Chapter 5
Chapter Five
It’s Saturday.
Meaning, today we get to go out. Legally, with permission, without having to sneak out.
Well, only me and Wyn.
Poe can’t go because her privileges were recently revoked by one Mrs. Miller, her guidance counselor. And Salem can’t go either because she’s new and she needs a certain amount of good girl points before she can earn the privilege for a day outing.
Their plan is to spend their precious free but still imprisoned time at the library because we have a big trigonometry assignment, which I’ve already done. I’ve been telling them to do it for days now but they haven’t listened. So now they’ll suffer.
Our day passes are good for six hours or up to five o’clock in the evening, whichever comes first.
And I don’t want to waste even a single second of that on the wrong side of the iron gates. So Wyn and me are off as soon as we can, catching the same bus that I do Thursday nights. Although this time of day, it’s full of people, most of them St. Mary’s girls.
Our first stop is what used to be my most favorite place in the world. These days I don’t like going there but I do anyway because it’s important: Buttery Blossoms.
“You sure you don’t want it?” Wyn asks, referring to the cupcake she’s currently eating, scooping out the silky chocolate frosting with her little plastic spoon and offering it to me.
Of course I want it.
It’s a cupcake, for God’s sake. And a Peanut Butter Blossom at that.
But I can’t have it.
And it’s not because I’m a ballerina who needs to follow a strict diet.
Or at least, it’s not only because of that.
It’s also because I’m a stupid girl who fell for a villain.
So I don’t get to have any; it’s my punishment.
I shake my head, digging into my stupid fruit cup. “Nope.”
Wyn frowns and puts it in her mouth, licking the spoon. “Are you sure? Because this is very good.”
I hate her.
“I know.” I narrow my eyes at her. “I work here over the summer, remember?”
I do.
Again, because I’m a stupid, brokenhearted girl who needs to remember.
Who needs to remember all the ways she was stupid in the past so she doesn’t fall stupid again.
Wyn takes another bite of her frosting. “Yeah, I don’t know how you can work here and still not eat this. This is so good, Callie.”
If she says it one more time, one more, I won’t be responsible for what I do.
As it is, it’s so hard to sit here and watch her eat my favorite thing in the world and not have any myself.
As hard as it is to see new knitting patterns in those online magazines and on Pinterest and not getting my knitting needles out and getting down to business.
Because once upon a time, I not only fell for a villain, I made him a cozy sweater too.
So all of this is my punishment.
No cupcakes even though I force myself to work in a cupcake shop and no knitting even though I make myself browse through those magazines all the time.
“Wyn, if you don’t stop oohing and ahhing over this cupcake, I’m going to…”
I trail off then.
Because something absurd happens.
Something out of this world. Something that I never even imagined would happen.
Something like him appearing out of nowhere at our table and sitting down — actually, literally — across from me.
He’s sitting across from me, at our table.
At Buttery Blossoms.
And he’s staring at me with his pretty gray eyes all intense and piercing.
What?
“What?” I say out loud. “What are you —”
He turns away from me and focuses on Wyn. “Hi.”
Her eyes pop wide at his voice. I don’t blame her. It’s deep and smooth, rich.
Like the chocolate frosting that she’s been consuming.
“Hi,” she says in what I think is her breathy voice.
“I’m Reed,” he introduces himself and offers her his hand.
I watch that hand, stuck out in the air, with long, graceful fingers. With broad, masculine knuckles, and I don’t…
What is he doing here?
Wyn has no choice but to offer hers and shake his hand. “I know.”
He wraps his fingers around her palm and gives it a squeeze.
That I somehow feel in my own hand.
His grip. His strength.
And for some reason, I want him to let go of her hand.
I want him not to touch her and it’s so absurd, this thought, that I shut it down immediately.
“So you’ve heard about me,” he drawls in that voice again.
But this time, he also brings out his sexy, charming smirk and I grit my teeth.
Wyn swallows. “Yes. And your Mustang. The fact that you love it. And like, it’s your most prized possession.”
“Well, you know everything about me then.” He squeezes her hand again and I fist mine in my lap. “And I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Wyn,” she blurts out, kind of dazed by his attentiveness. “I mean, Bronwyn. But people call me Wyn.”
“Bronwyn,” he repeats. “That’s a pretty name.”
“Thanks,” she replies, blushing and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ears.
Finally, Reed lets her go. “So Wyn, I’d like to ask you something.”
“Uh, sure.”
“I’d like to talk to your friend here and I’d like to do it alone. So you wouldn’t mind giving us a minute, would you?”
She glances at me, unsure. “I’m not…”
He smiles at her again, that jerk, his wolf eyes all hypnotizing and beautiful. “I promise to keep her safe.”
Yeah, says the villain.
I decide to jump in then. “No.”
I even bang my hand on the table and they both look at me.
Wyn is slightly startled, but Reed is all relaxed and casual.
Out of the two, I only have eyes for one of them though.
The villain who’s just promised to keep me safe. Who I really, really hate to admit looks gorgeous right now.
Even more gorgeous than he did last night.
At night, Reed looks like a gorgeous, otherworldly creature.
In the daylight though, he looks untouchable. His vampire skin appears indestructible.
Like even the sun can’t touch him or his moon-kissed skin.
Like even the ball of fire up in the sky pales in comparison to the glow in his animal eyes.
And he’s wearing my most favorite thing in the world: his white hoodie.
All soft and cozy and so familiar that I feel something lodge in my throat.
Lodge and hurt.
Even so, I manage to sound stern as I say, “She’s not going anywhere. But you’re leaving. Because I don’t wanna talk to you.”
Obviously, he settles himself at our table even more.
I should’ve known.
This is what he used to do back at Bardstown High, when I’d tell him to go away. Either from the auditorium or the dusty closets that he was so fond of locking me in.
Right now, he slides down the booth seat — pretty pink leather —and widens his thighs. His boots inch forward on the floor and almost touch my black Mary Janes.
Resting his hands on the white table, he says, “That works out then. Because I don’t want you to talk. I just want you to listen.”
I sigh sharply. “What are you even doing here? I thought this store was too pink for you.”
That’s another one of the things he said to me that night. And shadows move across his features, making me think that he remembers.
He remembers all the things he said to me that night.
All the awful, terrible, true things.
“It is.” He threads his fingers together. “But as I said, I’d like to talk to you. And I’d rather not talk when we have company —”
“She’s not going anywhere,” I tell him, cutting him off. “Whatever you wanna say to me, you can do it in front of her.”
I don’t know why I’m so adamant about that.
I don’t know why I need Wyn here but I do. I do need her to be here.
I need one thing to go my way. One thing.
Because ever since I saw him at the bar last night, I’ve been praying and wishing and hoping.
I’ve been praying that I don’t see him again. That I never see him.
That last night turns out to be a coincidence.
Because I’m still reeling.
I’m still reeling from the fact that I saw him after two years.
That I heard his voice and smelled his scent.
I’m still reeling from the fact that even now he stares at me like he did back at Bardstown High. That even though I had decided that I wouldn’t dance, I did — just to show him that his presence didn’t affect me — and he tracked my every move like I belonged to him.
So I want my friend with me, period.
“If you insist,” he agrees as he sweeps his eyes all over my face, my body — or whatever he can see of it — without saying anything else.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Well, what is it?”
He lifts his eyes and a hint of a smirk appears on his full lips. “Nice skirt, by the way.”
My fisted hands in my lap unfurl and rub against the fabric at his words.
Another perk of going to St. Mary’s.
It follows you everywhere.
Like a scarlet — or rather mustard — letter.
Meaning even though we get to go out and be free for a few hours, we’re not really.
Because we’re only supposed to wear our school uniform: white blouse, mustard-colored skirt and knee high socks with black Mary Janes.
Unless it’s visitation week and you’re accompanied by a parent or a guardian.
So everyone you come across on your outing knows who you are. They know that you’re from St. Mary’s, the all-girls reform school in the woods.
“Is this what you wanted to talk about?” I ask.
“I especially like the color,” he goes on as if he didn’t hear me, his eyes on my skirt, the little portion of it that’s hanging off the side of the seat. “Mustard, is it?”
I jerk the fabric toward me, hiding it away from his predator eyes. “Of course you think that. You’re deranged.”
He doesn’t mind the insult though. “Actually, I like the whole get up. That ribbon in your hair. Your knee highs. Those schoolgirl flats.”
This time, his eyes travel down to rest on my legs.
And I feel my skin heat up.
So much so that I have to curl my toes inside my flats and jerk my legs away from his eyes as well.
Especially because Wyn is here.
She’s watching our exchange with wide, fascinated eyes, and now I’m regretting letting her stay. So I go to rectify that but he doesn’t let me.
Looking back at my face, he speaks before I can. “I have to admit. I’ve dreamed about this.”
“Dreamed about what?”