17. Aria
17
ARIA
I scuffed the toes of my Converse across the gravel as I made my way to my doom. For anyone else, this would be a dream come true. Up ahead, the remaining single god of Hatherley Hall lounged against the side of his matte-black Aston Martin Vanquish, looking every inch the posh rich boy with his crisp white polo shirt tucked into beige chinos with a brown leather belt that matched his loafers, setting off his tan. His blond hair was tamed, swept to the side, and he was wearing a watch that I knew his parents had given him for his sixteenth birthday and had cost as much as a term’s worth of our school fees.
As I drew closer, I took in the hard set of Tristan’s jaw. Aviators hid his expression from me, but it was easy to tell that he was just as happy about this situation as I was. Everything was moving so fast. When I’d contacted my grandparents after the lacrosse game to arrange to see them, my grandmother had immediately invited me to Sunday lunch. She’d then mentioned she’d heard that I’d been at Tristan’s parents’ mansion the previous weekend, and wouldn’t it be nice if Tristan came for lunch, too?A little while later, I’d received another phone call from her, and now, here we were. A table was booked at the Swan Inn in the Cotswold town of Morten-in-Marsh for twelve thirty, and Tristan and I would both be in attendance.
As much as I didn’t want to admit it, maybe it was a good thing that he was coming. He could charm most people, and my grandparents liked him.
When I reached him, he pushed off the car, strolling around to the passenger side. He opened the door and then swept his hand out dramatically.
“Your chariot awaits, my lady.”
“Can you turn it off for one day? Please.”
He straightened up, pushing his sunglasses up on top of his head. Clear blue eyes met mine. “Strictly business. Got it.” Turning on his heel, he strode around to the driver’s side of the car. I felt a flicker of guilt, but I couldn’t deal with our usual sniping today. I was too stressed about seeing my grandparents and bringing up a subject that I knew was upsetting to them.
When he slid inside the car and started up the engine, I stared out of the windscreen, unseeing. Was this really worth it? How badly did I need answers, anyway?
“Hey.” A warm hand slid onto my bare thigh, and I startled, my gaze flying to Tristan’s. “It’s gonna be okay.”
He removed his hand and lowered his sunglasses again, easing down on the accelerator. As the Aston Martin rolled down the long driveway towards the gates, the warmth of his hand remained.
To distract myself from thinking about that, I leaned forwards, tracing my fingertip across the centre console. We needed music to break up this thick silence. I stabbed at the screen, and Tristan batted my hand away.
“Careful. I’ll do it.” He quickly navigated to the music player, not even looking at what he was doing, and soft beats filled the car. Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he glanced over at me before returning his attention to the road. “These speakers are so much better than the ones in my old Subaru.”
“I don’t care.”
“Rude. Just trying to make conversation.”
“I don’t want to talk.” I knew I was being even snappier than usual, and he hadn’t even done anything to deserve my ire, but I couldn’t get rid of the ball of anxiety sitting heavy in my stomach.
He sighed. “I know.”
Neither of us spoke again until we reached the pub.
“That was delicious, Margaret.” Tristan reclined in his seat, patting his abs. “Good choice.”
My grandma smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Hush, now. I simply chose a location I liked. The credit goes to the chef.”
“You’re so wise.” He grinned back at her. “Shall we take a short break and then order dessert?”
We made small talk for a few minutes, and when Tristan pulled my grandfather into a discussion about England’s cricket team, I took my chance to speak to my grandma quietly.
“I was wondering about my great-uncle,” I began, carefully watching her face to make sure I wasn’t upsetting her. “I know…I know it’s difficult to talk about. I guess I’m just curious. He was a student at Hatherley Hall, and I’ve nearly finished my time as a student…”
She sighed, clasping her hands together in her lap. “I suppose I knew you’d be curious about him. I should have spoken about him before. It was just…difficult. John was a wonderful brother, and his passing was extremely painful for me. It was so unexpected, you see.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, dear.” With another sigh, she gave me a tremulous smile. “As you know, we were twins. When we were small children, we were inseparable. It was John’s dream to attend a university, and so together, we worked to attain a scholarship for Hatherley Hall so he could make the best possible connections and have a better chance at attending a prestigious university—something that wouldn’t have been possible if he’d remained at his previous school.”
“And he did it, didn’t he?” I reached out, placing my hand over her clasped ones.
“He did. He wrote to me often, telling me of his happiness. I left school when I was fifteen and began working on the switchboards, sending John what little I could put aside. I could read between the lines, you see. Despite his assurances that all was well, I could sense some discontent. In the summer before his passing, we spoke of it. He had been hoping he could earn a place on the rowing team, but the unfortunate truth was that there were those who saw him as beneath them because of his scholarship status.”
I nodded. That lined up with what Tristan’s dad had told me.
My grandmother continued to speak, lost in her memories. “He began tutoring another boy, and they became friends, from what I could glean from his letters. In his final letter to me, he spoke of his hopes of being accepted by the elite. Apparently, the boy he’d been tutoring was one of the so-called elite, and he had told John he’d ensure his acceptance into their inner circle.”
“His final letter?” I whispered. I suddenly realised the table had gone quiet, with both Tristan and my grandfather listening intently.
“I received it two days before the accident that took him away from us.” She sniffed, tears appearing in her eyes, and I felt awful . Why had I insisted on dragging up the past? That letter Tristan had received was right. Don’t go digging into the past . My grandma had lost her twin brother, the person she’d been closest to.
My own eyes filled with tears, and I blinked rapidly, squeezing her hand. “You don’t have to say anything else.”
“You deserve to know what happened. It was a terrible accident. It-it happened while he was on the school grounds, where he should have been safe. From what they could piece together, he had either climbed out of a window or was attempting to scale a wall. No one could ever give me a reason why. There was a storm, and he…he fell.”
With those last two words, her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. I pushed back my chair, moving to circle her shoulders with my arms, telling her how sorry I was over and over again.
My grandad finished the story with words that cut me even deeper. “There was nothing they could do. They said he slipped. He didn’t suffer, so they told her.”
Questions were whirling through my mind, but the only thing I cared about was making sure my grandma was okay.
“That’s the first time she’s spoken about that night in years,” my grandad added in a whisper, making me feel even worse. I nodded, biting down on my lip and digging my nails into my palms in an attempt to hold myself together as I did my best to comfort my grandmother.
Outside the pub, I pressed my forehead to the stone wall, taking a deep, shuddering breath. My grandparents had left in a much happier mood after Tristan had expertly steered the subject to our recent gods and goddesses ball. He’d embellished stories and exaggerated how I’d looked wearing a laurel wreath crown, and he’d even managed to dig up some photos of me from somewhere. Yet another thing I owed him for.
As for me, I was barely holding it together, and the last thing I wanted to do was fall apart in front of Tristan.
Despite my efforts, tears filled my eyes. I was supposed to be strong. I couldn’t allow myself to give in.
“Aria.” Hands clasped my shoulders, and Tristan turned me to face him. I stared down at the pavement, biting on my trembling lip.
He sighed. “Come here.” With that, he pulled me into his arms, surrounding me with his body, strong and warm and solid. I let my head rest on his chest as the tears I was holding back escaped anyway, soaking the fabric of his polo shirt. He didn’t say anything, his hands stroking up and down my back and through my hair as I cried.
When I’d gathered myself, I went to pull away and he let me go without a fight. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. Despite our issues, I owed him my words. “Thank you for today,” I whispered.
He placed his thumb beneath my jaw, tilting my chin up so our eyes could meet. Then he dipped his head, brushing a soft kiss across my lips.
Butterflies exploded in my belly.
My hand flew to my mouth as he released me.
“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing his hand over his own mouth. “Sorry. That was completely inappropriate?—”
I reached up, tugging his head back down to me, and kissed him back.
“I got you something.” Reaching into the luggage area behind our seats, Tristan handed me a manila folder.
Opening it, my eyes widened as I stared down at the contents. “You found a photo.”
“Yeah.” He shot me a quick grin before sliding his sunglasses over his eyes and starting up the car. “Head boy perks.”
“You’re not the head boy anymore.”
“I kept my key card, so I can get into places the rest of you can’t go.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course you did.” Returning my attention to the photo, I traced my fingers over the rows of faces. It was a school year group photo, with my great-uncle on the end of the second row of students. I could instantly make out Tristan’s grandfather in the centre of the third row. He looked so much like Tristan.
“This was in the library archives. It was the term before the accident, so they would’ve been in the equivalent of our year twelve. I thought it might help us to put faces to names.” Tristan tapped the folder. “There’s another copy hidden in Knox’s room in the crypts. I went through it with Knox and Ro, and we’ve annotated it with the names of the people in the journal. If you wanna meet up with Elena and Quinn to look through it?—”
There was a weird lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I said again. This was the second time I’d thanked him today and meant it.
But this time, there would be no kissing.
“Uh, yeah. No problem.” He shifted in his seat, clenching and unclenching his fingers around the steering wheel. He was probably just as uncomfortable with me thanking him as I was. And the kisses, which I knew we were in silent agreement to never mention again. This wasn’t our usual dynamic.
Clearing my throat, I nodded. “I’ll text Quinn.”
In response, he turned the music up, saving the need to attempt any more conversation.
Leaning back in my seat, I closed my eyes. I wished I’d never investigated the loose floorboards in the tower. Everything was changing, spiralling out of my control.
The box was open now, though, and there was no way to close it.