XII
EDEN
Discovering Dana casts a pall over the morning—at least for me. Most of the seniors went about their day like nothing serious had happened. On the outside, I’m trying to mimic their nonchalance. Inside, I’m struggling.
Silas’ texts have been such a welcome reprieve. My phone buzzes with another text just as I take my seat in the dining hall beside Vivienne and Marita.
Silas:
Missing me already, love?
A small smile tugs at my lips.
Eden:
Should I be?
His response comes instantly.
Silas:
I’d hope so. You’re always on my mind.
I exhale, tension I didn’t know I had been holding seeping out. It’s hard for me to get the images of Dana’s mangled body out of my mind. I couldn’t even look at the tomato soup they were serving for too long without my stomach getting queasy.
But Silas’ texts keep pulling me back to the present, to something lighter, something…safe. Silas protects me.
I take a bite of my salad, still only half-listening to Vivienne and Marita’s conversation. They’re talking about a girl in their year group—she got caught sneaking around with a guy on campus last week and now she’s under threat of expulsion.
I think back to the night I met Silas. That night, I met Lucian for the first time too. It could have gone terribly wrong for me, I suppose. But now that all the signs are pointing to the fact that Silas and I are divinely destined, I’m certain I don’t have to worry about that happening to us.
The Lord guides us.
I tune out of their conversation completely and start thinking about my next class.
English Literature.
Finally , something to look forward to.
The classroom smells of aged books and warm wood.
One of the walls is lined with towering shelves, filled with volumes worn soft from years of eager touches. A quiet thrill settles into my chest. It looks like a refurbished part of an old church, with an arched ceiling and ancient circular windows.
I’m in my element.
I take a seat near the window, the soft afternoon sun spilling across the desk. It’s got etches and stains from maybe decades of use. I arrange my things, running my hand idly over the grooves left by some student before me.
A fresh notebook, a fresh pen and a copy of the book we’ll be discussing.
I love literature.
I always have, and I always will.
Stories have always been my escape—a place to go when life isn’t the best. I’ve hid in my room for weeks on end reading more times than I can count, and when I was sent away to that strange hospital, reading saved me. I’ve prayed fervently about the books I read.
Some of them are filled with acts that the Lord…might not approve of. But there’s something about romance that fills a void in my soul. Plus, the characters always get married in the end—that cancels out all the premarital sex, I think.
There’s something sacred about stories—the way they breathe life into emotions, the way they expose truths people are too afraid to say aloud, the way they transport you to a place where life is completely different without even leaving the comfort of your bed .
And Les Misérables?
One of my favorites.
I feel a quiet excitement simmering beneath my skin as I wait for the class to begin. The spirited discussions we’ll have, the analyses we’ll write, the?—
The door swings open, and Lucian strides in.
I freeze.
Why is he here?
He moves like he belongs wherever he goes—dressed like he’s trying to blend in, but it has the exact opposite effect. His broad shoulders are relaxed beneath his uniform, his dark hair shaggy and falling over his eyes like he didn’t even bother to look in a mirror before leaving his dorm.
His tie is too loose. He wears a black skull-patterned hoodie instead of a blazer, and a black and silver spiked belt with a chain connecting two of the loops. I’m one-hundred percent sure he’s violating the school dress code.
The scent of marijuana and spiced body wash clings to him. Lucian shouldn’t be in this class. I stiffen, my fingers curling around my pen. He’s a senior. Why is he taking English Lit with juniors?
As if sensing my thoughts, his dark gaze lands on me. He smirks slowly, pushing his hair out of his face aimlessly because it flops right back. Then, he carelessly drops into the empty seat beside me, draping his arm over the back of the chair to face me.
I blink at him, barely hiding my disdain. “Aren’t you in the wrong class?”
His smirk deepens. “Opted out of it last year. Need the credits to graduate.”
I give him a tight shrug and turn my attention back to my desk. Lucian doesn’t say anything else, but I can feel his presence in an odd way that makes me uncomfortable in a way I can’t place. His aura is lazy, unbothered, unapologetic . I hear the chair creak. In my peripheral vision, I see him stretching his legs.
He’s so at ease.
I can’t stand it.
Out of every school he could have attended with his offensive attitude and habits, he’s here at Augustine. A student at a Holy School that’s the farthest thing from Holy. I don’t like when people are in places they shouldn’t be—especially when it comes to the Lord. Lucian is a physical manifestation of everything we’re warned against.
His soul must be the same color of his clothes.
The teacher enters—a nun who barely looks older than us.
Happily, I shift my focus to her as she begins the lesson.
“Les Misérables.”
I sit straighter in my chair as our teacher announces our primary text for the semester. One of my favorite books.
As she speaks, detailing how we’ll be examining the book’s themes of justice, morality and redemption, I feel a rush of excitement. My pen glides across the page, jotting down notes as my mind races ahead—already forming thoughts, arguments, ideas.
This is one of the reasons I love Literature class.
To learn.
To discuss.
To dissect the meaning of things that matter.
Until —
“Our analysis of the novel will be conducted in pairs.”
My pen stills mid-word.
Pairs.
I glance up sharply, the excitement draining from my body. I’ve never liked working in groups, much less pairs. It’s easier to do things on your own—especially literary analysis. What if I get a partner who doesn’t see things the way I do?
I shift in my seat. I already know this book like the back of my hand. I don’t need someone else’s input to help me understand it. I’m perfectly capable of doing this alone.
“Each week, you’ll be required to submit either a written or oral analysis with your partner as we move through the book. At the end of the semester, there will be a final presentation.”
The teacher pulls a sheet of paper out of a binder and starts reading from it, telling us that she’s already chosen the pairs based on what she found in our files. She says something about compatibility. It doesn’t matter much because Silas isn’t in this class.
Her method is a little strange, but this is an English Literature class. I believe peculiarity is a prerequisite for an interest in the written arts. Holding my breath, I listen.
And then?—
“Lady Eden Lockhart and Lucian Beaumont.”
My heart falls to the pit of my stomach.
There’s no way…
I stare straight ahead.
Lord, why did you give me this burden to bear?
Lucian shifts beside me. I finally glance his way—to find him leaning back in his chair, legs spread apart with his hands clasped in a loose triangle between them. But it’s his eyes that annoy me the most.They are alight with amusement .
Of course he’d enjoy this. From the very first moment I met him, I knew there was something odd about him. And now, I’ve finally seemed to figure it out.
He enjoys my suffering.
When class ends, I don’t move right away. I take a few deep breaths, thumbing the cross around my neck, processing my misfortune and staring blankly at my open notebook. The unsettling feeling is still tumbling around my mind.
Why is the Lord putting me through this?
I don’t want to work with him. I don’t want to spend hours discussing literature with someone like Lucian Beaumont—he smokes, skips chapel, and smirks like the world exists to amuse him.
He’s a sinner.
An affront to everything Holy.
How did he even get admittance to this school?
I’m catapulted back to reality when I realize that I haven’t been staring at the blank notebook. I’ve been staring at him. In silence. Lucian raises a brow, smiling like he’s privy to some hilarious secret.
“We’re going to have to speak if we’re partners, you know that, right?”
Heat flares up my neck. I look away scowling
I hear him let out a heavy breath, then he reaches over and plucks my notebook from my desk. My brows furrow, caught off guard. He flips to a blank page, scrawls something in the corner then plops it back on my desk.
His number.
“We should probably get something done this week, so we don’t look like idiots in our next class,” he says with a shrug. “Text me when you’ve read the book and have some free time.”
His arrogance irritates me. “I’ve already read the book.” My words come out more forcefully than I intend, but I don’t really care. “Five times.”
Lucian’s lips twitch. “Then we should start our analysis today. ”
I open my mouth, then close it. I wasn’t expecting that from him. He’s supposed to be lazy, avoidant—something. But he’s prepared? Now I’m stuck.
“I’m not free today,” I lie. I can’t possibly deal with this right now. Something about it just feels wrong and I need to work through my feelings. “I have a free session after lunch tomorrow.”
Lucian nods. “That works.”
He grins, and that’s when I notice he has a dimple by his chin. It’s a surprisingly soft addition to his austere feature. Thankfully, he disappears through the door.
I sit for a moment, gripping the edge of my desk. My thoughts are a tangled ball of yarn. I don’t want to be Lucian’s partner. There’s something about him that just makes me so uncomfortable, an uncertainty in my chest that keeps getting stronger the more I see him. But it’s a school assignment.
What else can I do?
By the time my classes are finished for the day, the afternoon air is crisp, laced with the scent of rotting autumn leaves and impending rain. The sky is painted in lavender and gold as the sun starts its slow descent beyond the hills.
My backpack—a vintage canvas thing that my father used to take camping when he was a kid—is slung over one shoulder, and my arms are wrapped loosely around myself. I feel exhausted, but not physically.
It’s all in my mind.
I need a walk to clear my head.
My steps are muffled by the soft dirt on the path that leads to the rose garden. It’s tucked away near the western edge of the campus. It’s one of the more secluded areas of Augustine—kind of like the lake Silas’ showed me.
I pass students going in the opposite direction. I’m happy about that, because I need quiet. I trail my fingers along the wrought iron railing that lines the pathway. The garden itself is still in bloom, the roses thriving despite the chill in the air. Maroon, blush and cream—all of them unfurling like delicate chiffon against the dark green leaves.
I take a deep breath, revelling in their aroma.
An empty stone bench nestled between the hedges becomes my refuge. I get my notebook out of my bag. If I’m going to be forced into this partnership with Lucian, I might as well start organizing my thoughts to keep our meetings short.
Eden:
How is your day going ?
I look at my phone mindlessly. I sent Silas that message hours ago, still no response. I don’t double text though—at this point, that’s beneath me. Desperation never looks good on a woman, my mother says.
So, as difficult as it is, I put Silas out of my mind and flip open the pages of my notebook. I pull my favorite pen out of the pocket of my blazer and start jotting down my thoughts. I’m halfway through the first paragraph?—
A voice.
“Avoiding me already?”
I glance up, startled.
Lucian stands a few feet away, partially hidden by one of the rose bushes. He has a hand tucked into the pocket of his uniform slacks. His dark hair is messier than earlier, his uniform shirt creased.
I stiffen.
“How long have you been standing there?”
He shrugs. “Long enough to see you frowning at your notebook like it insulted your entire family.”
I scowl, snapping the book shut.
“I was thinking. Not something you do often, I’m sure.”
The insult rolls off my tongue so smoothly, even I’m surprised. But instead of replying, Lucian gives me a dimpled grin and pushes the hair out of his face—he needs a headband. He steps closer, ignoring my obvious disdain.
“You’re in one of my favorite smoking spots. Mind if I sit?”
Yes.
“I don’t intend to walk around this campus smelling like cannabis.” I lower my eyebrows, hoping I look as upset as my mom does when I interrupt her in a conversation.
“Okay, I won’t smoke.”
He takes that as permission, lowering himself onto the bench beside me. His body is angled toward mine, and I dislike every second of it. I exhale through my nose, staring ahead at the roses instead of him.
“Are you stalking me?” I ask stiffly.
Lucian stretches his arms over the back of the bench. “No. Just taking a walk to clear my head, and smoke obviously. Which now I can’t do…”
I arch a brow. “This can’t possibly be the only place you can smoke.”
“Maybe I like roses.”
I roll my eyes.
Lucian smirks. “Or maybe I saw you heading this way and got curious.”
“So you were stalking me.” I purse my lips, flipping my notebook open again.
I don’t have time for this nonsense.
He leans in slightly. “How long are you going to keep pretending that you hate me?”
I turn sharply, giving him a glare that I hope makes him feel terrible. “I’m not pretending.”
Lucian tilts his head, studying me. “Good.”
I blank. “Good?”
“Means you care.”
I scoff. “That’s ridiculous, and couldn’t be any further from the truth.”
He shifts so that he’s facing me completely now. His arm is stretched out on the back of the bench, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body. This is inappropriate on so many levels.
“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, Edie. You can keep fighting it if you want, but that’s only going to make this more fun for me. ”
I grip my pen tighter. “Don’t call me that.”
“Not a fan of nicknames?”
“Not from you . ” I make sure every word stings.
Lucian simply hums. “I’ll think about it.”
It takes all my self-control and help from the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit to resist the urge to throw my notebook at his head. Instead, I take a steady breath. This is a school project. Nothing more.
I scribble Les Misérables - Project Notes at the top of the page.
“Since you’re here,” I say, forcing my voice into something neutral, “we might as well be productive.”
He watches me for a long moment.
Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Alright.”
“We should start by breaking down the themes.” I clear my throat.
Lucian nods. “How about…” He pauses. “Justice, redemption and the weight of morality.”
I’m a bit surprised. “You’ve read and analyzed it?”
“What kind of idiot do you take me for?” He gives me a dry look.
I hesitate, then mutter, “The jury’s still out.”
Lucian laughs—it sounds genuine, husky and warm. I don’t react.
We settle into a silence that is more comfortable than I’d like, punctuated by the sound of my pen scratching against paper as I jot down key points.
“What’s your favorite part?” he asks.
I look up, mid-sentence. He gestures toward my notebook.
“Of the book.”
I don’t overthink it—it’s not like he’ll understand anyway. “ Jean Valjean’s internal struggle. The way he keeps questioning whether he’s redeemed. Whether he even deserves to be.”
Lucian hums. “Because redemption isn’t a one-time thing.”
“Exactly.” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice. “It’s something he has to keep choosing.”
Lucian nods slowly, something like amusement flickering across his features.
I clear my throat. “What about you?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Javert’s end.”
“You mean when he commits suicide?”
Lucian nods.
The air around us has grown a bit darker. “Why?”
He leans back, staring at the roses for a long moment. “Because he believed so strongly in his ideals—that the world was black and white. When he felt like that wasn’t true anymore, he realized he couldn’t live with that. His suicide was his ultimate act ot self-belief.”
The atmosphere darkens even more. It’s like the entire garden is holding its breath. Or maybe it’s because I’m holding mine. I glance down at my notebook, my fingers curling tightly around my pen. That’s not the answer I expected—especially since I agree with him completely.
Javert’s black and white thinking is something I relate to on an intimate level. And I’d be lying if I said I’ve never contemplated suicide because I didn’t feel like I was true to myself. But those thoughts, those things, are a world away now.
I intend to keep them that way. I’m searching for words, something that lets him know that Javert is an important character to me without giving away too much?—
Lucian stands suddenly, stretching .
“I’m going to find somewhere to smoke. We’ll keep this up tomorrow.”
I nod slowly, deflating a bit. “The library after lunch?”
“See you there.”
He slinks away into the dusk.
I sit on the bench for a moment longer, disliking the uncertainty that’s wadded up in my chest. My phone vibrates just then.
Silas:
I spent most of it missing you. Fancy a night walk, Lady Lockhart?
I giggle as I type my response.
Eden:
Yes, Lord Peregrine-Ashford :)
Silas:
I’ll be waiting for you by the cloisters.
I pack up my things and walk to my dorm quickly. I need to freshen up and change out of my uniform. There’s adrenaline in my veins and fluttering in the pit of my stomach. Usually, these kinds of feelings would make me cringe.
But it’s Silas.
And then the thought is in my mind again. Maybe falling in love with him wouldn’t be so bad? He cares about me. He protects me.
And most of all, he’s a man of God.