Chapter 11 #2
But I don’t know who it’s from.
The other way I could go is to thank Serena specifically for what she gifted me.
But I don’t know which present came from her.
My smile is tight—
And before I can fumble through my biggest faux pas of any New Year to date, Dray saves me.
“Not all gifts were appropriate this year.”
It takes a beat for his words to sink in, but once they do, I turn a frown on him.
He didn’t save me for the sake of helping me, he interjected to dig at me.
I see that in the way he looks at me, a firm stare as he slowly lifts his cup to his pink lips, and sips.
I make a face and throw it down to my tray.
I hardly consider a Vacheron Constatin platinum timepiece to be in any way inappropriate. It was the exact sort of gift required for our families’ connection.
What the fuck does he want, a whole skyscraper? A city?
“I had to get my fiancé a gift,” Landon mumbles between bites, all bitter and moody about it.
“I’ve had one conversation with the woman, and all of a sudden I have to find the perfect present based off what?
And it cost,” he adds with a look at me, like I get it, like I understand spending more than the limit of my allowance, but I don’t.
So I just force a tight smile.
Landon throws his gaze aside—
And I trace it to the stocky figure looming over the table.
Mildred holds her tray in one strong hand, her furrowed gaze shifting between the faces angled up at her.
Her broad shoulders block my view of the atrium and much of the draught.
Tentatively, she sets her tray down.
No one says anything.
So she sits, sinking slowly, unsurely, into the seat beside Dray—
Then turns her suddenly loathing stare on me.
Not a fucking chance.
I kick back from the table and, in a heartbeat, stalk out of the mess hall.
I walk right into a crowd of students sheathed in snowsuits.
My steps stumble.
Hands out in front of me, I manoeuvre my way through the groups, guiding people out of my path, hissing as someone steps on the toes of my plimsoles, shouldering into the ones who backstep into me, until I make it to the corridor, and I can finally breathe.
My steps pick up all the way to the Living Quarter—and once I’m in the grand parlour with the crackling of fires in the hearths, and the faint murmurs of students lounging about on the couches, I make a beeline for the coffee station.
Didn’t get to finish mine in the mess hall.
I like three to start my day usually, but Mildred saw to my only having one.
So I set out two mugs and the cold, damp bottle of almond milk that someone left sitting out instead of putting it back into the minifridge.
Probably the same self-absorbed person who didn’t bother refilling the coffee pods or wiping down the droplets splashed all over the machine.
My huff comes out withering, and I start to tidy up before I trust the cleanliness enough to make my coffees.
The murmur of a faint conversation inches up to my back.
I turn a curt look over my shoulder.
Sara Horvat and Delia Dimas—two gentry seniors—have gathered behind me, no doubt waiting as the coffee machine starts up again.
Neither acknowledges me, not as Delia goes on, “I did my blood draws for the testing last week, so once that’s cleared by their witchdoctor, I’ll get the ring.”
I look away and watch the two little bulbs on the coffee machine. One blinks red, and the other should be green any minute now.
I watch, as though that’ll make the machine go faster.
It doesn’t.
“Has he asked what ring you want?” Sara murmurs, as though keeping her voice low enough means I won’t hear every word said just inches behind me.
Delia whispers her answer, “I hinted at gold.”
“That’s your colour.”
“I know, right? But he’s… He’s up his own ass, isn’t he, so we’ll see.”
“Tell him outright. Gold or no happy marriage—ow, what the fuck?”
Before I can even turn to see what happened, Asta appears beside me, snatching a cup from the rack.
She smacks it down beside mine, hard.
I slide a dull look to her.
Her sharp gaze is already on me.
The conversation behind me is over now. Silenced.
I can just imagine their gazes, wide and hopeful, swerving between me and Asta.
Waiting for something to kick off.
It might.
What else could she want by approaching me?
So I wait, too.
Patient, unflinching in our locked stares, the coffee machine whirring and hissing and churning, I wait for her to start whatever hell she’s brought to me.
No doubt this is about Eric Harling.
Her voice is trembling with contained rage, “Why did you buy him a gift?”
My smile is small. “Because we’re such good friends, duh.”
A shudder rinses through Asta, her slender fingers curling into a rigid fist on the table.
“What did you get him?”
I arch a brow. “You don’t know?”
A darkness is coiling in her, tightening her face as she leans closer to me. “He’s saving it for a special day,” she whispers the words like a loaded blizzard coming my way. “Must be quite a special gift.”
So wear it on a generous day, when the stars shine brightest for you.
It wasn’t said with kindness.
Eric heard the message and, just to be a dick, is going along with it, like it’s some sort of snide payback at me.
I scoff and turn my cheek to her. “It’s not.”
The machine beeps, ready, and I shove my two cups onto the grate.
I hit the button.
Finally, that rich brown brew of coffee beans flows out from the chrome pourers.
“It’s not special?” she challenges. “Then why does he think it is?”
I turn a smile on her. “Because he’s only gentry.”
There’s a disbelieving scoff behind me and something that sounds a lot like “bitch” muttered under a breath.
I pour the almond milk.
Asta watches my movements, closely, intensely, but her mind is whirring behind her eyes, doubting herself, doubting me, doubting Eric.
“I don’t want him.” That confession flutters her lashes—and for a moment, I think her face is softening. “I only ever wanted a safety net,” I add, then steal the cups into my hands. “It’s clear to me now that I don’t get that. So sleep easy, Asta, I’m not coming for your man.”
Her gaze follows me. But she doesn’t.
Landon does.