Chapter Eleven
Iapproach the tree with trepidation, my steps careful, the beam from my phone’s flashlight trembling slightly thanks to my sudden case of nerves. I round the tree and come to a stop when I find Connor sitting beneath it, drinking from a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag.
“Well, isn’t that terribly American of you.
” My statement is flat, my apprehension high.
I don’t like seeing him drinking. Alcohol brings nothing but problems. Look at my poor, addicted mother.
Add in grief, social upheaval, and an actual cliff a handful of yards away where someone died recently, and the optics on this situation go from bad to worse.
“Billie! You came.” He pats the space beside him. “Join me.”
With reluctance, I settle in beside him on the soft, damp ground. He leans into me as if he needs the support, then drinks from the bottle and smacks his lips after he swallows. “Want a taste?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
“More for me, then.” He shrugs and tips his head back, chugging from the bottle.
It takes everything I’ve got not to snag the bottle and hurl it over the cliff, though I’m positive I couldn’t throw it that far. Satisfying imagery, though.
“What happened?” I ask him, keeping my voice gentle.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, something triggered … all of this.” I gesture vaguely at him, the bottle, the scenery.
A ragged sigh leaves him. “Life is just so damn unfair, don’t you think?”
Don’t even get me started, is what I want to say, but I remain quiet.
“After everything that happened with my father, it’s just been one shit show after the next.” He sets the bottle down heavily on the ground, causing it to tip over, but not much runs out. Meaning the bottle is pretty much empty. “He’s being framed.”
“Who?”
“My father. He would never do something like this—steal from his friends.” He shakes his head, his expression grim as he stares at nothing. It’s getting darker by the minute out here. “Someone is trying to take him out.”
I want to roll my eyes. Come on. More like a rich man got greedy and now has to pay the price for his crimes.
Connor’s life has been so charmed, he can’t imagine a world where there are consequences for a person’s actions.
I guess it’s hard when your life has been so good that you can’t see someone’s faults, especially your parents.
The people you love and admire. Unless you’ve been raised by a trainwreck from minute one and all you can remember are the bad times.
The selfishness and destruction. The disappointments and lies.
Ask me how I know.
“Maybe a llama is trying to take him out,” I suggest to see how he might react.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he snaps.
Oops.
“Never mind.” I shake my head and offer him a smile. “I was being silly.”
The irritation clears from his eyes, and he focuses all of his attention on me. His silvery gaze roves over my face, drinking me in, and my skin grows warmer the longer he stares. I forget all about the chilled ground beneath my butt. “That’s one word I would never describe you as. Silly.”
Why am I offended by his remark? “How would you describe me, then?”
“Interesting. Beautiful.” Oh, there he goes, calling me beautiful again. A girl could get used to that. “Smart.”
He reaches for my face, his fingers grazing my cheek, and I rear back. He drops his hand. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.” He grins, and I finally see those dimples he was talking about. Poor Mrs. Brown never stood a chance. “You don’t seem to mind that I’m the son of a criminal.”
“It doesn’t bother me.” Air stalls in my throat when he leans in, his face close to mine. “Why should it? You’re not the one who stole the money.”
“I like that you accept me for who I am and not what my name is. Or how much money my family has. Had.” He makes a “poof” gesture and chuckles, the sound coming from deep in his chest. My entire body tingles when he reaches for me.
His hand settles on my waist, and he gives me a tug. “It’s cold out here.”
“You think things are dire enough that we need to share body heat?” I’m pointing out the obvious but realize I sound like I’m flirting. And from the way his eyes suddenly get heavy-lidded and his lips part, I can tell he believes I’m flirting, too.
“Definitely,” he murmurs, tilting his head so our lips align.
I jerk back, not about to let him kiss me. Talk about distracting.
“Hey. You’re really drunk.” I press my hand against the solid wall of his chest and gently push him away from me. “And I’m not as easily swayed by a pair of dimples as some people are.”
He smiles. “They always work.”
“Not on me.” I shake my head.
“Huh.” Connor squints, like he’s trying to see inside my brain. “I can’t quite figure you out. You’re like a misery wrapped in a stigma.”
I burst out laughing. “Don’t you mean a mystery wrapped in an enigma?”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Whatever. You know what I mean.”
His somber words and equally somber expression tell me he’s starting to sober up a bit.
For all I know, he’s been out here a long time, the bottle long empty.
Without hesitation, he gets to his feet and holds out his hand for me to take, which I do.
His strength and steadiness are a shock to my system, given how loose and languid he seemed just a moment ago.
I brush off the seat of my pants and straighten.
We’re standing in front of each other under the tree. Where his sister died and mine fell to her near death.
This place should terrify me, but being here with Connor, I’m not scared.
“You feel it, don’t you?” Connor asks.
I frown, confused. “Feel what?”
“The connection between us. It’s there. Here.” He gestures in the space between us. “Don’t try and tell me it’s all one-sided, either.”
I gape at him for a moment before pressing my lips together like that’s going to contain my uncomfortable feelings for this boy. I’m about to respond, but he speaks over me instead.
“I don’t trust it. The connection.” He adds the words like he might want to hurt me, but all I see is brutal honesty etched into his face. He’s trying to tell the truth. That’s more than I can say for myself these days.
Frankly, it’s more than I can say for almost everyone I’ve met since setting foot in this country.
“Maybe you feel connected to me because I’m brand-new here and I don’t know your history,” I suggest, proud of how calm I sound.
“Maybe.” His voice is full of doubt. “Want to walk back to the dorm with me?”
“Um.” I glance over my shoulder, my gaze snagging on the Harrington estate. “I was just at Sophia’s. I kind of want to go back.”
I need some distance to figure out why he’s acting this way. All cute and drunk and … into me.
“You two are becoming close.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question.
“I like her. She’s one of the only people at Wickham who’s nice to me.
” I sound defensive, but maybe I have a right to be.
Until this little drunken escapade, Connor has been mostly standoffish and rude.
Are there moments when the connection he feels—that I feel, too—flares up into something warm and welcome?
Sure. But I wouldn’t say that’s been the predominant vibe here.
No, that would be more easily categorized as hostile.
“She’s a decent sort,” Connor admits. “Want me to walk you back?”
“No. That might end up looking a little suspicious, don’t you think?”
“You’re right. Not like leaving their house, spending a not-insignificant amount of time outside in the cold—without a proper jacket, I might add—then going back to their house instead of returning to campus.
That’s not suspicious at all.” He grins again, and I sort of want to melt at when those adorable dimples pop.
“How about you go your way and I’ll go mine? ”
“Deal.” I watch him go until he disappears into the darkening night sky. A sigh gusts out of me.
I shouldn’t pay any attention to the connection between us, but I do.
He makes me feel all fluttery inside with only a look, and while hardened Billie shouldn’t let that affect her, soft and flighty Belinda can.
Meaning … I’m doing it for the plot. For my cover.
For this totally unhinged mission I’m on.
Give me a break.
I’ve never been good at lying to myself. Lying to everyone else? That’s another thing entirely.
Connor has no idea how similar we are, and I can’t tell him about my past or my problems. Nope, I get to continue lying to him about who I am and where I’m from.
And standing out here in the wind, close to the place where Isla’s whole life changed, I still manage to hate myself for it.
…
“Belinda!” Sophia looks as shocked by my reappearance on her doorstep as I am that I returned. “What are you doing here?”
“I walked back to campus and couldn’t stand the thought of eating dining hall food again and reading a boring book all night.” It’s true. Plus, I don’t want to spend the evening in my room with Priya and her bitchy bestie. No thank you. “I’m hoping the dinner invitation still stands?”
“Of course it does! Come in, come in.” I enter the house, and Sophia practically drags me into the kitchen. “Look who came back for dinner!”
“Wonderful! Glad you’re joining us, Belinda.” Mrs. Harrington’s smile is so kind, the sight of it almost makes me weep. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? The bathroom is just down that short hall. Sophia, be a dear and help me with the salad?”
I leave the kitchen and head in the direction Mrs. Harrington indicated, coming to a stop when I see a closed door and a light shining from beneath.
I also hear a familiar voice talking. Rising, in frustration or anger, I can’t tell.
Sounds like Headmaster Harrington is on the phone.
I take a step closer to the door, trying to listen in.