Chapter 1 Mariella
“Ella, wait up.” Anna’s high-pitched voice carries across Harvard Yard. Her hot pink dress billows as she leaps over a puddle with the elegance of a dancer, rather than a freshman psychology student in platform wedges. Passing students turn their heads before hurrying to their morning classes.
I double back to meet her, the college’s imposing sandstone buildings towering over me. Craning my neck, I trace the slabs of windows, each reflecting a sliver of the sky’s miserable, stony gray.
“Good morning,” I say, stifling a yawn. “Love the dress.”
“Thanks,” she says, shifting onto the tips of her wedges to smack a lip-glossed kiss on my cheek. “I’ll forgive you for making me chase you across the lawn. I was calling you for ages.”
I groan. “Feels like I’m still half asleep.
” I don’t mention my pills, or that I took them too late last night.
My savior medication, designed to stop my paranoia, vivid nightmares, and waking with strange electrical tingling in my limbs.
I shouldn’t complain, even if they do dampen my senses and memories.
They’re working, but the sedative side effects have been… an adjustment.
“Lucky you have me.” Anna bats her false lashes and hands me a coffee.
“You’re the best.” I wrap my hands around the cup and take a sip. “Ugh, how much sugar is in this?”
“Whoops. Sorry, that’s mine,” she says, swapping the cups around. We mosey forward, each gust of wind pushing us along as if to mock our measured pace.
“I forgot to tell you,” Anna says, “they announced the date for the psychology ball last night.” Her sandy blonde hair bobs as she hops over another puddle.
“We’ll get ready together at my place with the girls.
I can’t wait!” She lifts her shoulders and squeals, then nudges me with her elbow.
“Why aren’t you shrieking like a teen at a boy-band concert? ”
“Anna.” Her name comes out with an exhale.
“Nope.” She lifts her manicured hand in front of my face. “You promised. You’re not getting out of this.”
I did promise. But that was… before. Silas’s stormy gaze flashes across my mind, eliciting an ache deep in my chest. “You know balls aren’t my thing.”
“That’s what she said.” She quirks a brow at me, and I try to muster a smile. Her glossy lips pull down into a frown. “Is this because of the police officer?”
“You don’t need me anymore.”
I push Silas’s words away. Leaves flutter to the ground around us, bathing the yard in vivid hues of crimson, burnt orange and golden-brown. At a distance, it must look like the yard is on fire. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Anna exhales. “Ella, I agree it was a bad… situationship, but you broke up months ago.”
“We never dated,” I remind her.
“Exactly. It’s time to move on. You should try this new dating app,” she says, pulling her phone from her dress pocket.
“Look. I matched with the new guy from work this morning.” She flashes me a profile picture of a blond man.
Every inch of his skin is covered in dark ink, multiple piercings hanging from his ears and nose.
“His name is Christiaan,” Anna says. “Hot, right?”
I study the man’s tongue, pressed against his teeth to profile the silver ball of his tongue piercing.
Anna’s green gaze narrows. “What?”
I pinch my lips together to suppress a grin. “Nothing. It’s just—” I gesture to her phone. “I’ve never understood why people do things like that.”
“Like what?” Anna asks. “Body piercings?”
“Piercings. Tattoos. It’s as if their sole purpose in life is to stand out.” If anything, I applaud him for being so daring. Maybe he’s a good match for Anna.
“Being the same as everyone else is boring,” Anna says, linking a goosebump-covered arm through mine. “Being different is exciting.”
It couldn’t be warmer than fifty-three degrees and she’s dressed for a bottomless brunch. I shrug off my favorite brown leather jacket and drape it over her bare shoulders.
She wraps it across her chest and sighs. “I love how warm this jacket is, but I despise everything else about it.”
“You’re welcome, Anna.” I don’t take her comment personally. She never wears the same thing twice or anything that isn’t a designer brand.
We stroll past grand brick buildings with wrought-iron gates, the quiet morning broken by a hawk’s sharp screech. John Harvard’s statue lacks the habitual group of tourists crowded at his bronze feet.
Anna throws her head toward the sky. “I’m so not ready for our midterm, which is the only reason I’m coming to this stupid lecture.”
“You’ll be fine,” I say. “We have a new guest lecturer today. He has a specialty in…”
My mind blanks. I scrunch my eyes shut and search through the medication-induced fog that’s inhabited my brain for the past seven months. I read through our lecture notes twice last night. Why can’t I remember?
“You okay?” Anna asks.
“Psychoneuroimmunology,” I finally cry. “Which studies the relationship between our emotional state and the immune and endocrine systems. Isn’t that interesting?”
Anna laughs. “No. Come on, Ella. You know it’s weird to study the lecture slides before the actual lecture, right?”
My hand finds its way to my throat, clutching the rose-gold, heart-shaped charm on my necklace. “This is the most prestigious psychology school in the state. I’m willing to bet half the class has read today’s slides.”
Anna wraps her arm around my shoulder. “Whatever gets you to sleep at night, nerd. That clever brain’s going to get us both through this degree.”
We arrive at our lecture hall and filter in among our peers. My chest tightens at the sea of heads filling the tiered amphitheater. We squeeze between two groups and sit, Anna still hounding me about the psychology ball in February.
A middle-aged man with round glasses appears at the front of the room. He strides toward the lectern and connects his laptop to the overhead screen. Conversations diminish to a low hum. “Good morning. My name is Professor McGregor, and I’ll be guest lecturing for the next two sessions.”
“Shh, Anna,” I whisper when she starts talking about ball gowns.
She arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Give me a break. He can’t hear me from all the way back here. Besides—”
I ignore Anna, absorbed in Professor McGregor’s introduction, but the moment he finishes each sentence, the words fall away like grains of sand from a dune.
Anna stops talking mid-sentence and smacks my arm. “Ella.” I jerk my arm away and sink lower into my chair. “Ella,” she repeats.
“What?” I whisper, focusing on the overhead screen.
Anna’s acrylic nails dig into my chin, and she forces my head toward a blond man sitting to the front left of the lecture hall. “Would you look at that fine specimen? He’s hotter than flambé.”
I yank my face from Anna’s grasp. “Stop pointing, Anna. I’m trying to listen.”
“But how’ve I never seen him before?” she asks without taking her eyes off him.
“Because you never come to class.” I stifle my grin behind my hand. I’m being unfair. The honest answer is because he isn’t in this class. Unless this is his first time attending, which I doubt, given we’re months into the semester.
“Because you never come to class,” Anna says in a mimicking tone. “You’re so funny.”
“Which brings me to my subspecialty. Psychoneuroimmunology,” Professor McGregor says, and my attention snaps to the front of the room. “Has anyone heard of it before?” he asks, glancing around the lecture hall. “Any guesses as to what it might mean?”
Anna’s elbow nudges me, but I’m already sitting up in my seat.
Answer the question. As the course advances, only the top students will be selected for the psychology honors program and taking part in class discussions is the first step.
My chest tightens. Put your hand up. And I almost do, before Silas’s mantra plays in my mind: Keep your head down and don’t draw attention to yourself.
And my limbs turn to lead, my throat so tight each breath is strained.
I can’t let boarding school repeat itself. I won’t become another target.
“Anyone?” Professor McGregor repeats.
Anna’s elbow strikes me again, this time in my ribs and somewhat more violently.
“What?” I whisper.
Anna’s eyebrows crease. “You know this. Why aren’t you saying anything?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks and I shake my head. Another student answers Professor McGregor’s question and Anna slumps back in her seat.
I release a breath and my eyes sweep over the hall, halting on the man Anna pointed out earlier.
He’s relaxed back in his chair, hands tucked into the pockets of his chinos.
His long legs are extended, ankles crossed as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
I frown at the heavy shadow of his blond beard, concealing the strong jawline beneath. Wait. How could I possibly know that?
The corner of his mouth curves upward into a sexy, tight-lipped smirk, as if he’s heard something amusing.
A dimple appears in his cheek and a wave of heat races through my body, an image of a hand trailing up my thigh flashing in my mind.
Cheeks on fire, I tear my gaze away, but within seconds I’m biting my lip and scrutinizing the tanned skin on the back of his neck. Why does he seem so familiar to me?
“You’re drooling, babe,” Anna says out of the corner of her mouth. “I told you he was a baddie.”
I let out a small laugh, and more than one classmate turns in their seat. I clamp my hand over my mouth with a sharp inhale. “Sorry,” I mumble, returning my attention to Professor McGregor, who’s now going over key points for our upcoming exam.
Concentrate, Mariella.
But my eyes pull back to the man, like a compass needle to magnetic north. He’s sitting next to a dark-haired woman I’ve also never seen in this class. Her black sweatshirt brushes the man’s shoulder each time she leans over to whisper in his ear.
She’s strikingly beautiful despite the dark crescents under her eyes and her gaunt face.
The harsh scowl on her olive skin’s a mere distraction from those prominent cheekbones and full lips.
There’s something dangerous about her allure, reminding me of a leopard stalking its prey.
Strands of dark hair frame her face and her onyx eyes prowl the room, frequently dropping to her dated analogue watch as her slender leg jitters underneath the fold-out desk.
I focus again on the overhead screen and my stomach twists. The class is almost over and for the first time in my life, I haven’t typed any notes. At least I can copy Anna’s.
I stifle a smile. Anna’s asleep, her head resting on her desk with saliva creeping from her mouth.
“Good luck with your midterm,” Professor McGregor concludes.
The lecture hall swells with activity as students gather their things to leave.
Anna jerks awake, her precisely drawn eyeliner now smudged along her temple.
As we wait for the crowd in front of us to file out, I locate the man I’ve been watching, still seated and surveying those around him.
His roaming gaze passes over me at first, but then his head snaps back and our eyes lock, his widening.
He rises to his feet, mouth slack, hands falling by his sides.
My immediate instinct is to look away, but something holds me in place.
“Ella, get your shit,” Anna says, startling me.
I bend down and shove my laptop into my satchel. A wall of my chestnut hair blocks the man from view, yet I can still sense him watching me.
Don’t look! my brain screams.
I look up. He’s definitely still staring.
And it’s—rude. Body rigid, he scrutinizes me.
I wait for him to move. To blink. Do anything other than gawp at me with wide eyes.
A jumble of emotions flicker across his face before his chest rises with a deep inhale, as if he’d forgotten for a moment that he needs to breathe.
My heart rate spikes. Does he recognize me from somewhere? Where? Maybe he knows someone from boarding school? Has he heard the rumors?
He slips his hand into his pocket, and the corner of his mouth kicks up into a slow, disbelieving smile, emphasizing the dimples in his cheeks.
Could this line move any slower?
My gaze drops to my feet and, when I look up, the man is gone.