Chapter 17
Seventeen
Daphne
“How does it feel, being engaged to the devil?” I teased Blair. “Where are you honeymooning? The pits of hell?”
“Probably the Enzo inferno,” Adelina said. “I’m sure he has his own circle down there.”
“Very funny,” Blair deadpanned.
The four of us were piled on my bed, snack wrappers and candy scattered everywhere, while some forgotten movie played in the background. Blair had spent the last hour giving us every detail of the proposal.
The biggest surprise wasn’t that Enzo had proposed. It was that he’d done it romantically. No contract. No business arrangement.
Just love.
I sighed. If only.
One day, I was expected to be back in Calira with a husband chosen for me.
Expected being the keyword.
I’d go to war if my grandfather paired me with someone I didn’t like.
I’d been adding to my Hubby-Must-Haves list since I was eight.
Must be a Night Son had been one of the items on that list, but I’d crossed that off years ago.
Blair was the only one who knew Brooks had followed me to Calira. I’d needed someone to bitch to about him, Vittoria, and his two murder attempts.
Even then, I hadn’t told her everything.
A princess needed her secrets.
“Do you have a wedding date yet?” Gemma asked.
Blair shook her head. “Enzo wanted to elope in Italy, but I told him it was too soon.”
“Are you waiting until after graduation?” I asked.
Blair shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure because what happens if we get married before? Do I move into his dorm? Does he move in here—”
“Hell to the no,” I interrupted. “I’d have to sage this room hourly.”
I’d nearly burned through my entire sage stash trying to cleanse Brooks’s demonic energy from my bedroom at the castle.
I needed to double my stock here at Saint Vale because it’d be worse.
Here, Brooks wasn’t just a man.
He was an untouchable god with no consequences.
One thing working in favor of my Avoiding Brooks Plan?”
We didn’t share a single class.
I dragged myself into Women’s Studies, running on too little sleep and one too many drinks from last night. After the girls left, I’d spent half the night staring at the chandelier in my sleep alcove, wondering how Brooks planned to torture me next.
Vanilla latte in hand, I climbed to my usual seat and ignored Professor Sinclair watching me from his desk.
Professor Everett Sinclair taught Women’s Studies. Yes, a man.
Fitting for a university secretly run by a bunch of privileged assholes.
I set my latte on my desk and checked my phone before class. Sinclair was strict about them during his lectures.
Blair had tagged me in last night’s Instagram photos. The rest of my notifications were all about Brooks.
News sites, gossip blogs, and even dude-bro podcasters with too much time on their hands had posted about us. They hadn’t tagged me.
But their commenters didn’t fail to.
I shoved my phone into my bag and pulled out my MacBook.
Just as Sinclair glanced at the clock, the lecture hall door creaked open. Everyone’s head turned in that direction. Showing up late to class meant you became a public spectacle.
Someone in the row behind me gasped when Brooks came into view.
Brooks stopped at the bottom of the stairs. His blazer stretched across his broad shoulders, his hair somewhere between messy and slicked back. My traitorous brain immediately remembered how good his tongue had felt between my legs the other night.
It took him only a few seconds to find me. He climbed the stairs, passed two empty desks, passed mine, and stopped at the occupied seat to my right.
He snapped his fingers at Bryce, the guy sitting there. “Move.”
Bryce didn’t argue. He grabbed his things and practically ran to the next row.
Brooks dropped into the abandoned chair with an exaggerated sigh, like stealing someone’s seat had been a grueling workout.
The irony of Brooks crashing Women’s Studies wasn’t lost on me. Then again, if anyone needed this class, it was every damn Night Son.
I looked away from him to find Professor Sinclair glaring at Brooks. Good.
He wouldn’t say anything to him, though. Had anyone else barged into class and stolen someone’s seat, Sinclair would’ve thrown them out.
“Everyone settled?” Professor Sinclair asked.
A few students nodded. I didn’t. Neither did Brooks.
When Sinclair started his lecture, Brooks leaned over, stole my latte, and took a long drink.
“Mmm …” he moaned around another sip before licking the opening in the lid.
I reached for it. “Do you mind?”
“Actually, no.” He took another sip before setting the latte on the far side of his desk.
Asshole.
Refusing to give him the reaction he wanted, I opened my MacBook and tried to focus on the lecture. Brooks hadn’t brought a single thing to class. He lounged in his chair, scrolling through his phone, like he’d just wandered in here by accident and decided to stay.
I stopped mid-typing when my phone rang in my bag.
“Shit,” I muttered. I yanked my bag onto my lap and dug through the cluttered pocket, pushing aside my lighter and gum wrappers.
“Miss Kenward,” Sinclair warned.
“Sorry.” I winced. “I thought I put it on vibrate.”
Brooks’s name lit up the screen.
Of fucking course.
I switched it to vibrate and shoved it back into my bag.
Five seconds later … buzzzzz.
“Ignore it,” I told myself.
It vibrated again.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Everyone stared at me.
It seemed I owned the loudest vibrating phone on the planet. Sinclair looked like he was ready to kick my ass out.
When I finally caved and grabbed my phone again, Brooks wore the smuggest grin I’d ever seen. He looked like the fucking Joker.
I held the power button down until the screen went black, then showed it to him before tossing the phone back into my bag.
I gave him a how do you like that look.
Unable to stop myself, I leaned closer toward Brooks. “Maybe you should take some notes.” I nodded toward the front of the room. “Learn something while you’re here.”
He dropped his phone onto the desk and turned to face me. “I know the female body pretty well.”
I snorted. “This isn’t Women’s Anatomy.”
“I’m aware.” He dragged his chair closer, crushing my bag beneath one chair leg. His knee wedged against mine under the desk. “I’ve studied women extensively. Especially you.”
Heat climbed up my neck. I was at least thankful he’d lowered his voice.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I rolled my eyes. “Every time with you was completely forgettable.”
“Keep saying that, and I’ll give this class something unforgettable.”
“You’d never, Mr. My Image Comes First.”
Professor Sinclair cleared his throat.
I faced the front.
Brooks ignored him. All his attention was on me.
For the rest of class, I ignored him.
Ignored his comments. Ignored him crowding my space. Ignored him repeatedly stomping on my bag like nothing breakable was inside.
When class ended, Brooks stayed beside my desk.
For the first time all morning, he wasn’t smirking.
He leaned closer. “Your Initiation is Friday. Be ready.”
He gave my desk three knocks before walking away.
I stayed exactly where he left me.
Friday.
It took me a few minutes to move.
When I finally packed up, I found my favorite claw clip had snapped in half and a fresh crack across my iPad.
Brooks was getting a fucking bill for that.
I was halfway to the door when Professor Sinclair stopped me.
“Daphne, my office after class,” he said.
Someone in the background snickered. “Ooh … someone’s in trouble.”
I flipped him off without looking.
“Manners, Daphne,” Sinclair said with a sigh.
“I’m busy later,” I told him. “I’ll stop by after tomorrow’s lecture.”
Sinclair shook his head. “Today. Unless you’d prefer a warning slip. Your third.”
Wonderful.
Now I got to spend my afternoon dealing with two assholes.