Chapter XIII
XIII
EDEN
The chime of my phone drags me from sleep like a hook behind my ribs. The bleary world comes into focus. I’m still dressed in my clothes from last night—even my bed slippers, damp from the grass.
I was tired after pouring my heart out to Vivienne. So tired that after dragging myself back to my dorm, all I could do was crawl into bed. Anastazya had been asleep at least, so I was grateful for that—I find her so strange that the less I have to talk to her the better.
Groping blindly in the pocket of my coat, I squint against the early morning light slicing through the open window. The clock above the door reads 6:07 AM.
Breakfast is in an hour.
Classes start in two.
And Anastazya? Her bed is empty.
I hold a breath, but no sound comes from the bathroom either. The sigh I let out is one of relief. I’m alone in the room, so I don’t have to be on edge. When I pull myself up, her phone is missing from the nightstand, her Goyard tote bag gone from the trunk at the end of her bed.
I hope she’s already started her day.
Finally, I look at the notification that woke me up.
Silas:
Where did you go last night? You didn’t go straight to bed after I walked you to your dorm.
The air thins.
I reread the message once, twice, three times.
Each time, my pulse quickens just a little bit more. A cold, dark sensation snakes its way up my spine. How does Silas know that? I made sure he had walked back to his dorm—I watched him do so from my own window. I took the long way to the graveyard, purposely avoiding the Boys’ Dormitory.
Pressing my phone to my chest, I stare up at the ceiling.
It’s like he’s everywhere.
The bruises on my body.
Now, my whereabouts.
What else will come next?
I take a shaky breath, biting my lip to stop the sadness bubbling in my chest. Silas notices everything when it comes to me, it seems. I deviated from my routine. From the way I’m supposed to act.
I’ll be his wife in six weeks.
Maybe then I’ll be able to get some reprieve.
My mother and father often spend weeks or months apart. My father loves the solace of the countryside, while my mother prefers her bustling high society life.
Perhaps our marriage will be like that.
But you’d need his permission to do that—because you belong to him.
And that’s the thought that has me texting him back.
I went to see Vivienne.
Three dots appear immediately.
He’s typing.
They vanish.
Then they return.
Silas:
Why didn’t you tell me? I could have come with you.
You wouldn’t have understood, I want to say. You still don’t understand why I’m still grieving her death. You would have stood at her grave like it was an inconvenience.
And I wouldn’t have been able to speak with Lucian. I wouldn’t have been able to touch him, to imagine it was just the two of us in that single moment—a peaceful moment.
If Silas was there, I wouldn’t have been able to pour out my heart to Vivienne, either. Even in death, she’s like a salve—she was so much more than gossip and scandal, and the convenient lie of suicide.
She was my best friend.
And I can’t believe it took losing her to realize that.
The day already feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, but I climb out of bed all the same. All my bruises hurt even worse now, and my headache doesn’t seem to want to go away. I catch a glimpse outside the window.
Pale fog curls around the edges of the courtyard, slowly melting in the sun as it rises. The stillness of it all makes everything feel suspended.
Weightless.
Like if I threw myself through the window, I’d float away.
My phone chimes again.
Silas:
Meet me after your theology class.
I stare at the message for a long while, my thumb hovering over the screen.
I know I’m supposed to say yes—that’s what a good fiancée would do.
But I can’t even stomach the thought of seeing him today. Not after what happened during our night away from school. The thought of his hands on my body, his fingers brushing the bruises on my face like he’s proud of what he’s done…
My stomach clenches but there’s nothing to retch.
He’s turned me into someone I don’t recognize, and I need time to process it all.
I’m not feeling well. I’m going to rest.
It’s not exactly a lie.
It’s just not the kind of sick he’ll understand if I explain.
Another storm of dots appears immediately.
Silas:
You’re avoiding me.
I toss the phone on my bed, ignoring the message.
There’s no way for me to frame my answer in a way that will be palatable to Silas. The truth feels like a piece of obsidian in my mouth—heavy and jagged.
Yes, I’m avoiding you.
I’m avoiding your harsh hands, your poisonous lips, the way you make me question walking down the aisle to you—if I should risk the disgrace, the social fall out, the mental breakdown just to escape you.
And most of all? I’m avoiding the guilt I feel when I look at him and remember Lucian’s breath against my core, the warmth of his hands on my skin—and the way he saw me last night. All of me, including my mental health challenges, and he didn’t run away.
That feeling? I’ve never experienced it before. I’ve always been too much for everyone. Pretending to be someone else has always been easier. When I open up to people, they always leave—no matter what I do, I manage to screw up everything.
So, even though things are terrible with Silas, I don’t want to screw things up.
It takes me two hours to get ready.
I skip breakfast, choosing to spend the time covering my bruises instead. Even when I’m finished, I look worlds away from the girl who set foot on this campus months ago.
My hair is in a bun—the most elegant one I could make with a three-day old twist out. Though my uniform is crisp, my shoes are clean and I’m wearing nearly ￡1,000,000 worth of jewelry, I feel absolutely terrible.
The campus is different when I exit the dorm.
Heavier.
The air is thick with whispered rumors and stifled sobs in secret enclaves. Students are breaking down in the library. Nuns are resigning. Secrets are leaking like oil under the chapel doors. It’s like I’m witnessing the degradation of something Holy in real time.
I keep my eyes trained on the floor.
This is all Lucian’s doing.
He has left his mark everywhere—the desecrated Holy items, the ruined facades, the shattered windows, the scandals spreading left and right—and it’s only getting worse.
His name is in mouths that shouldn’t know it.
His shadow in places he hasn’t been.
A ghost.
A god.
A reckoning.
I’m almost at my first class when I hear another chime.
My eyes sweep my surroundings quickly. Is he nearby? I don’t see Silas anywhere close so I don’t check my phone, just quicken my steps toward the classroom.
Analytical Geometry.
I sit there, but my mind is so far away.
It drifts to the grave, to the flowers Lucian left, to the way his voice cracked as he spoke to me about the danger I was in.
My lips tingle when I think of how much I wanted to kiss him, followed by the sinking feeling of knowing that he chose not to, even when he could have.
It could have been our secret.
It would have lifted the storm I’m carrying.
Even though I understand him completely, there’s a shameful selfishness mixed in with it all. I want Lucian in my life, and I’m certain of that.
But I can’t have my cake and eat it.
It’s either Silas or Lucian.
And instead of paying attention at how to use algebraic methods to solve geometric problems, I spend the entire class trying to choose between the two—Silas will give me my mother’s approval, secure my future and etch my name in a legacy far more illustrious than I’d ever be able to dream of.
He’d tire of me eventually, like everyone else does.
My life with Lucian would be vastly different. I would lose my inheritance and end up living with him—in whatever his living situation is. I won’t have any expensive clothes, and live a modest life. But I’d have a husband who loves me. One who put my happiness—and pleasure—before his own.
One who knows how my mind works and loves me for it, not despite it.
I’m imagining Lucian and I walking to the shops together, hand-in-hand when my phone chimes a tone that makes my hair stand on edge. I gave my mother a unique ringtone years ago, so I never end up missing her calls.
I step out of class to answer it, wandering down a nearby hallway.
“Eden?”
“Yes, Mum?” The word feels strange coming out of my mouth, but she titters on the other end. It doesn’t bother her, even though she once slapped me across the face when I said it before.
“How are you, darling?”
My voice dies in my throat.
She’s being nice to me. She’s treating me like she loves me.
But my stomach still lurches. I step out of the hallway and into a quiet spot with a wooden bench and a gilded cross hanging above it. The bench creaks under my weight. I hold my forehead in my hand while I try to find an answer to her question.
Pain blooms where my hand touches my skin.
Makeup might hide the bruises, but not the pain.
“I’m doing fine. On my way to my next class.”
“That’s lovely, dear. I won’t keep you long. I just have a few things to go over…”
My mother starts droning on about the guest list for the engagement party, the decor, the dress she’s chosen for me. I realize that I’ve checked out mentally when her clipped tone pulls me back to the present.
“Well, what do you think, Eden? I pulled some strings to have the florist and seamstress flown in from Milan on such short notice.” Then she adds, “You also haven’t sent me your list of bridesmaids. The groom will have three, so I expect the same from you.”
“Pardon?”
I hear her heels clicking in the background. “Is there something wrong with the phone signal?” She’s moving to a different location. “I need the names and contact information of your bridesmaids. Your three closest friends.”
My mind blanks out briefly.
“My three closest friends?” I repeat slowly. “I don’t have three close friends.”