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My rain boots splash through puddles along the slate and cobblestone walkways that crisscross the grounds of Oxford Hills. There are only a few other people out in this weather, but they seem to ignore me even when I give a wave.
I’m quickly learning that the children of the world’s elite aren’t the friendliest bunch.
I pass the stables, smiling at the smell of hay and horses. The archery range is empty and gray in the downpour. I’ve got my head down to ward off the rain, so I don’t notice the wall and the gate until I’m almost smacking into it.
I startle and step back. I glance up, and my eyes widen.
Past the ivy-covered stone wall and ornate iron gate, is astunningold home. It looks like it belongs on the grounds of Versailles or something—a huge, beautiful and yet imposing stone manor, half-covered in ivy. Black-iron windows dot the facade, and the front door looks like it would withstand a siege from a rival kingdom.
I’m about to dig my phone out and figure out how close I am to Ilya’s cottage when my eyes suddenly snap to the words carved into the stone wall next to the gate. My mouth falls open in shock when I read “Lordship Manor.”
What. The. Fuck.
Thisis where Ilya Volkov lives? It’s no cottage. It’s a fucking castle. I shake my head in disbelief. But, this is it, alright. And palace or not, the student I’m supposed to tutor in order to bulk up my resume is in there.
This will be fine.
Unless he eats you.
I tremble as I push the gate open and step through. I fast-walk up the stone walkway to the enormous, black iron and old-wood door. There’s no doorbell.
I frown. What the hell am I supposed to do, use a battering ram? Have my squire call up to the Lord of the realm?
I take a breath, haul my fist back, and pound. Then I pound again, and again. Finally, I hear the sound of a lock being drawn back. The door cracks and then swings open. I blink in surprise.
The girl is not who I expected. She’s… stunning. Tall, leggy, blonde, and absolutely gorgeous. And here I am standing in the pouring rain in a baggy red raincoat, hair stuck to my face, no makeup, looking like a shipwreck survivor.
The wrinkled-nose look of disdain she gives me seems to back that up.
“Who are you?” She sneers in a haughty, posh British accent. Her manicured brow arches with distaste.
“I—I’m the…”
I suddenly realize there’s a party going on behind her. The inside of the manor is even more gorgeous than the outside. And it’s full of students drinking, dancing, making out, smoking cigarettes—and something else by the smell of it—and roaring with laughter. Music thuds.
“Were youinvited?” She sneers.
I frown. “No, I—I mean, I’m the—”
She suddenly smiles widely. “Oh! Oh, no, honey,” her smile thins. “We won’t need the maid service until tomorrow. And when you do come back, do make sure you come through the service entrance at the back, yeah?”
Her cold eyes pierce me as her lips thin. “Kay,bye…”
She starts to shut the door in my face. But my rain boot juts out to stop her. She looks at me like I’ve just peed on the royal jewels.
“Are youfucking—”
“I’m actually the tutor?” I smile weakly. Then I take a breath and compose myself. I stand a little taller. “I’m the tutor. I’m here for Ilya.”
She stares at me. But slowly, her lips curl in amusement.
“Ilya?” She says with a smirk.
“Uh, yes. Does he live here?”
She grins widely. “You’re sure you’re looking for Ilya. Ilya Volkov.”
Good grief.
