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But no, not me.
I can’t count the number of house parties Nicolo has thrown without my father’s permission. The number of girls he and the twins have slept with over the years. But I fuck a guy one time on my way back from the botanic gardens, and I’ll never see the outside of my bedroom again.
That’s a lie. It was twice. And what I did with Pyotr was well beyond just fucking. I don’t know what to call it. Because our relationship is tangled in all sorts of knots. All I know is that both times we’ve had sex, my world has shifted. Permanently.
With a heavy sigh, I let my feet fall from the wall above my bed. My most recent novel lies next to my head. The title,Cinder, calls to me, reminding me of the fairy-tale story about a girl struggling to make ends meet, who meets a prince but doesn’t realize it’s him right away.
I’m tempted to crack the sci-fi rendition of a classic tale and find out what happens in the end. But if I’m perfectly honest with myself, I already know. That girl will find a happily ever after–cyborg or not. Her prince will come to rescue her, glass slipper in hand.
Meanwhile, my prince charming probably doesn’t even know why I haven’t shown up for class. Well, I’m sure he can imagine I’m some form of grounded. But my father’s punishment has gone a bit beyond that.
No, I’m not in the mood for fairy tales at this hour of the day. Maybe it will help to stave off the nightmares I know will surface later tonight.
Instead, I turn to my drafting table and pull my leatherbound sketchbook from the drawer.
My real drawing, the one I plan on finishing for my final project of the semester, sits unattended at school. All I can do now is visualize it and create mockups on ten-by-twelve bits of paper.
I spent all of yesterday focusing on the horse, the shadow of the man, and his proportions in comparison to the prancing beast. But today, I can’t get Pyotr’s face out of my mind, so I take the opportunity to sketch the way he looked at me that day.
I start with the jaw, drawing a hard line over the shadowed figure’s shoulder, and let it curve naturally into his strong, square chin. It’s a specific moment I remember, watching Pyotr ride Korolevskiy masterfully.
The way he drew joy from the horse’s fiery spirit. I’d been so grateful for Nezhnyy’s calm, steady demeanor, but Pyotr had seemed delighted by the way his horse pranced and bucked.
And that’s what I want to capture. That rare moment of mischievous mirth just after Pyotr finished reining in his wily horse.
Thinking of Pyotr like that helps me forget about the deep anger in his eyes the last time I saw him. Right before my father sent me to bed like a disobedient child. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why Pyotr’s avoiding me–he might not even be allowed to see me after what we did.
Pushing aside the tear-inducing notion, I focus on capturing his lips, the way the corners curled into a brilliant smile. He has this devilish look that tells me he’s having fun because someone’s misbehaving.
It’s something unique to Pyotr, his silent appreciation for creatures who speak their mind, no matter the cost. And it makes me think of the day we spent at the Met.Stop doubting yourself. You’re far sexier when you’re not trying to please me.That’s what he said to me. And somehow, those words had set me free.
That’s what makes Pyotr tick. Freedom. He likes me best when I can be that because he wants it just as badly as me. Interesting that I have to be locked inside four small walls to come to that realization.
The door clicks open behind me, and I jump with a squeak, snapping closed my sketchbook instinctually.
When I turn, I find Cassio standing in my doorway.
His lips tip in a crooked grin, irony dancing in his eyes as he studies me. “Well, well, well, look who finally decided to come home,” he teases, stepping inside my room and closing the door.
“Cass!” I squeal, jumping up from my chair to fling my arms around his neck.
“How are you holding up?” he asks tentatively.
I shrug, glancing back toward my drawing table. “So far, mostly just bored,” I admit, bucking up my courage to shrug it off, like I know Cass would. He knows better than anyone how to find the lighter side of a situation.
His lips twist wryly as he scrutinizes me, seeing through my facade with ease.
Then his face falls slightly. “Father said he and the Matron are moving up the wedding date?” he informs me like it’s a question.
Not like I would know the comings and goings of my own life.
“Did he?” I ask, fighting to ignore the way that information makes my heart patter.
I don’t know that it really matters at this point. Aside from the fact that I know Pyotr’s mixed feelings about our connection. And I’m sure a faster wedding won’t help his inner turmoil.
Cass nods slowly, his eyes sad. “I’m sorry, Sil. I just… I’ve tried to think of a way to fix things, but I just don’t know how. Not in a matter of months.”
He casts his eyes to the floor in a look of utter dejection.
