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55
At six o’clock, I’m ready to head down for dinner, but before I go, I give myself a quick once-over in my dressing room mirror.
Today’s triumph has left me feeling daring and bold, like I’m not one to be messed with. I matched my outfit to my mood with a black lace, off the shoulder, body skimming dress and a pair of hot pink sling-back heels with square crystal buckles on the straps.
At the last minute, I riffle through a pile of jewelry, looking for something similar to that pink princess crown ring Mason gave me, the one I wore until it literally fell off my finger. And even then, I took the two broken halves and tucked them away in a drawer, refusing to part with the memory.
I wonder where Mason is now—what he’s doing, what he thinks of my absence.
Is he defending me from all the inevitable rumors?
Or is he fanning the flames, figuring it’s what I deserve for leaving him to eat lunch alone?
Either way, I’m sure he’s not happy with me for flaking on work, leaving him to deal with the mob of snooty spin-class moms lining up for their post-ride, gluten-free Buddha bowls until they can hire my replacement.
Between school, work, and Sundays spent poring through fashion magazines, touring art museums, or watching old movies, our lives used to be so intertwined, it’s impossible to think I might never see him again—might never get a chance to explain that by choosing to hang out with Elodie, I didn’t realize I was choosing a life without him.
My fingers reach for the counter, gripping hard at the edge as I chase away the thought. Braxton is right. This is my home now, and I need to stop clinging to a life that’s no longer mine.
I gaze into the mirror, fluff my hair around my shoulders, and force a smile onto my face. If Mason could see me now…
He’d tell me to add a statement piece.
I lift a single earring from the pile of treasures. A jeweled dagger that, once inserted, looks like it’s plunging straight through my earlobe. It’s a bit edgy for this outfit, but I like it. It hints at the sort of rebellion I hope I can hang on to.
I pull my hair back, so the earring makes more of an impact, and I’m on my way out the door when Braxton messages me on my slab.
Braxton:See you at dinner. I have a few stops to make first, so please start without me.
Me:
Every reply I begin to type, I end up deleting. In the end, I don’t send anything.
Truth is, I was hoping to spend time with the other students. I know I can’t eat with the Blues, but what about Jago? Who do Yellows dine with?Arethere other Yellows? According to Braxton, Gray Wolf is home to nearly one hundred people, but apparently none, besides him, are willing to eat at my table.
By the time I arrive, Jago’s already there, wearing an over-the-top blue velvet suit that only someone as confident and good-looking as him could pull off. And from the looks of the champagne flowing freely among the Blues, they’re celebrating.
Looks like someone jumped ahead on the color wheel.
When he spots me from his side of the room, he waves happily, and I immediately feel like a jerk for begrudging his success.
I had a good day. Experienced my first real win in this place. And while that’s worth feeling proud of, the fact is, if it wasn’t for Jago’s direction, I might not have done half as well as I did.
I force a grin to match his, return the wave, and head to the vacant table for two.
Tonight’s wintry theme is all about ice. There are baby polar bear holograms scampering about, and the entire room is made to resemble pictures I once saw of the original ice hotel somewhere in Sweden. A faux fur blanket is draped across the back of my chair but, since the room isn’t nearly as cold as it appears, I leave it lying there.
I’m finishing up my entrée of braised duck with a red wine reduction when Braxton arrives. “My apologies,” he says, sliding onto his seat. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.”
“Where else would I be?” I lift my glass and use the moment to look him over. He’s wearing a burgundy velvet dinner jacket with matching silk lapels, and he’s paired it with an ivory ruffled silk shirt. Like Jago, it’s the kind of thing that’s hard to pull off, but he totally nails the look.
Then again, he’d probably look just as hot wrapped in a trash bag. Or nothing at all… A vision of what that might look like begins to bloom in my head, but I’m quick to shake it away before it can really take hold.
“You do know dinner isn’t mandatory,” he says. “You can order food up to your room. If you do it too often, you’ll probably have to meet with a counselor, but every now and then is okay.”
I set my glass on the table. Now there’s something I didn’t know. And if tomorrow night looks anything like this, I’m ordering in. Because eating alone in a room full of people who’re so clearly enjoying themselves has left me feeling unbearably lonely.
“Did you get my message?” He butters a dinner roll, then gracefully pops a piece into his mouth.
For a moment, I consider pretending I didn’t, but there’s really no point. “Yes,” I admit. “I did.”
He looks away, trains his focus on his jeweled cuff links.
“And the only reason I didn’t reply is…well, I thought it would be good for me to make other friends. You know, other than you. But there’s no way to break through, and—” My voice falters, a wave of embarrassment rolls up my cheeks.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks. When his gaze meets mine, it’s like a crack of warm sun reaching through a stretch of bruised sky.
Without even thinking, I’m up and out of my seat.
Next thing I know, my arm is in his as he leads me away.
