Chapter 2
II
EDEN
The aftermath of Vivienne’s death sucks the air out of every room I step in. I wake up each morning to her empty bed, neatly made like she never slept there. Her side of the closet is empty, and so is her side of the bathroom sink.
I no longer open the windows. What’s stopping you from ending up the same way she did? Every time I look at them, Lucian’s words echo in my head—and it hurts that he’s right.
Whoever pushed Vivienne might come for me too.
So I keep the windows closed.
At some point, I started sleeping in her bed.
When it was clear I had no intentions of leaving our dorm room, Silas tasked some girl with delivering my meals.
I barely eat. My teachers have given me grace as well—emailing me the lectures and accepting electronic copies of my assignments.
I can’t tell how much of it is because of my grief, or because of my status, but I’m grateful all the same.
It’s been a week. I know at some point all the courtesies will be gone. They’ll expect me to move on. To get over it. I don’t know if I ever will. How do you keep going on with life when it feels like the world’s stopped spinning?
When I roll out of bed, the clock hanging above the door says it’s midday. My sleep was restless—it feels like my brain was on the entire time, reliving the moments Vivienne and I had.
Especially that stupid argument we had about Silas.
I was so mean to her.
And for what?
I stumble to the bathroom, trying my best to practice my deep breathing exercises. A chime from my phone startles me just as I plop myself on the toilet.
Silas:
How are you feeling today, love?
I sigh. Every day it’s the same message. Every day it’s been the same response.
The same. Think I’ll be spending the day in, again.
I’m washing my hands and about to start brushing my teeth when his response comes.
Silas:
Alright. Let’s meet this afternoon. I’ve missed you.
I read the text preview and set the phone down.
Silas feels too much to handle right now—like the rest of the world.
I have to be a certain way around him, and I don’t feel like being that way, right now.
I’d rather be alone. I look up, and the girl staring back at me shocks me so much my toothbrush falls into the sink.
There are dark circles under my eyes. I haven’t been paying much attention to securing my satin bonnet, so the hair by my temples is fuzzy and tangled. My face is ashy, boogers in the corners of my eyes and my lips are white.
I look like my mother’s worst nightmare.
Even though I don’t want to, I force myself to take a shower, wash and detangle my hair, and change into clean clothes.
I do my skincare routine for the first time in a week, and finally put petroleum jelly on the corners of my mouth, my elbows, knees and ankles.
I choose the fluffiest robe and slippers, hoping they’ll make me feel a bit better.
It’s three in the afternoon when I’m finally finished.
There’s a knock at the door—I usually get my meals around this time.
But when I open the door, I’m not greeted by the brown-haired girl that Silas normally has deliver my lunch. Instead I’m face-to-boob with a girl I’ve only glimpsed a handful of times on campus.
She’s tall, maybe five-foot-eleven, if I had to guess. Super thin with a non-existent waist. Her hair is bleach-blonde and bone straight, long enough to brush her hips. This flax-colored girl—her eyes are a frigid, unnerving shade of blue.
“Hello, Eden Lockhart.” Her voice is tinged with a Russian accent. “I’m Grand Duchess Anastazya Volkovna, your new roommate.”
My heart drops; my eyebrow arches.
“I wasn’t informed that I would be getting a new roommate.” I look her up and down. What even is a Grand Duchess? Didn’t Russia get a provisional government in the 1900s? I go to close the door, but she blocks it with her foot.
“You may check with the Administrative office,” she says matter-of-factly, forcing her way into the room. She brings with her two trunks and a suitcase. “It is quite nice to meet you.”
I’m left standing at the doorway, looking at her.
The Administrative office?
What is she supposed to be, Vivienne’s replacement?
The thought makes my heart hurt, and I close my eyes to steady myself. I want to scream and shout, to tell this ‘Grand Duchess’ to get out of my room, to collapse in Vivienne’s bed and cry until the tears have dried up and the hole in my heart is cauterized.
But apparently I’m not even allowed to grieve in peace.
Anastazya is standing with her hands in front of her, looking at me as if she’s expecting something. Her uniform is immaculate, her nails properly manicured, there isn’t a stray hair out of place, diamonds glisten in her ears and by her throat and yet—
“Aren’t you going to curtsy?”
My mouth falls open. Is that why she’s been standing there?
“For what reason, Anastazya?”
“I’d prefer to be called Duchess Anastazya,” she says, her smile never faltering. “And do they not curtsy in your country to acknowledge those of a higher rank?”
I fold my arms. It’s refreshing to feel something other than sadness for the first time in a while. The anger is welcome, familiar, comforting.
“You consider yourself a higher rank than me, Anastazya?”
She nods, still smiling. “I am a Grand Duchess.”
“Well, here in the UK you’re nothing more than a commoner. We don’t acknowledge fallen dynasties,” I sneer. “And by the way, I’m Lady Eden Lockhart, the daughter of Viscount Lockhart. I think you should be the one who curtsies.”
That perfect little smile falls from her face.
She’s speechless for a few moments, so I go in for the kill.
“However, you don’t have to call me that. You should thank me for my graciousness. My entire existence isn’t staked on clinging to a title. Is yours?”
Anastazya laughs shakily. “No, it does not.” She straightens her already perfect hair. “Which bed is mine?”
Neither, I want to say.
I don’t want to give her my bed, but I also don’t want her sleeping in Vivienne’s bed. She’s not her replacement—no one could ever replace her. After a few seconds of consideration, I point to the bed that used to be mine.
She moves her things over, then swings open the closet.
“I don’t think I’ll have enough space,” she mutters mostly to herself.
I don’t care—so long as she doesn’t touch my clothes.
Suddenly, the room feels cramped. I can’t stay holed up in here anymore with this stuck-up Russian “Grand Duchess.” I consider going to the Administrative office, but it’s not well-mannered to cause an uproar over something like a room assignment.
I don’t understand why she got assigned to this room in the middle of the term. And maybe I shouldn’t. If this has something to do with Vivienne, I’d rather not know. I’m already viciously upset with the school as is.
This would be my final straw.
I go back into the bathroom, changing into my uniform for the first time in what feels like forever.
It’s looser than I’d like—but a fresh coat of makeup brings back some of my understated elegance.
If only there was makeup for souls too. Something that could cover the rot, the grief, the unending sadness, hiding it from everyone—even yourself.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I leave the room without a word.
I don’t know where I’m going—anywhere but here will do.
I’ll let Silas know where I end up.
I’m sitting by a bench in the rose bushes when Silas shows.
I look up at him, framed by the diffused light trying to peek through the stormy sky. He’s wearing a bright smile, his hair neat, his uniform immaculate. He’s the Silas I remember, the one who made my heart stutter the first time I saw him in person.
The man I’m going to marry.
He pulls me into an embrace, kissing me so deeply I would’ve lost my balance if it weren’t for his hands around my waist. When we pull apart, he’s looking at me with something akin to devotion.
My stomach twists at the thought that I’m the only thing that matters to him—I’ve never felt so strange about that thought before.
“I’ve missed your beautiful face,” he whispers against my skin.
Silas is perfect.
But I burst into tears anyway, somehow.
I crush myself into his chest, crying so hard my body starts to tremble.
Silas’ body is stiff, his hands unmoving.
I’m not sure how long I stand there, just crying.
But, by the time I’m finished, there’s a huge wet stain on his shirt—makeup, tears, lip gloss, it’s all there. He looks down at it, then at me.
“What’s wrong?” He asks.
I look at him in shock.
“What do you mean?”
He runs a hand along the stain on his shirt. “What’s got you so torn up, love?”
“What’s got me so torn up?” I clench my fists. “Vivienne’s dead, Silas!” I screech, louder than I intended, attracting the attention of the people around us.
His face drops and he pulls me into another hug, this one softer. “I didn’t know you were still so affected.” I hold on to his bicep.
I’m more than just affected. My heart was buried with her. “They’ve given me another roommate like they’re trying to replace her. I hate it.”
“The world moves on, love,” he says. “It’s a terrible situation but we have to keep moving. It’s what she would have wanted.” I still feel angry, and his words—they only make it worse. “I have something to help take your mind off things.”
His face is blurry when I look up at him.
“Come with me,” he says. “But you have to agree to wear a blindfold.”
I look at him skeptically, but what do I have to lose at this point? Not much. If I die, I’ll be closer to Vivienne anyway. There’s no way God wouldn’t let her into heaven.
Death atones for all sins.
I let him blindfold me with his tie. Silas takes my hand—leading me. With one of my senses taken away, I can focus more on the softness of his hands, the sweetness of the air. I can also feel the tension in his fingers. There’s something a bit off with him.
But it could be all in my mind, because I’m tense too.