All Saints: Pledge (Oxford Dynasty #1)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

(SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL)

T he first inkling I have that something is wrong is the same moment I settle into the overstuffed chair in the hallowed stone halls of Oxford University. It’s not the gorgeous view of stone spires set against stormy skies across the quad. Or the faint echo of soft conversation that meanders down the hall like a ghost. I don’t think it’s even the gravity of realizing my long-held dream to come here. A shiver runs through me, as if I’m seeing a portent, just before the ornately carved door in front of me swings open.

I forget my jet lag. I forget the water dripping from the hem of my only nice dress—bought by my father during his push a few years ago for us to start attending church. My book slips to the floor with a clatter that echoes obscenely. Was this what the feeling of doom was about?

Because I recognize the arrogant set of the shoulders exiting the interview room. I recognize the blond, windswept hair. I stared at it for years in homeroom—a place I firmly left behind in the States for this new life. I recognize the cold, glittering eyes of Kendall Saint James.

He stops abruptly, as taken aback as I am by our proximity a thousand miles from home.

His eye twitches.

My hands clench.

No. No. This isn’t happening. My nails bite into my palm. I’m leaving my old life behind . I’m inventing a new Helena here. Having Kendall Saint James around will fuck it up royally.

Kendall looks like he’s barely containing violence himself. What the hell does he have to be angry about? His petty high school habit of hating everyone and everything—except his girlfriend, Clara—will apparently extend into his college years. And fucking lucky for me, we seem to have chosen the exact same square of as-far-away-from-home-as-you-can-get on the globe.

“No. Absolutely not.”

It’s like he’s voiced my own thoughts, and I blink. I’m unsure if I spoke them out loud as well. I don’t even have time to call him on his bullshit, because he wheels back around and barges back into the Dean’s office.

“What in the seventh hell is going on?” I whisper to no one as I lean down to pick up my book. My hands are shaking so hard I can’t seat the book back into my bag. My curated presentation of Helena Jude Eades, studious future Political Science student worthy of Oxford, slips with every second. It started with the rain this morning—it’s England, I should have planned for it and I’m hoping my hair is “pleasantly voluminous” and not “Hermione Granger”. But this. This undoes me on the inside. I can’t go in with what I know is an unhinged look on my face. No one will interview a girl with wild hair and murder in her eyes, especially not an American. Lacking things to do with my shaking hands, I run my hand over the silk scarf headband I’ve put on to keep my curls classy. Or out of my face and lip gloss, at the very least.

Fumbling through my bag, I pull out my phone, still straining to hear Kendall. Maybe he’s hiding. I can only hope his odd behavior earns him a failing mark on his interview. I text Jaqueline, my anger gaining strength with every second. My hands slowly steady.

Kendall Freaking Saint James is here.

Three dots bounce. Disappear. Bounce again.

Are you home then? At the airport? You didn’t ditch your interview, did you??

No! I’m at Oxford!

There isn’t a way for me to put enough emphasis on these words. For once, I almost wish I’d made the phone call.

Three dots bounce. Disappear. Bounce again. Disappear.

That is some bullshit.

The door knob in front of me rattles, and I shove the phone and book into my bag.

An older gentleman opens the door. “Ms. Eades, come in, please.”

I’m baffled, since Kendall is still in there. But I straighten my shoulders. I don’t have to be the same Helena I am at home. I have a chance here and now to pioneer my new self. The self I’ve been waiting to release. Calm, cool, collected, and ready to take the world by the balls.

I give a demure smile. “Thank you,” I say, as if it doesn’t matter to me that there’s a viper in this den.

I’ve never known, and will probably never know, just why Kendall hates me so much. We’d been friendly in elementary school. And then boom. I kissed him once during a stupid middle school party game and that was it. He iced me out. Clara, his girlfriend, hates me too. I stopped caring three years ago, and ignored him right back. Pretended he didn’t exist. I never imagined testing it in an interview room at my dream college. In England .

The older man is the silver-fox type. Well dressed, impeccably groomed, luxury wrist watch glinting above his honest-to-God cufflinks. He’s handsome, but there’s an edginess about him.

“Please, have a seat,” he says, motioning to an overstuffed chair in front of the huge, heavy wooden desk. He takes the leather chair behind the desk.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Helena. May I call you Helena? You and Kendall have been friends since primary, correct?”

What the what?

I blink before swinging my head around. Kendall lurks like a creeper, leaning on the wall right beside the door frame. Supremely uncomfortable and sullen, he’s a toddler told to stand with his nose in the corner.

This seems to amuse the older man, and a small smile tugs at his lips. It’s not all nice. “Tell me all the details, as you young people say. Did he behave in school? Is he a gentleman while he’s away from me?”

Blinking again, I turn back to the desk. “I’m sorry, Mister…” I’m sure I heard him wrong.

“Saint James. Augustine Saint James.”

“Saint… James…” I say as if I’m slow in the head. As in Kendall Saint James? This is… this is Kendall’s father ? Here. Interviewing me at Oxford. Well, this is shit. I need to do well—if I don’t get this full-ride scholarship, I can’t attend Oxford. Honestly, monetarily, I can’t attend anywhere except the community college a mile from my house. It’s Oxford or bust for me. I cannot afford to alienate this man, but I definitely do not know Kendall well enough to try to play off the relationship. “Well, sir. Kendall and I…weren’t really friends. But yes, I think he was…fine at school.”

His eyebrows rise. “Oh really? I thought you two were close at one point.”

I’m not sure what to say to that other than I think your son is an icy asshole , so I shift topics. “I’m sorry, sir. Is this a conflict of interest for you?”

He chuckles and I don’t like that much better. “Right to the point. I like that. No. Your Dean is just through that room for your formal Oxford interview, I am merely an administrator on the scholarship committee. In fact, your proximity to my son is how we had you on our radar. You can thank him for his recommendation.” I do not understand the look that Augustine shoots over my head. It’s almost malicious glee . But he replaces it almost immediately with the stuffy formality I expect. “I’ll only be asking you questions for your Alpha Epsilon Gamma scholarship application.” He gives me a smile that I think is supposed to make me feel better but doesn’t. I prefer the one with more teeth because I think it’s his true nature.

“Dad, I—this cannot happen.”

Augustine shoots Kendall a look that I cannot read, but that cuts like a knife. “You know we cannot rescind this offer. We have to observe formality.” There’s something hidden in his words, but I do not have enough context to understand the double meaning. What does he mean, observe formality?

My eyes dart between them. “I—ah—intend to take the scholarship if I get it?” It comes out as a question and I hate myself.

“We would not blame you if you declined. The course work here is extremely rigorous. You could go home and be top of your class in any state school,” Augustine says, eyes on mine. I can’t tell if now he’s trying to scare me off? Do take their scholarship this seriously? I mean, a full-ride at Oxford is no laughing matter, so I get it.

“No…thank you?” I want to hit my head. I hate that everything I’ve said so far today has been a question and not a statement.

Kendall looks ready to spit fire. “There has to be?—”

Augustine has had it. “Kendall, you need to go meet your mother. She arrived at the airport, and I said I’d send a car to pick her up. I’ll see you at dinner. I just thought you two might like a surprise reunion. Ms. Eades are you ready to discuss your essay?”

“Oh, um, sure.” I say, lamely. “Nice to see you again, Kendall.”

I expect him to ignore me or at the very least give a curt nod. Instead, he kneels down in front of me and puts both hands on my shoulders, as if we’re old friends. He shoots his father a look before focusing on my face. The axis of the earth tilts under my feet because I have only ever been this near Kendall Saint James once before, and it went badly. His hands are like branding irons, holding too tight to my slender shoulders. The pressure hurts, but his presence is so compelling, I almost relish in the contact. His eyes are snapping fire as they meet mine. My mouth goes dry, my heart thrumming in my ears as he leans down slowly and with intent. The movements of a jaguar who already holds his prey in his hands.

Is he—is he going to kiss me? Right here? In front of his father?

His lips come down next to my ear, his hot breath a whisper. “I don’t want you here. Go. Home.”

I gasp as his lips brush my ear and recoil. Both at the audacity of his words and simply to put space between us, given the shiver that runs down the back of my legs. It’s a ludicrous reaction. The jet lag must seriously be messing with my reflexes.

I smooth down my skirt, and clear my throat, determined not to show him how much his proximity shakes me. “Thank you for the suggestion, but I have an interview. I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

He shifts his glare from me to his father, and I swear his words aren’t for me. They’re for his father. As he stalks out the door, he tosses over his response over his shoulder.

“No,” he bites out. “You won’t.”