Oh My Darling Valentine (Oh My Darling #1)

Prologue

Valentina

Imust have a death wish.

If my parents knew I was wasting their money on a music class, they would fly all the way from LA to Seattle just to drag me to a class they deemed purposeful—something involving numbers or the scientific formula.

But I just have to know.

I have to know if all those years of piano lessons would have amounted to something. If my parents did the right thing by sending my siblings and me to classes that were supposed to make us more refined and well-established individuals.

I understand their reasoning for making us learn, I really do.

And I even understand why they wouldn’t think a degree in music is worth the time and effort.

The only careers I see coming from a music major are being a teacher or selling instruments—the idea of actually becoming a famous singer sounds highly unlikely.

But it’s one class. Just one, and then I’ll put this all behind me again like I did three years ago. Back when playing was enough to distract my mind from the world around me. Now, it only reminds me of everything I’ve lost.

I enter room 328 in Lewis Hall, opting for a seat in the back, hoping to keep myself hidden. I just need to observe the class, not actually participate.

The only problem with this plan is the way this room is structured.

Auditorium-like seating fills half the room, lifting eight levels, with each row having around 15 chairs and shorter steps on both sides, making the seats in the back of the classroom easier to see.

But I’d rather sit in the back than front and center like I did in high school. That seat only brings attention, and that’s the last thing I want.

I head up to the last row and pick a seat in the far left corner. From here, I can see everyone who comes in. From the students who look the part of a music major, to the…

Actually, everyone looks the part of a music major. Some carry drumsticks, others guitars, and even a few have their own keyboard they’re lugging around.

Did I miss something? Am I actually going to have to play an instrument?

Maybe I can just say I don’t play one and move on. I’m sure other students in here can’t play, and I’m not the only one stupid enough to join this class and expect not to have to play an instrument.

Right?

More students come in with instruments, making my head dizzy.

Fuck, I’m so stupid.

Alright, new plan. If we do have to play an instrument, I’ll just drop the class before that happens.

God, I hope it doesn’t happen. Even just looking at the piano in the room makes my heart race faster. To actually sit behind it and play something…

A louder student comes in, pulling my attention from the instrument I’ve been avoiding for the past three years.

“I’m going to be a Senator, man,” the guy proudly states. “So I might as well fuck around and take a class like this while I still can.”

Thank god.

As the Senator keeps going on about how he wants to spend his college years, the guy behind him catches my attention.

There is no doubt that guy is majoring in music.

Everything about him screams I’m a Rockstar.

Maybe it’s the guitar case he’s carrying, or his longer hair that’s slightly disheveled.

He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up more, and my eyes catch on the silver rings he has on every one of his fingers.

That definitely adds to his Rockstar image.

I’ve never known a guy to wear a ring. Well, except for my father’s wedding ring or the Championship rings that his friends always showed off—rings that stuck out and had a purpose.

These rings almost look a part of him. They give him his edge.

Without them, he’d blend in a little more. With them, he’s a Rockstar.

My gaze moves up to his face. He looks tired, but not in the normal sense.

Like life has shoved him down and slapped him in the face, tired.

It’s the kind of tired I’ve felt before.

The kind of tired that likes to creep up on me even more now than ever.

And the kind of tired that makes me stare a little harder at him.

Would he understand the way I feel?

The Rockstar looks up, scanning the area to find a seat. With a room capacity of over 100, there are plenty of places he could sit, like maybe on the other side of the room.

His eyes land on me. And he smiles.

Shit.

My eyes drop to my hands in my lap. Shit, what if he comes up here? Okay no. That’s ridiculous. He smiled at me because I was looking at him. That’s it. No way would that incline him to…

My eyes lift enough to catch both the Rockstar and the Senator heading towards the steps that could lead them up to me.

Don’t come up here. Don’t come up here.

I internally groan and retreat inside myself when the two guys walk to the row in front of me. Literally. Right in front of me. Almost the entire room is still open, and they sit right in front of me.

That’s what you get for staring. Shut up, brain.

The Senator sits down, but the Rockstar sets his guitar on the floor and just stands there.

Slowly, I lift my head.

“Hi,” he says in a deep voice that makes me feel like I’m drowning under its weight. He smiles again, easy and calm, and my whole body relaxes as I look into his dark brown eyes.

One look and I’m calm. One look and I can see myself falling deeper and deeper into the depths of his gaze. It should be illegal to have that kind of effect on someone.

“Hi.” My smile must seem as easy as his because he extends his hand out to me.

“Huxley.”

Wow. That name fits him too well. I don’t know why, but the way he looks fits the name Huxley. A simple name just wouldn’t do for someone like him.

I lean forward enough to slip my hand into his. “Valentina.”

His eyes widen. “Wow,” he breathes out.

My hand tenses in his grip, and I have to force myself to pull it away from him. “What?”

“Sorry,” he adds, shaking his head once. “I’ve just never heard a name like that before.”

I tilt my head to the side, and his lip twitches slightly like he’s hiding a smile.

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

I’ve never been one to like my name. It always felt too formal, as if it were meant to sit on a pedestal while people admired it. Or maybe it was just that my parents wanted that from me.

Sit up straight, Valentina.

Don’t frown, Valentina. You’ll get wrinkles.

I’m disappointed in you, Valentina.

He smiles, easy again. So easy that I don’t even care if it’s a bad thing.

“It’s a good thing,” Huxley says. “A very good thing.”

Nope. Now I wish it was a bad thing because I can feel my face heating up. I look at my hands again, hoping he doesn’t catch on to my face changing colors.

I told myself before I got to college that I wouldn’t be looking for anyone. That a relationship is the last thing I should be putting my time into. Same as High School. Same as it always will be. The way it has to be.

But this guy—Huxley—my heart is having a hard time catching up to my brain.

You don’t know anything about him, and he knows nothing about you.

That thought stops all my feelings.

It’s not even that I don’t know anything about him.

It’s the fact that he could one day learn about me.

My past, my family, my mind. None of these things should ever be spoken about to another person.

My past and my family could maybe get a write-off, but my mind is a place that even I want to hide from sometimes.

I just can’t imagine letting anyone else inside of it.

It’s probably for the best—for both of us—if I stay away from Huxley. And since it looks like he’s a music major, I should have nothing to worry about.

“No offense,” I look up as Huxley continues, “but this doesn’t seem like your type of thing.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean.” He gestures over me, and I look down at my outfit.

My light grey skirt hits about mid-thigh, and I have it paired with a white blouse with frills on the sleeves—my classic Mary Janes topping it off. It’s an outfit I’ve been wearing pretty much since I started high school, and I don’t see the point in changing it just because I’m in college.

At least, I didn’t see the point. Now I want to be in anything else.

“If you do play music,” Huxley continues, “you must play the violin or the piano. And it’s probably classical music too.”

He can tell all that because of what I’m wearing?

I look back up at him slowly as he shrugs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” I nearly wince at the way he says wrong. “But it's the type of music that people go to Juilliard for. Not some college in Seattle, Washington.”

Yup. Definitely a Rockstar. He probably thinks that the only music that’s worth listening to is classic rock or anything that involves a guitar. But nothing too soft. That might ruin his image.

“You don’t have to be such a prick, asshole.” Huxley and I both look up at the voice next to me. A girl with short black hair glares at him. “Jesus, maybe she isn’t even going into music. Lord knows I’m not.”

She sits down next to me, and the Senator turns around in his seat to face her. “Right on. Same here.”

He lifts his hand to the girl next to me in hopes of a high-five. She just stares at it, arms crossed over her chest.

“Don’t think this makes us pals. I heard that you plan on being a Senator, and I know for a fact that I,” she places her hand on her chest, leaning forward, “will not be voting for you.”

The Senator smiles at her, amused. “What’s your name, Sunshine?”

Her eyes narrow. “Sunshine? That’s it.” She pulls her arm back, and then everything moves in slow motion.

The Senator leans away, I reach over to hold the girl back, and Huxley looks ready to jump over his seat to stop the punch before the impact.

“Well, okay.” We all look down at the front of the room where the Professor is staring up at all of us. “It’s good to see you all are getting along already,” he adds with a lift of his brow, telling us to cool off.