Chapter 7 Isla
Isla
I can't stop thinking about the arboretum.
About the way Sebastian's voice cracked when he said I scared him. About his hand in mine. About the fact that for two years, I've been operating on incomplete information.
I was wrong about freshman year.
Not completely wrong, he did spend two years being cruel. But the origin story I'd built in my head, where he asked me out as a joke, where I was just another conquest to mock? That wasn't true.
He actually wanted to date me.
And I destroyed him for it.
The realization sits heavy in my chest as I shelve books in the library's basement. It's Tuesday night, three days after the cooking class, and I've been replaying that conversation on an endless loop.
You were the first person who ever saw me clearly.
Did I, though? Or did I see what I expected to see, another rich boy playing games with scholarship students? Did I let my own insecurities and defensive walls turn a genuine moment into ammunition?
"You're thinking too hard," Marcus, the night supervisor, observes. "I can hear it from here."
I look up from the cart of books. "Sorry. Just distracted."
"Sebastian Thornhill, is the cause of that distraction, I'm guessing?" At my shocked expression, he laughs. "This is Thornhill University. Everyone knows about the auction and everyone's watching to see how this plays out."
Great. Just what I need. An audience.
"It's complicated," I mutter.
"It always is with Sebastian." Marcus leans against a bookshelf. "I've known him since we were kids. Our families run in the same circles. And I can tell you, he's not the person he pretends to be."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's true. He's been playing a role for so long, I'm not sure he knows how to stop." Marcus adjusts his glasses. "But I've also never seen him like this. The way he talks about you, looks at you... that's real. Whatever else is fake between you two, that part isn't."
"How does he talk about me?"
"Like you're the only real thing in his world. Like you matter more than his last name or his trust fund or any of the expectations crushing him." Marcus pushes off the shelf. "I'm not telling you to trust him. I'm just saying... maybe he's worth the risk."
He heads back to his desk, leaving me alone with the books and my spiraling thoughts.
Worth the risk.
Am I really considering this? Considering Sebastian Thornhill as something other than my enemy?
My phone buzzes. Speak of the devil.
Sebastian: Random question. What's your favorite movie?
I stare at the text. We've been messaging sporadically since Saturday, nothing deep, just small talk, but this feels different. More personal.
Me: Why?
Sebastian: Movie marathon is Friday. Thought I'd get your input on what we're watching.
Me: It's your place. Your choice.
Sebastian: But it's our date. Your preference matters.
Our date. Not the date. Our.
Me: I like old movies. Black and white stuff. Film noir.
Sebastian: Really?
Me: Why is that surprising?
Sebastian: I had you pegged as more of a modern documentary type.
Me: I'm full of surprises, Thornhill.
Sebastian: Clearly. Film noir it is. Any specific requests?
Me: You choose. Surprise me.
The three dots appear, disappear, appear again.
Sebastian: I'm good at surprises. Sometimes.
Me: We'll see.
I pocket my phone and get back to work, but I'm smiling. Actually smiling. When did that start happening?
Wednesday morning, I'm at the café when Ivy slides into a seat at the counter during a lull.
"Emergency meeting. Tonight. My room. Same time."
"What's the emergency?"
"You. Sebastian. The fact that you're smiling at your phone every five seconds." She crosses her arms. "Intervention part two."
"There's nothing to intervene about."
"Lennox saw you holding hands with him outside the library Saturday. Actual hand-holding. Not contract-required hand-holding."
Damn. I forgot about the security of small campuses. Everyone sees everything.
"It's not what you think."
"What is it then?"
I want to tell her, want to explain about the arboretum, about freshman year, about the fact that maybe I've been wrong about Sebastian. But the words stick in my throat.
Because what if I'm wrong again? What if this is another mistake? What if giving him a chance is just setting myself up for worse pain down the line?
"I don't know what it is," I admit finally. "But I'm figuring it out."
Ivy studies me with those sharp eyes. "You like him."
"I don't—"
"You do. I can see it. The way you said his name just now. The way you're defending him without actually defending him." She sighs. "Isla, I'm not trying to be the bad guy here. I just don't want to see you get hurt."
"I know and I appreciate it. But I need to do this my way." I wipe down the counter even though it's already clean. "He told me the truth about freshman year. About why he's been so awful and I'm giving him a chance to do better."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then I walk away. But at least I'll know I tried."
"That's very mature of you."
"Or very stupid."
"Could be both." I say, she stands, dropping money for a coffee she didn't order. "Tonight. My room. Even if there's no emergency, we're still doing wine and terrible decisions."
Despite everything, I laugh. "Deal."
That night, I show up at Ivy's room with my own contribution, a bag of chips I can actually afford and the willingness to be interrogated by my friends.
Lennox is already there, sprawled on Ivy's bed with her phone. When I enter, she sits up.
"The woman of the hour. Tell us everything."
"There's nothing to tell."
"Lies." Ivy pours wine into three mugs. "You're smiling more. You're less stressed and according to my sources, you and Sebastian have been texting constantly."
"Who are your sources?"
"I have my ways." She hands me a mug. "Now talk."
So I do. I tell them about the cooking class, about the arboretum, about Sebastian's confession regarding freshman year. About how maybe I was wrong about some things.
They listen without interrupting, unusual for Ivy and when I finish, they exchange one of those looks.
"What?" I demand.
"You're falling for him," Lennox says simply.
"I'm not—"
"You are. And it's terrifying you." She takes a sip of wine. "Which, honestly? Relatable. Falling for someone who's hurt you is scary as hell."
"I'm not falling for him. I'm just... reconsidering my initial assessment."
"That's what falling looks like," Ivy points out. "Reconsidering. Making excuses. Seeing the best in them instead of the worst."
"I'm not making excuses. I'm accepting new information."
"New information that happens to make him more sympathetic. More human. More dateable." Ivy leans forward. "Look, I'm not saying don't give him a chance. I'm saying be careful. Protect yourself. Don't lose who you are trying to save him."
"I'm not trying to save anyone."
"Aren't you?" Lennox challenges gently. "You taught him to skate. You walked him through cooking. You're giving him chances he doesn't deserve. That's saving, Isla. That's what you do, you fix things. But people aren't broken kitchen equipment."
Her words hit harder than I want to admit.
"So what am I supposed to do? Just write him off? Refuse to see that he's trying?"
"No," Ivy says. "You're supposed to remember that trying isn't the same as succeeding. That good intentions don't erase bad actions. And that you deserve someone who chooses you from the start, not someone you have to teach how to be decent."
The room goes quiet.
"But," Lennox adds, "if you really think he's worth it, then we support you. We'll be here to pick up the pieces if it goes wrong. And we'll celebrate with you if it goes right. And we can talk about what he has under his clothes, it’s got to be fucking hot."
I can’t help but laugh, because crazy as it is, I’ve not once thought about what’s under his clothes, but now I will.
"Even though you think I'm making a mistake?"
"We think you're taking a risk," Ivy corrects. "Big difference. Mistakes are careless. Risks are brave. And you've never been careless a day in your life."
Something warm and overwhelming floods my chest. These girls, these friends I didn't know I needed, they see me. Really see me.
"Thank you," I manage.
"Don't thank us yet. Wait until we're day-drunk at your wedding or helping you slash his tires. Either way, we're there." Ivy raises her mug. "To Isla. May she have better taste in men than the rest of us."
We drink to that. Then spend the rest of the night talking about anything but Sebastian. Classes, work, Lennox's disaster of a love life, Ivy's ongoing war with her roommate.
It's normal. Easy. The kind of friendship I never had time for before.
As I'm leaving, Ivy catches my arm.
"One more thing. Friday, when you go to his place? Text us when you get there and when you leave. Just so we know you're safe."
"You think he'd hurt me?"
"I think he's a rich boy with too much power and not enough supervision. Better safe than sorry."
I nod. "I'll text."
"Good. Now go get some sleep. You look exhausted."
I am exhausted. But it's a different kind of tired than usual. Less about physical exhaustion and more about emotional overwhelm.
Too many feelings. Too many questions. Too many possibilities spinning through my head.
Thursday passes in a blur of classes and work. I see Sebastian once, across the quad, surrounded by his Legacy Council friends. He catches my eye and smiles, small, private, just for me.
I smile back before I can stop myself.
Cecilia, one of his friends, notices and says something to him. He shakes his head, still smiling, and I turn away before I can overthink it.
That night, he texts: Still on for tomorrow? 7pm?
Me: Unless you're planning to cancel.
Sebastian: Not a chance. I'll pick you up at 6:45.
Me: I can walk.
Sebastian: I know you can. But I want to drive you. Please?
That please again. Disarming every defense I try to build.
Me: Fine. 6:45.
Sebastian: Thank you. And Isla?
Me: What?