcase. And, finally glancing up at him, I want to cry. Because to have someone this perfect, his eyes blazing with indignant fire, seeing the broken girl in front of him and not only staying here but fighting my corner… I don’t know how I managed to win Rory Munro to my side.
“Maybe returning to Lochkelvin was a mistake,” I whisper. “I don’t feel as strong here as I did in Edinburgh.”
Rory shakes his head. “Lochkelvin is never a mistake. The school provides.”
The school provides. I take his word for it — he, after all, knows Lochkelvin’s secrets more than anyone.
His hand slides gently up my neck, caressing my jaw. He lowers his mouth to mine, and although it’s something we spent the whole summer doing, in Lochkelvin, it’s different. In Lochkelvin, it almost seems taboo. But I don’t care — I need this kiss as much as I need Rory, and so I grip the lapels of his dark blazer and reach up yearningly to meet his kiss.
He tastes like fire. His lips are hot on mine, fiery and furious on my behalf. He grabs me bodily, pulling me against his muscular bulk and securing his arms around me in a tight embrace.
“I don’t like to see you upset,” Rory mutters against my cheek, pressing soft reverent kisses to my face.
