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“What else does he ignore, Liv?” he whispers, his lips inches from my ear. “Does he ignore you too? Or are you his obedient little girl? Have you turned into him yet?”
Ok. Enough is enough.
I take a step back.
“I heard about that message your mom had sent on your behalf, but I didn’t for a moment imagine that you would hate me so much that you wouldn’t want me to go study somewhere else, just because the thought of my being a few hours away revolted you so much,” I start saying, but a groan interrupts me.
Another curse flies out of his lips, and I stop, suddenly scared.
“What?” The blood drains from my face. What did I say that made him react this way?
“Do you know my mom tried to kill herself after—?” he bites his lip.
“After what? What aren’t you telling me?”
He hangs his head. He won’t say anything more to me.
I know nothing, we have established that.But what if he is lying too? What if Angel is one of them? What if he is my half-brother? And he hates me, not to mention he is in line for one of the biggest thrones in Europe. What if he isn’t my half-brother, but he knows who is and won’t tell me. What if…?
“Whoa, hey!” Angel yells, but his voice is coming muffled, from a really long distance away.
My knees buckle, and Angel catches me before I hit the floor.
Suddenly, Marco is here, banging on the door and practically tearing it off its hinges in his hurry to get in. He tumbles inside, running towards us. Where did he come from? I thought I’d left him outside the campus.
“Don’t touch her!” Marco yells at Angel.
“I wasn’t touching her, man,” Angel replies, still holding me. “She fell…”
“Don’t freaking touch her,” Marco repeats, and there’s something wrong with his voice. It sounds gruff, hoarse.
Marco picks me up in his arms as if I weigh nothing and carries me effortlessly out into the hall.
“It’s my fault,” he says above my head, the words coming out clipped, his voice hard. “I didn’t make sure you ate something, and after coming all this way just to talk to this moron…” He deposits me on a bench under a tree, and lays briefly his hand on my forehead, like a mom would do, if she was feeling for any signs of fever. Not that I know what a mom’s hand on your forehead feels. But I’ve seen it in movies. I’ve imagined it.
“Are you ok to stay here for a second by yourself?” Marco asks me, and I try to nod, but everything goes black again.
When I open my eyes again, I am lying flat on my back on the bench, and thankfully there’s no one around. There is a tree above me, and its shade is thick, the air less cold than in Vermont. The sun warms my aching limbs.
Marco is leaning over me, an expression of intense concern in his blue eyes. Oh, good, he was here to witness this new humiliation. I couldn’t be happier.
“Here.” He hands me a juice box. “How are you feeling?”
I sit up and turn the box over in my hands. The juice gurgles inside.
“Like I want to throw up,” I say and he smiles.
“No more of that.”
I swallow, placing the juice back into his hands. “I need to get out of here. Now.”
“Olivia, you’re…” Marco places his hand on mine gently, as if he’s scared he might break me. We’re back to me being fragile and stupid and weak. I hate this. “You look like you’re about to faint again. You haven’t slept or eaten in two days, and you…”
“Won’t you just yell at me again?” I murmur.
No, wait, I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
He opens his mouth, but doesn’t know what to say. His eyebrows draw together. He probably thinks I’m crazy. I probably am, actually.
