Chapter One—Sophia
"Crap, crap, crap," I mutter as I double-check the time on my phone. There’s no way I’m going to make it to class in time at this rate, but I couldn’t just leave Tana to close up the coffee shop on her own.
I dart past a group of students crowding the hall, ducking beneath the enormous stone arch that leads to the history department. I’ve been looking forward to this lecture all week, a professor coming in from Europe to talk about the rise of women’s rights in the post-war period, and I will be damned if I miss it.
Panting, I reach the top of the steps that lead to the lecture hall. Everyone else is already inside, and I know I’m going to draw attention when I open the huge wooden door. Wincing, I plant my hand against the wood and give it a good shove anyway. I’m not going to miss out on this. I study here just like anyone else, don’t I? Just because I have to work to survive living at Gregora University doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to hear the guest lectures.
The whole room, it feels like, turns to look at me as I step through the door. The guest lecturer, Hanna Brown, peers up at me for a moment before she turns her attention back to her notes. I glance around and spot Rachel, my best friend, waving me over from the other side of the lecture hall. She pats the seat next to her and flashes me a grin, and I hurry toward her, ducking my head down to try and avoid the judgmental stares of everyone around me.
I slide down into my seat beside her and pull out my notebook, and Rachel nudges my foot in greeting, not wanting to disturb the lecturer. I manage a smile. I’m grateful for her, for the fact that she never has anything snarky to say about me turning up late. She knows I’m only here on a scholarship and that I don’t have the same cash to my name that everyone else seems to.
I focus on the lecture, trying to lose myself in her words. She’s a fascinating speaker, and the research she’s been doing on the rise of women’s domestic rights in Europe in the post-war period is genuinely inspiring to me. Sometimes, when I get a little too caught up in my own head, I remember all the women who came before me who laid the groundwork for me being able to go to university at all, and I vow to do everything I can to live up to their legacy.
Once the lecture is over, there’s an announcement that Hanna will be spending some time at the university that evening. There’s going to be dinner and drinks at one of the old college houses, and anyone who wants to attend is welcome.
"Oh my God, we’re totally going," Rachel whispers to me as we gather our stuff and get ready to leave. "I need a drink. Several, actually."
"I don’t know," I reply, pulling a face. "I’m really tired. And I have an early shift at the coffee shop tomorrow..."
"Oh, come on," Rachel giggles. "You can schmooze with Hanna. That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it? You can probably put it toward your grade average this year..."
I roll my eyes at her, but I can’t help but laugh. She’s right. It really does sound like a lot of fun, and I would love to have a chance to talk to Hanna, if only to tell her how much I admire her work.
"Okay, okay. I guess I can make some time for it," I reply, and Rachel fist-pumps.
"Yes!" she exclaims. "Come on, come back to my place, and we can decide what we want to wear. I have some dresses you could borrow, if you like..."
Thank God for that. I’m still trying to get used to just how damn fancy Gregora University is. Of course, I knew when I got my scholarship that it was one of the best in the country, but that didn’t prepare me for how upper-class practically everyone who goes here is. Everyone has a designer bag hooked over their shoulder, their clothes screaming old money, hair perfectly coiffed and make-up laid perfectly. It’s hard not to feel like a bit of a mess when I’m shuffling into morning lectures after a late shift with my hair still in the bun I slept in.
We make our way across the immaculately manicured quad in the center of campus as the sun begins to dip behind the large central hall before us. It’s a clear, crisp day, one of those beautiful early fall evenings that seems to burn bright with the possibility of the season to come. Death in time for rebirth. I can get behind that.
"How’s work?" Rachel asks as she hooks her arm through mine, steering me toward her dorm room. The two of us met when I was serving her coffee on the first day of classes, and she recognized me from orientation. She’s so sweet. She’d be able to make friends with anyone, never giving a damn about their background or where they came from. Sometimes, it feels as though she’s the only person here who feels that way.
"It’s... busy," I sigh. "I don’t know how I’m going to be able to keep on top of everything come exam season."
"Me neither."
I can’t help but laugh.
"Hey, thanks for the vote of confidence..."
"Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve managed it this far already," she replies. "I would never be able to do what you do. And you know, if you ever needed help..."
She trails off. I know what she’s getting at. I pause for a moment, turning to face her.
"You know I don’t need that from you, Rachel," I tell her gently. She hates seeing me struggling, and I can’t count the number of times she has tried to get me to let her pay for a month or two of rent. With the allowance her family gives her, it would hardly be any skin off her nose. But I’m too proud for that. I want to do this myself, if I’m going to do it at all, and I’m not going to let anything get in the way of that.
"Well, maybe apart from some fashion advice," she teases as she takes my arm again. "You think you can go to an event dressed like… that?"
I laugh, and we head back to her place so we can change into something a little more suitable. If there’s one thing this place does well other than studies, it’s the nightlife. Sophia offers me a few different dresses, but I settle for a forest-green one with a peplum skirt and a high neck. It’s a little demure, but I’d rather focus on actually getting something out of tonight instead of looking good.
"You look really gorgeous, you know," Rachel tells me, flashing me a smile in the mirror of her bathroom as we both get ready.
"Thanks," I reply, though I’m sure she’s just gassing me up. I tug at my hair, trying to get it to sit right against my shoulders, but it still looks a mess no matter what I try to do.
"You ready to head out?" she asks, and I nod, finding myself looking forward to unwinding. I don’t go out a whole lot these days since I’m always trying to balance work and studies. I don’t have a lot of time to think about anything other than staying on top of everything that I need to do, even if sometimes I find myself jealous of the girls who roll in to an early lecture with stories from the night before. I can’t have a social life right now, not yet, but it’s not always going to be like that.
I hope.
We head across to the event hall, an enormous converted cathedral with giant stained-glass windows that cast a glowing golden light across the flagstone floor. The place is already filling up, maybe 50, 100 students already sipping on drinks and picking at the expensive canapes being whisked around the room by experienced waiters. I grab one with crab and pop it into my mouth, trying not to think about how long it’s been since I last ate.
I scan the room to try and find Hanna. I want to talk to her, tell her how much I enjoyed her lecture earlier. I’m sure she will remember me, though not exactly for the right reasons, given that I interrupted her when she was in the middle of her flow...
I spot her, over by the drinks table. She looks a lot smaller than she did when she was in the lecture hall, and she’s already surrounded by students who seem to be interrogating her. I feel a twist in my chest, nerves catching me off guard. I know I have as much a right to be here as anyone else does, but sometimes, I feel like I’m about to be cast out on the spot, like a vampire trying to enter a church, for rubbing elbows with people of this caliber.
"Go on, talk to her!” Rachel urges me as she hands me a glass of champagne, sensing my nerves.
"I don’t know, she looks busy..."
"You came here because you wanted to speak to her, right?" she reminds me, digging her elbow into my side. "Go talk to her."
I take a sip of my champagne, hoping it’ll imbue me with the Dutch courage I need to get through this, and make my way across the crowded room toward her.
When I reach her, she’s in conversation with a man, someone I’ve seen before around campus a few times. He stands a good head taller than me, dark hair curling down just below his ears, and he has deep brown eyes that flicker in the gold light cast from the windows around me.
"...it’s a pleasure to have someone of your standing at the university, Hanna," he tells her, and I hover just behind them, feeling beyond awkward. Can I just cut in? I try to catch her eye, but she hardly seems to notice me. The man shifts slightly and sees me standing there.
"Ah, my champagne," he remarks, and he reaches to take the glass from my hand. My eyes nearly bug out of my head. He thinks I’m part of the waitstaff?
"Uh, actually," I snap back at him. "I’m a student here."
He eyes me for a moment. Anger flashes in his gaze. I can tell, for whatever reason, he’s not used to being spoken back to like that.
"An honest mistake," he shoots back at me, voice arched with irritation.
"You can go get your own champagne," I tell him, planting a hand on my hip. He doesn’t move. Tension hangs in the air between us.
"What did you say your name was?" he demands.
"Sophia," I reply. "Sophia Romano."
The corners of his lips quirk up into a smile.
"I’ll leave you to it, Sophia Romano."
There’s an edge of a threat to his voice, as though what he’s just told me is a warning, as much as it is anything else. I refuse to let it get to me. I’ve handled more than I ever thought I would be able to since I came to study here, and I’m not going to let some arrogant jerk undermine that.
"Professor Brown, it’s so good to meet you," I tell Hanna as I turn my attention to her. She seems vaguely amused by the exchange between that man and me, and I hope I haven’t served to make myself look even worse than I did when I arrived late to her lecture.
"You, too," she replies, and I begin to relax.
"So, I was doing some reading on your research into marital rights in the 1950s in Europe," I begin. "And I wanted to ask you about a couple of things..."
She leans in with interest as I speak, and I try to keep my focus. But, just behind me, I’m sure I can feel someone staring at me, their gaze burning into the back of my head, just a few feet away. And, somehow, I know it’s the guy I just told off.
I pray, to whoever might be listening, that I haven’t just managed to make myself an enemy. Because knowing the kind of people who attend this school? They’re the last people you’d want working against you.