Chapter 9 Isla
Isla
I wake up Saturday morning to seventeen missed texts and three voicemails.
All from Ivy and Lennox.
Ivy: YOU DIDN'T TEXT!
Ivy: WE WERE ABOUT TO CALL CAMPUS SECURITY!
Ivy: ISLA MONROE IF YOU'RE NOT DEAD I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!
Lennox: She's not dead. Check Instagram. She posted at 1:30 AM.
Ivy: THAT DOESN'T MEAN SHE'S OKAY!
Lennox: It means she's alive enough to use her phone. Also that smile is suspicious.
Ivy: EMERGENCY MEETING. MY ROOM. NOW.
I check the time: 7:15 AM. My shift at the café starts in forty-five minutes. No time for an emergency meeting before work.
I text back: I'm alive. I'm fine. Emergency meeting at 11 when my shift ends?
The response is immediate from both of them: 11. DON'T BE LATE.
I drag myself out of bed, everything from last night feeling like a dream. Did that actually happen? Did I actually kiss Sebastian Thornhill in his bedroom? Did I fall asleep on his couch watching noir films like we were a real couple?
My phone buzzes with a new text.
Sebastian: Morning. You forgot this.
An attached photo shows his couch with my scarf draped over the armrest. I don't even remember taking it off.
Me: Keep it hostage until date four?
Sebastian: Or I could bring it to you. Coffee delivery?
Me: I work at a coffee shop. I have access to unlimited coffee.
Sebastian: But do you have access to someone who'll bring you coffee and your forgotten scarf?
Me: That's a very specific service.
Sebastian: I'm a very specific person. See you in 20?
I shouldn't say yes. Shouldn't encourage this. Shouldn't let him into my workplace again, where Lennox will see and report back to Ivy with detailed observations.
Me: 20 minutes. Don't be late.
I throw on my café uniform and try to make myself look less like someone who stayed up until one AM kissing a boy she's supposed to hate. It doesn't really work. My lips are still swollen, my eyes have that unfocused look of someone who's been thoroughly kissed.
Lennox takes one look at me when I arrive and whistles low. "Oh, you're in trouble."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You have beard burn on your neck." She points, and my hand quickly moves to my neck to cover it.
"I do not—"
"Gotcha. But the fact that you believed me tells me everything." She grins. "How was it?"
"How was what?"
"Don't play dumb. The date. The movie marathon. Whatever happened that has you looking like you forgot how to function." She places her hand on her hip, and waits for me to speak.
I busy myself with opening tasks, but Lennox follows me around like a persistent shadow.
"It was fine," I say eventually.
"Fine? That's all you're giving me?"
"Fine and... complicated."
"Complicated how?"
Before I can answer, the door chimes and Sebastian walks in. He's wearing jeans and a hoodie, I've never seen him in a hoodie and carrying my scarf and two coffee cups.
"Good morning," he says, walking straight to the counter. "One medium latte for Isla, and—" he looks at Lennox "—what would you like? It's on me."
Lennox blinks. "I'm sorry, who are you and what have you done with Sebastian Thornhill?"
"I'm trying something new. It's called being decent." He sets down the latte and my scarf. "Your scarf, as promised. And coffee, because I know you have a long shift."
I take both, too stunned to form words.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." He leans against the counter like he belongs here. Like he's not Sebastian Thornhill, Legacy Council president, and this isn't a shabby campus café where scholarship students work. "What time do you get off?"
"Ten."
"Lunch after?"
"I have—" I stop. What do I have? An emergency meeting with my friends where they'll interrogate me about last night. "Plans. With friends."
"Tomorrow then?"
"Tomorrow's not a date day. We have two left. Dinner and the Valentine's gala."
"I know. But I thought maybe we could just... hang out. No cameras. No contract. Just us."
Lennox makes a strangled sound behind me. I ignore her.
"Just us," I repeat.
"Too much?" Sebastian's confidence wavers. "Sorry. I'm not good at this. The non-contract, non-performative relationship thing."
Relationship thing.
"Tomorrow works," I hear myself say. "Afternoon?"
His smile could power the entire campus. "Afternoon. I'll text you."
"Okay." I choke on the word, one single word and I fucking choke on it.
He starts to leave, then turns back. "And Isla? Last night was—"
"I know."
"Yeah." He glances at Lennox, who's watching this exchange with undisguised fascination. "See you tomorrow."
When he's gone, Lennox slowly turns to face me.
"Explain. Now."
"There's nothing to explain."
"He brought you coffee and your scarf. He's taking you to lunch. You're having a non-contract relationship thing." She crosses her arms. "Those are three things that require explanation."
"It's complicated."
"You keep saying that. What does it mean?"
It means I kissed him. It means I read his poetry and saw his soul. It means I'm falling for someone I've hated for two years and I don't know how to process that.
"It means I'm figuring it out," I say instead.
Lennox studies me for a long moment. Then: "You really like him."
"I don't—"
"You do. I can see it all over your face. And honestly? I'm not sure if I should be happy for you or worried."
"Why not both?" I joke.
"Fair point." She squeezes my shoulder. "Just be careful, okay? I know he seems different now. But people don't change overnight."
"I know."
But do I? Because the Sebastian who brought me coffee and my forgotten scarf feels nothing like the Sebastian who spent two years making my life hell. And I don't know which one is real.
Maybe they both are.
Maybe that's what complicated means.
The rest of my shift passes in a blur of lattes and bagels and trying not to think about Sebastian's smile when I said yes to tomorrow.
By the time eleven rolls around, I'm exhausted and wired and completely unprepared for the interrogation I'm about to face.
Ivy's door is open when I arrive. She and Lennox are already there, sitting on the bed with notebooks like this is a formal investigation.
"Sit," Ivy commands, pointing at the desk chair.
"Is this an intervention or an interrogation?" I ask.
"Both. Sit."
I sit.
Lennox starts. "First question. Did he hurt you in any way last night?"
"No."
"Did he pressure you into anything?" Ivy questions.
"No."
"Did he—" Ivy consults her notebook "—respect your boundaries and treat you with basic human decency?"
"Yes to all of the above. Are we done?"
"We haven't even started." Ivy leans forward. "What happened? And don't say it's complicated. We need actual details."
So I tell them. Not everything, some moments are too private, too raw to share, but enough. The poetry. The kiss. The way he held me during the movies like I was something precious. The way he looked at me like I was the only real thing in his world.
When I finish, they're both quiet.
"Wow," Lennox says finally. "That's... actually romantic."
"Too romantic," Ivy counters. "It's a classic move. Show vulnerability, write pretty words, make grand gestures. Then once he's got you hooked, he goes back to being an asshole."
"You don't know that."
"I know that people like Sebastian Thornhill don't change. Not really. They just get better at hiding who they are." She softens slightly. "I'm not trying to rain on your parade. I'm trying to protect you."
"I know and I appreciate it. But I'm not stupid." I lean back in the chair. "I'm going into this with my eyes open. I know he could hurt me. I know this could blow up in my face. But I also know that if I don't give this a real chance, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what if."
"So you're all in," Lennox observes.
"I'm cautiously in. There's a difference."
"Is there though?" Ivy challenges. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're falling for him and once you fall, there's no such thing as cautious."
She's not wrong. I am falling. Have been falling since the ice rink, maybe. Or the cooking class. Or last night when he handed me his journal and his heart and asked me to be gentle with both.
"Then I'm falling," I admit. "And it's terrifying. But it's also the first thing in two years that's felt like mine. My choice. My risk to take."
They exchange a look, that silent communication of longtime friends.
"Okay," Ivy says finally. "We support you. But we're also going to be realistic. He's got two more contract dates to prove himself. After that, if he's still treating you right, if he's still showing up and being honest... then we'll stop being suspicious."
"And if he's not?"
"Then we help you burn down the Legacy House." She says it so seriously I almost believe her. "Deal?"
"Deal."
Lennox pulls out wine from somewhere, it's eleven in the morning, but apparently this situation calls for day drinking and we spend the next hour talking about everything and nothing. My feelings, their love lives, the upcoming Valentine's gala.
By the time I leave, I feel lighter. Scared, but supported. Falling, but not alone.
My phone buzzes as I'm walking back to my dorm.
Sebastian: Thinking about tomorrow. Any preferences for what we do?
Me: Something normal. No fancy restaurants or expensive activities. Just... regular stuff.
Sebastian: Define regular.
Me: I don't know. What do normal college students do on Sunday afternoons?
Sebastian: No idea. I've never been a normal college student.
Me: Me neither. We're both disasters.
Sebastian: But we're disasters together. That's something.
Me: That's something.
I fall asleep that night with my phone on my pillow, his last text still on the screen, and for the first time since arriving at Thornhill, I let myself imagine a future where I belong here.
Not because of scholarships or academic achievement or proving I deserve my place.
But because someone chose me. Really chose me and maybe that's enough.