A long moment of silence follows my statement.
“Jason Lambert is missing,” Dad says, looking right at me, his face cooling to an impassive stone mask. “There are going to be hourly room checks tonight, and every night until this trip is over—maybe even after that. You might not want to listen to your father, but if you disobey your headmaster, I can and will expel you from this school.”
Archie turns away, leaving me there with an outer calm, and a broken, shattered heart.
“He’s serious about that, isn’t he?” I whisper, and it’s Church that glances my way first.
“I have a bad feeling that he is.”
Slowly, almost in a daze, I move over to my now-dry yukata, hanging on the clothesline, and pull the abandoned note from Mr. Murphy out of the pocket. As I’d expected, the ink’s run, and only one word is still readable.
“Run,” I whisper, just before the wind snatches it away and blows the note over the garden wall and into the dark woods beyond.I throw my bags down on my new bed, the one that sits opposite Church Montague’s. I've been moved (more like kicked out) from the headmaster’s house to here, as his roommate. Spencer, Ranger, and Church got written up for switching rooms without permission, proving right out the gate that my dad is serious about his threats.
“You want to play a game with engagement? Fine. You can bunk with your future husband.”
That’s pretty much the only thing he’s said to me since I okay, boomer’d him at the hot springs.
“Make yourself at home,” Church says, lounging on his own bed, already dressed in his striped pajamas, the top fully buttoned to his throat, as per usual. He taps his long, elegant fingers on the surface of his bedspread as he watches me. “And don’t forget that tomorrow, you should wear the ring.”
“Are you sure about that?” I ask, flicking my gaze in the direction of the nightstand where the little velvet box sits. “Mark gossiping on social media is one thing, but do you really want to make this official?” I turn back to look at the Student Council President as he rises from the bed, unfolding that long, lean form of his in front of me.
“Are you ashamed?” he asks, reaching out to stroke some of my hair away from my forehead. “About being engaged to me?”
“Me?!” I choke out, lifting a brow and trying not to tremble under that blindingly brilliant amber gaze of his. “I figured you were the one who’d be ashamed. Wouldn’t you be better off marrying some heiress or something?”
Church smirks and moves away from me, leaning down to pick up one of the boxes from the floor and setting it on my bed. The top flaps are open, leaving a clear view of the contents inside. On the very top, there’s a female Adamson uniform zipped up in a plastic garment bag. Church lifts it out and examines the navy blazer and plaid skirt inside. It's a junior’s uniform; starting Monday, seniors have to wear champagne colored jackets and blue ties, lucky us! The fact that the new uniforms were late has been yet another stressor on Archie’s plate. Spencer said his mom—who’s on the school board herself—told him some of the other members aren’t pleased with my father’s performance.
I finger the edge of the plastic garment bag and sigh. Dad bought this uniform for me last year and had it waiting in the hotel room the day we were supposed to fly out, like he thought I'd be excited about it or something.
After I'd finished throwing a fit about living in Connecticut, I demanded a boy's uniform, cut off all my hair, and well … the rest is history.
“This may come out as arrogant,” Church says, and I cock a brow, crossing my arms over my chest.
“May come out as arrogant? Well, since most of the things you say are peppered with arrogance, I'm just going to assume that it's bad.” I nod my chin and then gesture up at him. “Alright, go ahead and say it. Come on, Churchie.”
“Churchie?” he asks, laying my abandoned girl's uniform out on the bed and stepping back to examine it. “Interesting choice of nickname.” He lifts his honeyed gaze up to mine and smirks. “But considering you're my fiancée, I'll let you call me whatever you want.” Church turns my way and crosses his arms over his own chest, mimicking my stubborn pose. “You asked if I'd be better off marrying an heiress.”
“Yeah?” I prompt, feeling a tiny bead of sweat work its way down my spine. I'm nervous right now. Why am I nervous? I mean, this is just Church Montague, President of Adamson All-Boys Academy, and prince of the school, the richest person in Connecticut, and my future fake-husband. Hah. Hahahaha. Nothing at all to be nervous about.
