XVI
EDEN
I shouldn’t be here.
That’s what I tell myself as I step into the music room, the wooden floors creaking softly beneath my feet. Technically, I shouldn’t feel guilty. I texted Silas that I would be meeting with Lucian, and he approved.
But I didn’t tell him the venue had changed—only because he didn’t ask. After we met up last night, it felt like things were going back to normal; until he told me he was still upset. I don’t want to do anything that makes him any more upset.
The late afternoon sun filters through the tall stained-glass windows, casting a fractured beam of light over the instruments in the music room—the pianos, the cellos, and even the ancient-looking harps that haven’t been touched in years.
Lucian is already here.
The sight of him lifts a weight off my shoulders.
I feel less guilty.
This is a school project. We’re supposed to be together.
He sits at the grand piano in the center of the room.
His blazer is tossed carelessly over the back of the bench, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing the tattoos on his forearms. He’s lazily pressing a few quiet notes into the air, relaxed as usual.
Well, that’s how it used to look to me.
After what happened in the library though, I realize that there’s something carefully restrained about Lucian, something coiled beneath the surface. He glances up when my shoes echo against the wooden floor.
Slowly, a smirk tugs at his lips.
“Look who it is. Brave of you to show up.”
I don’t take the bait. Instead, I cross my arms, feigning indifference. “I keep my commitments. Finishing this project is one of them.”
Lucian hums, his fingers gliding over the keys one last time before he stands. My eyes follow his face as he does so. Even from this distance, I realize that he’s taller than Silas. “You sure about that?”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs. “I heard you tried to switch partners.”
“What?” I look at him in confusion, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t?—”
Recognition flashes in my eyes while he gives me a lazy look.
“If you didn’t, then who would?”
Silas didn’t tell me he did that. Is it that he doesn’t trust me?
Well, I didn’t tell him where I was meeting Lucian…
Could it be that he sees something that I don’t see?
My mind starts reeling.
Wait. I’m not doing this. Not with him, and definitely not now.
“I’m here now,” I snap. “Are we working on this project or not?”
Lucian watches me for a moment, then gestures toward the piano bench.
“Sit.”
I hesitate, but I do.
“Good girl, Edie.”
Something coils in my stomach. Good girl? Edie? I am completely and utterly confused by the way my body feels after that singular sentence, but I find a comeback.
“Let’s get this show on the road, Lucy.”
He laughs—a genuine one. It’s warm and rich, filling the whole room. I can’t help but smile, and I sort of hate myself for it. He was supposed to be offended by that nickname, but instead he seems to like it?
For the next half hour, we go through our notes, bouncing themes for Les Misérables off each other. Every now and then, my eyes wander to his exposed tattoos. I can make out skulls, wilting flowers, daggers, bleeding eyes—it’s horrendous.
But then I look at his face.
Why would he want to get things like that tattooed on his body? I almost ask, but I’m enjoying talking to him about the book. And I feel guilty that I do.
The more time I spend around Lucian, the more I realize he isn’t what I expect. He’s sharper, funnier and more human than I assumed. Yes, he smokes, has tattoos and seems to flout all the rules that I’ve dedicated my entire life to—but he challenges me in ways no one else does.
Not even by force.
Just simply existing, by being different.
Maybe in another world, if my entire life didn’t depend on marrying well …
Wait, what the hell am I thinking?
I scold myself.
This is exactly what Silas was talking about.
This is why he wanted me to change partners.
This is exactly the kind of thing the Bible talks about in 1 Corinthians 15: 33.
Be not deceived: evil communications corrupt good manners.
I’m about to tell Lucian that we need to wrap up our session when the conversation shifts.
“What’s your take on religion?” he asks.
I blink at him. “What?”
“Religion,” he repeats slowly. “God. All of it.”
I frown. “I’m Catholic.”
“I know.” His green eyes flicker with amusement. “That’s not what I asked.”
I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. “I believe in God—the Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit. I believe in the Church. That following the path God has laid before us is the path to true Salvation.”
He watches me for a beat, then sighs, reaching into his pocket. “You mind if I smoke?”
I tense immediately. “My stance hasn’t changed since the last time.” I glare at him. “It’s a sin, and I don’t want to be complicit.”
He laughs. Not cruelly, not mockingly. He just laughs like I’ve said something ridiculous. Lucian rolls a joint between his fingers, thoughtful—where did he even get that from? Does he just always have one laying around?
“You know, I’ve always found it funny what’s classified as a sin. It helps keep me calm and helps me sleep. But sure, let’s call that a damning offense.”
I stiffen. “The body is a temple?— ”
“But God only cares when we defile it in certain ways, right?” He gives me a pointed glare, his eyes lingering on my neck. But he doesn’t go any further, and I’m thankful. “Do you really think He gives a damn if I smoke a joint to stop my hands from shaking at night?”
I don’t have an answer to that.
Because I’ve never thought about it like that.
I stare at him, truly looking at him for what feels like the first time. His quiet, confident aura. The unshakeable steadiness—that he’s saying is apparently not entirely true. I start to get the feeling that he’s carrying a lot on his shoulders but never speaks of it. Kind of like the way I do.
Lucian doesn’t feel like a sinner. And yet, by every metric I was raised to believe in, he is. He’s damned to Hell. That unsettles me in a way. My phone buzzes, just as I’m about to say something.
Silas:
Where are you?
I hesitate, glancing at Lucian.
Eden:
I’ll meet you by the cloisters in five minutes.
I shove my phone back into my pocket, closing my notebook .
“I have to go,” I say quickly.
Lucian exhales, putting the joint in his mouth and sparking a lighter. “Of course you do.” He shakes his head.
Silas is waiting for me beneath the arches of the cloisters, leaning against the cold stone, looking like an angel carved out of marble by God himself.
My heart starts pounding in my chest. This beautiful, perfect man is mine. I fold my lips to hide in my smile. When I reach him, he doesn’t say anything.
He just pulls me in, closing the distance between us so quickly my book bag falls off my shoulder. Silas’ lips crush against mine, hungry, impatient.
His hand slides up my back, the other gripping my ass so tightly I can feel remnants of the night we had sex in the tower. I let him take me, tilting my head for his lips to explore the delicate skin of my throat.
We shouldn’t be doing this in broad daylight, but the thrill of being caught just makes me want him more. My nipples pebble, goosebumps tingling my skin and my core is aflame with desire. He slips a finger under the hem of my skirt, pressing fervent kisses over the bruises he left on my neck.
Clutching onto him, I let my body soften under his touch.
A moan escapes my lips when his fingers slide up my thighs, inching closer toward where I want them to be. I’m slick, wet, ready. I writhe, whispering his name, begging him for more but?—
My mind drifts?
All of a sudden Lucian’s words are in my mind .
God only cares when we defile it in certain ways, right?
Guilt starts festering in my chest.
Sex before marriage is a sin too, yet here I am.
“What’s wrong, love?” Silas stops, his eyes tinged with concern. “You’re all tense, now.”
I exhale sharply, forcing the thoughts away. “I’m just a little nervous,” I lie. “We’re out in the open and I’m worried about getting caught.”
A small smile tugs at his lips.
“You’re so innocent, my love.” Silas moves his hands. A tinge of sadness accompanies the motion—my core is still flaming hot. “But you’re right. I got ahead of myself. You’re just…irresistible.”
I blush—Silas starts to make me feel more than wanted.
He makes me feel like he needs me.
“I wanted to ask you something, that’s why I texted,” he says, crouching to pick up my book bag. “But you always distract me. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.”
When he stands, he starts stroking my cheek with gentle caresses. I close my eyes, putting my hand over his, relishing each touch. “You’re on my mind all the time too.”
“We’ll need an entire wing to ourselves on our honeymoon, then?”
I open my eyes lazily. Silas slowly comes into focus.
For a moment, I imagine us at the altar. Staring into each other’s eyes like this, pledging our undying love and commitment before God. By then, Lucian will be a distant memory, I’m sure. Only my endless future with Silas will be on my mind.
“What did you want to ask me?”
He hesitates briefly. His eyes have grown a bit dark, and for a beat it seems like he’s nervous. I’m not even sure because I’ve never seen that expression on his face before.
“What kind of engagement ring would you like?”
I freeze.
My heart stutters.
Did I hear him correctly?
“What?”
Silas smirks. “Don’t look so surprised, love. You had to know this was coming. It wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when.” He leans in closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I’m entirely serious, Eden. I meant everything I said. I promise to want you forever, to make you mine forever.”
My pulse is roaring in my ears.
A ring.
A proposal.
This is what I wanted.
This is everything I wanted.
I lick my lips. “Something timeless, like a trinity ring. I’d want it to become a family heirloom. Something our son can use to propose.”
My eyes are wet.
Silas hums, brushing his thumb along my jaw. “I figured that you’d want something like that.” His smirk widens. “I was right.”
I’m beyond thrilled.
So why does my chest feel so tight?
On the walk back to my dorm, I decide to call my mother. I’ve already sent Eleanor a text, but my mother—I need to speak to her in real time. She’s a horrible texter.
She picks up on the second ring.
“Eden, what do you want?”
Her stern voice suddenly makes me feel like I’m a quivering child again, but I swallow the lump in my throat. “Hello mother.” I try to keep my voice light. “I know it’s only been about a week, but I need to tell you something.”
She sighs. “Oh Lord, what have you done now, child?”
“I’ve followed exactly what you said,” I begin. “I think I’ll be proposed to soon.”
There’s silence. Shocked silence.
“What do you mean you think ?” she says forcefully. “Who is he?”
I take a deep breath. “Lord Silas Peregrine-Ashford IV. He’s made it known to the entire school that we’re courting. We were just talking about my preference in engagement rings.”
More shocked silence.
“The Duke of Surrey’s son?” She’s incredulous.
I try to hide the smile in my voice. “Yes, mother. The only heir to their estate.”
“Well, Eden.” She sounds satisfied. “That’s remarkable.”
For the first time in my life, I feel like she’s proud of me. “Thank you, mother.”
“I suppose I should tell your father that a young man will visit soon to ask for your hand.” Her voice grows increasingly cheerful. “You’ve outdone yourself, Eden. This is absolutely wonderful. It’ll be the wedding of the season. Imagine, you’ll be a duchess!”
She prattles on for a while longer as I take slow steps toward my dorm. I have no doubt that this will be the topic of conversation at tea tomorrow with her friends. Oh how I wish I could be a fly on the wall to hear what she’ll say—or even better yet, be a fly on the wall when Silas visits my home and asks my father for permission to marry me.
“I have to go now, mother,” I say when she’s finally out of breath. I’m walking down the hall toward my room. “I’m almost at my dorm room. I have to grab a few things before heading to my next class, okay?”
“Alright darling, talk soon.”
The line goes dead, but I stand there stunned.
Darling.
She’s never called me that before.
She’s proud of me. She’s finally proud of me.
I push everything out of my head—the ring, the questions, the lingering thoughts of Lucian’s voice. The only thing I’m focused on is the fact that my mom is proud of me. She loves me enough to show it. I’m grinning when I push the door open.
But then I stop dead in my tracks.
Vivienne and Marita are tangled together in her bed.
Half-dressed.
Vivienne’s kissing the swell of her breasts, Marita’s hands caressing her thighs. I stand there for a moment, just watching. The sensual touches, the way Marita giggles as Vivienne kisses a line between her breasts. Vivienne’s half dressed, Marita’s fingers scrambling to undo her bra. Their bodies writhe against each other tenderly—their skin flushed, staring into each other’s eyes like nothing else matters in the world.
They look in love.
Truly in love.
They don’t have a care in the world—just wrapped up in the bubble of their love. I can’t even tell what I’m feeling. Is it jealousy? Envy? I can’t be sure. I don’t know how long I stand there watching them have sex.
Marita notices my presence, her eyes growing wide. Soft giggles turn into startled gasps as they jolt apart, scrambling for their clothes, scrambling for some sort of explanation about what I just walked in on, just scrambling.
I shut the door quickly behind me, panic taking over.
Does it show on my face that I was watching them?
Marita runs a hand through her hair, breathless, scrambling for the sheets. “Shit—Eden, we?—”
Vivienne swings her legs off the bed, grabbing her uniform skirt from off the floor. “Time got away from us.” She’s watching me carefully. “I expected you to be at class.”
I don’t say anything.
I just stare.
Because I know what this is. I know what it means. And a few years ago, I had this very desire ripped from me—replaced with the truth of what attraction should be like. Vivienne exhales, standing with her arms akimbo, bracing herself for something.
“Go ahead. Say what you’re thinking.”
My voice sounds hollow, like it’s coming from somewhere else. “Homosexuality is a sin.” I take in a deep breath, reciting it from memory. “We might have thoughts about it, but we shouldn’t act on them.”
Vivienne flinches, then scoffs. “Right. Of course. How could I forget?”
“How do you live with that?” I swallow hard.
Vivienne’s expression turns hard, tired. “Because I have to, Eden.”
Marita is watching us, frozen like a statue.
“You can live with it without acting on it,” I repeat, but I feel myself coming apart. The room feels too small, my heartbeat is in my ears.
Vivienne’s face is filled with disappointment. “I thought you were…” Her voice trails off. “I thought you’d understand.”
I’m ramrod straight like a lightning rod. So she could tell?
“Vivienne, I…” The words are caught in my throat.
My bag falls to the floor as I press the heels of my hands into my eyes—trying to push the memories back inside. But I can’t unsee the blank white walls, the too-sweet voices reminding me that this was for my own good.
We just want to help you.
The hands on my shoulders, holding me down while they prayed. The sting of ice-cold showers. The endless sermons, drilled into my skull like nails.
God loves you, but He can’t accept you like this.
Those words settle in my stomach like lead.
A gasping sob leaves me and before I realize it, hot tears are streaming down my face. I don’t even understand why, because I buried these feelings deep—tucked away where no one could reach it.
They broke me.
“Eden, are you alright?” Marita’s voice is in my ear.
There’s a hand on my forearm. “Why are you crying?”
My whole body shakes. These aren’t the quiet, careful tears that I had to cry back in that place. No, these sobs are raw—they burn on the way out.
I survived that terrible time, but at what cost?
When I open my eyes, Vivienne and Marita are standing close to me, their faces twisted with concern. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, snivelling.
I can’t believe I let my emotions get the better of me like this .
The silence is thick.
I can’t bring myself to face them, so I stare at my shoes.
Vivienne breaks the silence. “I could tell you were queer from the moment I saw you,” she says. “That’s why I didn’t expect you to get tangled up with Silas.” She tilts her head. “But if you’re saying this to me then it means…”
“You were right.” I finally have the courage to make eye contact. “But I was sent to a conversion camp, and telling myself that it was sinful was the only way I could reconcile my faith and make it out of there alive.”
Another wave of thick silence.
The room grows blurry and I feel like crying again.
I’m assaulted with the memories that I’ve spent years trying to keep locked away in the secret chamber of my heart. Of the first and only girl I ever fell in love with—Imani, with the soft brown eyes and the thick black kinky hair that she always wore in a puff atop her head. She was my best friend, until we kissed in the school bathroom when I was thirteen. Everything was perfect—I knew the risks, but I was sure I would spend the rest of my life with her, somehow.
Until someone saw us kissing in an empty classroom and reported it to the Headmistress. My mother raged. My father told me he was disappointed. After a summer in conversion camp, I got sent to Spearcrest.
I never saw Imani again.
Every now and then, I think of her.
“I’m sorry for what they did to you,” Vivienne murmurs.
I shake my head, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “I?—”
“I know,” she says softly. “We’ve both been there too.”
My eyes widen.
Their resolve must have been stronger than mine .
Marita slips her hand into Vivienne’s. “And we stayed away from the feelings for a while.” She looks over at Vivienne.
“I had secret relationships even after I returned home.” Vivienne chuckles. “But when I got to know Marita, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”
“We couldn’t stay away from each other.” Marita looks up, smiling at her girlfriend. “Everything about our relationship felt right.”
“And we can’t bring ourselves to believe in a God that would reject us for loving each other.” Vivienne’s voice is firm. “We got sent to Augustine against our will.”
“But our futures are ours.” Marita smiles. “Just two more semesters.”
Vivienne leans down and gives her a soft peck on the lips. Tears are starting to form again—they’re living the life I never had the chance to live. And even though I know what the church preaches, it isn’t sin that I see standing in front of me.
I see two people in love.
Two people waiting to be free.
“I won’t say anything.”
Vivienne smiles, sad but grateful. “Max and Lucian already know.” She looks over at Marita, who wears a similar expression. “Thank you for keeping our secret.”
They both crush me into a hug that I appreciate, but makes the weight of everything crash down on me. My world is fracturing.
My next class starts in thirty minutes, but I’m paralyzed.
If the Church is wrong about this, about Lucian…
What else could it be wrong about?