Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IRIS
I’d been staring at the mirror long enough that the edges of the room were beginning to warp. I clutched the assignment in my fingers, folding and unfolding it so much, as if I expected it to say something different the next time I looked at it.
“Tonight, ten o’clock, greenhouse”
My gaze wandered to the old clock in the corner. It was nearly time. Was I really doing this? All of the same emotions came flooding back.
He was my professor… I don’t even know him. And he certainly doesn’t know me. How is this even a remotely good idea?
The sky outside had slipped into night, the stars blinking brightly. My heartbeat climbed higher in my throat. Images of him flooded me. His eyes, his hair, his touch… Thoughts of his fingers… I shook my head.
In a daze, I finished dressing in a black lace vest and tartan skirt. I pulled up my stockings and slipped my feet into my shoes.
‘Alright,’ I whispered to no one. I shrugged on my cardigan – the small silver key nesting neatly inside the pocket – and slipped out the door.
The hallways felt darker than usual as I swept through them. The sconces lining the walls seemed dimmer, casting flickering pools of warm light onto the stone floors. It was so cold tonight that I could see frost creeping across the windows and my breath fogging in front of me.
Hallway after hallway I travelled, turn after turn, and then I saw him.
I inhaled once, slow and unsteady. I was suddenly very aware of my body, and the way my hands were fidgeting. I shoved them into my pockets.
He was leaning against a wall at the top of the spiral staircase down to the greenhouse, arms folded across his chest. The fabric of his shirt strained against his biceps…
I swallowed. His head was tilted back against the stone.
As I approached, his eyes snapped up to mine.
His shoulders dropped, as if he was letting out a relieved breath.
I slowly crept towards the top of the stairs, suddenly overly conscious of my breathing.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ he said quietly. His voice was so deep… It was like thunder – rolling but smooth.
‘Me either,’ I said honestly. In truth, I’d debated it all day. What good could possibly come out of this? But the memory of what had passed between us last time…
He was looking at me. Really looking. As if he were taking stock of every hesitation I had. Every thought. His gaze roamed my entire body. From my stockings, to my hips, to my breasts. A heat enveloped me that I wasn’t ready for.
‘Come here,’ he said.
I didn’t give myself time to doubt. I stepped forwards and placed my hand in his. His warm fingers intertwined with mine, and he placed his other hand on the small of my back to guide me down the stairs. A shiver chased down my spine at the contact, but I didn’t shy away.
‘You’re nervous,’ he whispered.
I laughed once, quietly. ‘You make it hard not to be.’
‘Do you want to leave?’ he asked as we reached the bottom of the stairs. The question hung between us. I searched his face, trying to tell whether he was serious. His eyes darkened as he looked down at me.
‘I… don’t want to leave,’ I said timidly. I could hear his breathing, loud in the otherwise silence.
‘You know you shouldn’t be here,’ he said roughly. ‘Like this, here… with me.’
I nodded and it was a tiny movement. I swallowed, my throat dry. ‘I know.’
‘But you came anyway.’
I retrieved the key from my pocket and put it into his outstretched hand. ‘Yes.’
He put the small key in the lock and turned it.
The old door edged open with a quiet creak, and we crept inside.
The smell of damp soil and fragrant plants hit me, and I breathed it in hungrily, allowing the floral scents to wash over me and tame my nerves.
Together, we walked towards the fountain in the centre of the large space.
As we approached it, I gasped quietly, my hand involuntarily flying up to my mouth.
A dark red blanket had been laid out on the stone floor, with a handful of pillows resting innocently atop it. A few candles had been placed on the fountain's crumbling outer stone wall, flickering away in the dark space, washing the area in a soft, golden light.
‘Wait, I thought—’
He smiled subtly, but mischievously, before reaching into his jacket pocket and showing me a silver key. ‘This is the original key.’ He nodded towards the door. ‘I had a second one cut. That’s the one I gave you.’
‘Oh,’ was all I said.
‘Sit down.’ I watched him walk over to the old, stone-carved bench beside the fountain and pick up a bottle of red wine and two glasses. ‘Do you drink?’
I nodded. God, why was I suddenly mute?
He smiled again. It was beautiful.
I took a seat on the blanket and rested my back against the pillow.
He sat down beside me. I ran my fingers over the soft fabric of the blanket and marvelled at how soft it was.
I watched as Archer deftly uncorked the bottle and poured some of the crimson liquid into a glass.
He passed it to me, his fingers brushing against mine.
They were warm and strong, and suddenly I felt more nervous than ever before.
He began pouring his own drink, and I watched him.
The stubble on his jaw really did suit him.
His unkempt hair was a vast change from his usual slicked-back look.
I liked it. He leant over to the bench to place the bottle down, and his shirt strained, riding up slightly at the side and revealing tan skin and lean muscle.
He caught me staring, and the corner of his lips pulled up.
‘Why do I feel as if I am the only one who ever sees that?’ The words spilled out before I could stop them.
‘Sees what?’ he asked.
‘That,’ I said. ‘Your smile.’ His brows drew together, and he looked down at his drink, tracing a finger around the rim. I quickly continued. ‘In class… you’re always so serious. So…’ I paused, searching for the right word. ‘Broody.’
He smiled again at that and it caused butterflies to dance in my stomach.
‘You think I’m broody?’ he laughed. The sound was deep and velvet-soft.
‘Well… yeah.’ I laughed too. He took my hand in his, his fingers tracing soft circles at the base of my thumb. The movement was so casual. So real. It frightened me… in a good way.
‘Teaching that class has been harder of late, that’s for sure.’ His fingers stilled. ‘Maybe I’ll drop a smile next lecture, freak a few of them out.’ He shrugged and chuckled quietly.
‘Your smile, though,’ he said. ‘That’s the one worth seeing.
’ I could feel myself blushing. ‘But something tells me yours might be just as rare as mine.’ Slowly, I lifted my glass to my lips.
He watched my every movement with rapt attention.
It was intimidating in the best way. I sipped the liquid, feeling the soft, warm burn as it travelled down my throat. He took a swig of his own wine.
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the soft stream of water from the fountain, the gentle buzz of insects, and the quiet tapping of rain against the glass high above us. I nestled further into the plush pillows and sat with my legs crossed, both hands cupping my glass.
A small butterfly landed on a vine to my left, its delicate, iridescent wings fluttering rapidly. I slowly reached my hand out towards it, and it flew onto my finger. I let out a breathy laugh and turned to see Archer watching me.
I decided then that this was one of my favourite places to be. It felt safe – like home.
‘Where were you?’ Archer said softly, snatching me from my thoughts.
‘Hm?’ The little butterfly flapped its gentle wings and I watched as it landed delicately on some nearby lilies.
‘The other day,’ he said. ‘The day you actually missed class.’
‘Yeah, I know…’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’ My cheeks heated again. I made a mental note that I needed to apologise to the other professor whose class I had missed as well. I hadn’t been at this school anywhere near long enough to start cutting class and sleeping in until midday.
‘Iris.’ His voice was sharp. His expression had changed – was that worry edging into his features? ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ He sighed, running a hand over his face. He closed his eyes. ‘God. This is hard.’
‘What is?’ I asked, already knowing the answer.
‘This,’ he said sadly, indicating the two of us and then the greenhouse as a whole. ‘I’m sorry.’
I felt my brows pull together. ‘What are you sorry for?’
‘For putting you in this position.’ He sighed deeply and took a long drink of his wine, finishing the glass. ‘I should have known better. It’s my fault.’ He shook his head. ‘I made the first move.’
‘But it wasn’t just you,’ I whispered.
He reached over to the bench to pick up the wine bottle. He refilled his own glass and then looked at me in question. I swigged the last of my own drink and held it out for him, nodding.
‘I’m just sorry,’ he whispered, shaking his head subtly. ‘Do you know the risks? Of being here with me?’
I nodded.
‘You could get in so much trouble, Iris,’ he said. ‘You could get kicked out of school.’
‘Yes, and you could be fired,’ I said, loudly and clearly. ‘It’s not only your fault, okay? We are both risking a lot for… for whatever this is.’ I didn’t even know what it was. Nor did I care. Not when I was here with him.
‘I just don’t want you regretting anything,’ he said somberly.
A wave of emotion overcame me that I couldn’t place, and before I knew it, I was leaning forwards to kiss him.
It was gentle and soft.
As I pulled away, I blinked, surprised at how comfortable it felt to do that.
His hand reached up to cradle the nape of my neck, holding me there.
He looked at me for a long while, contemplating.
I thought he might have pulled away, but after an agonisingly long time, he leaned in further and kissed me back – just once.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked, slowly.
I nodded and whispered into his mouth, ‘Yes. I’m sure.’
He sighed heavily, as if fighting his own instincts. His eyes darkened dangerously, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he looked at me. I saw his fist clench, knuckles going white, before he released them.
‘Ugh,’ he sighed, frustrated, his sanity seeming to hold on by a single thread. Then, all of a sudden, he let out a sharp breath…
‘Oh, fuck it,’ he growled.