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“And is it safe with you?”
His mouth thins. “What do you mean? Have I ever hurt you?”
This is turning into a convoluted argument—mainly because I can’t come out and tell them what I know about them, what’s in Ophelia’s diary, and so I sound like a crazy woman who’s angry with them for no good reason.
“I just want to go to my room,” I whisper.
“But Mia—”
“And stop fighting. You’re much more alike than you think and look more childish than you are, which is saying a lot. Good night.”
I come awakewith a moan of pain. Rolling onto my side makes my eyes sting with tears. I reach for the glass of water and the painkillers I left there the previous night. Swallowing a couple, I lay my head back on the pillow and stare at the far wall, waiting for the pain to subside, remembering last night.
The boys.
Fighting over me.
Another smile tugs at my mouth. What’s wrong with me? This is stupid. They’re just competing with each other and I’ve unwittingly made myself the bone of contention.
Which is good. This might work. Get them distraught and distracted, then ask them questions, pry into their secrets.
So why do I feel bad about it?
Jesus. With a small groan, I sit up and swing my legs off the bed. Why is this getting so complicated?
I came here to get revenge for my cousin.
I certainly didn’t expect these boys to be so sexy and so complex, so kind sometimes and other times so infuriating. So protective and sweet, but also so arrogant and insulting.
In my mind, they used to be cardboard cutouts of boys, an ugly sneer plastered on their faces. I’d wondered deep in my heart how my cousin had let herself be seduced by them, fallen into their trap. I’d felt superior to her because I’d thought it could never happen to me—not because I’m more virtuous or anything, but because I thought I was cleverer than that.
Yet here I am.
Falling for them.
God, no, this is not good at all. I have to get things moving. I can’t stay at the Academy much longer. Investing myself, my heart, getting feelings for these guys. Nope.
I need to talk to Melissa and Vanessa.
My trip to the bathroom is short, my shower finished in under a minute. I studiously avoid the mirror, not wanting to see the bruises I feel on my face, on my torso, on my arms. It hurts to move. Bending over to pull on my pants is agony.
This has to stop.
I have to finish what I came to do and leave.
Gritting my teeth, I put on my bra and one of my old blouses, belatedly remembering Emrys’ and Ashton’s gifts. One I left in Emrys’s room, the other… The other is in my backpack.
I fumble with the catch, open my backpack and pull the package out. When I tear it open, a few items of clothing fall on my bed. I pick them up, spread them on top of my rumpled covers.
A short black skirt, soft and lightly shimmering.
A loose white blouse made of a material like a cloud.
A wide leather belt, black, with a complex buckle.
They are so…Ashton. Elegant, understated, classic.
Then, inside the torn wrapping paper I see another, smaller package, and I tear that open, too, heat rising to my face.
