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“Rose.” She pulls herself to her feet and comes to kneel in front of me, her hands on my thighs. “I’m only asking because I care about you.”
“Really?” I raise my eyebrows at her. “You’re just coming across like a judgemental bitch right now.”
“I’m not, I’m not judgemental—you know I do a lot of stuff with charity.” Her voice softens. “But I don’t want you to get hurt, Rose. That’s all.”
“I know what I’m doing, okay?” I snap, trying to turn away.
“I’m sure that’s exactly what Evan Knight is thinking. And look at him. He’s become an absolute joke.”
For a second, I’m too speechless to reply.
“What the fuck are you talking about? How am I like Evan?”
She waves her hand in the air, looking away for a second. “You know… you both seem to have a… thing for low-class people.”
“Excuse me?” I can’t even control the outrage in my voice. “Noah is nothing like Sophie Sutton!”
“Well, no, because at least Sophie is a Spearcrest student, and a prefect, and I hear she’s applying to Ivy League universities. But Noah… well, what does he do again? He’s a part-time school gardener?”
I open my mouth in protest. I want to tell Cammie that she’s being a complete asshole, that Noah works several jobs, that he’s saving up for his mom’s wedding, that he works harder than anyone I know and trains all the time. That Noah is self-motivated and independent, that he doesn’t rely on anyone for anything he needs, and that he still has it in his heart to help others when he barely has anything.
But I can’t say any of these things.
Because if I do, Cammie will think I admire Noah. She’ll accuse me of romanticising his poverty. Worse, she might even accuse me of falling for him.
And I’m not falling for Noah. I’m just using him.
I’mdefinitelyjust using him.
Chapter 14
Wholesome Masochism
Theweekbeforethegala, I arrive at Noah’s flat in a dark and stormy mood. A dark cloud hangs over me, heavy with dread. I have the horrible sense that I’m running out of time, or that I’m headed towards some tragic cliff’s edge.
Like I’m going to be forced to jump off that cliff to my certain death.
Noah opens the door and pulls me into his arms. I melt against him, melt from the warmth of him, filling my lungs with the rich, clean scent of him. When he holds me like this, it’s strange, but I feel safe, like nothing could ever hurt me. He kisses me and I kiss him back hungrily, tugging on his sweatshirt.
I’m ready for him—I’m always ready when I’m near him. He could pin me against his front door and fuck me right here and now, and I would probably come just from the sensation of his body on mine.
But to my surprise, he doesn’t let me pull his shirt off. Instead, he takes my hand and says, “Wait, I want to show you something first.”
He leads me into his bedroom and we both stand in front of his wardrobe. There, hanging from the door, is a black suit.
A plain, completely normal black suit.
I look up at Noah, who smiles proudly. “What do you think?”
“About what?”
He beams. “The suit. I got it for your fancy gala thing.”
“Oh.” A lump rises in my throat. I don’t even know why, but I suddenly want to cry. That would make me look completely crazy. “Well, it’s fine. Most of the men will be wearing tuxedos, though.”
“Right.” His beam wavers, and he looks from me to the suit. “And this isn’t a tuxedo…?”
I laugh. “No. This is a suit.”
