Page 40 of Wicked Waters

Roman:

Not your fault and you’re worth it

Me:

Thank you *heart emoji*

Roman:

*heart emoji* *heart emoji*

I smiled down at the little emojis. How could a tiny collection of pixels lift my mood so much?

Since Aria had been forced into remaining in the common room and I was alone, I decided to make the most of my free time and return my library books, then get back to my extra-credit assignment for my history class. Only five of us in the class had taken on the project, and while it didn’t count towards our A-level results, our final papers would be submitted for potential publication in The Historical Review, a prestigious academic research journal. It was an amazing opportunity, especially for someone who had hopes of becoming a historian one day, which Penelope and I both did. We’d been discussing ideas for our papers, and I’d been researching my chosen discipline, but I had yet to narrow down the final subject of my paper.

I lost track of time, buried in the library stacks, until my phone beeped softly with the reminder I’d set for today’s ball committee meeting. Gathering up my notebook and the new books I’d borrowed, I made my way back to the dorm room.

Stopping dead in the centre of the room, I stared at my bed, at the place I’d thrown Roman’s hoodie.

It was gone.

23

QUINN

“The committee meeting will come to order.” Penelope banged a gavel on the desk. Where she’d managed to get an actual gavel from, I had no idea, but she seemed to be overly enthusiastic about bashing it on the wooden surface. The members of the ball committee were seated in one of the classrooms, Penelope at the front as the head of the committee, and the rest of us spread out across several of the desks. Freya and Harriet occupied the desk to my right, and behind them were Katy and Will. The rest of the committee members were other A-level students who I knew but didn’t particularly spend time with.

The door flew open with a crash, and Tristan strutted inside, throwing himself down into the seat next to me. He ignored Penelope’s huff of annoyance at being interrupted, shooting her a wink as he rocked back in his chair.

“Your latest committee member, reporting for duty. Anyone want to catch me up on what I’ve missed?”

“What are you doing here?” Penelope’s brows were raised. “I thought you said you didn’t want to be involved with the organisation of the ball.”

He sighed. “I don’t, but Professor Donnelly made me. Said it was part of my head boy duties. So here I am, gracing you all with my presence.”

Penelope nodded, accepting his words. “If that’s all, let’s get on with today’s agenda. I thought we could have staff circulating with canapés through the evening…”

Tristan dipped his head to my ear. “I’m actually here because Roman’s a paranoid bastard, and he wants me to keep an eye on you to make sure no one gives you any shit. He told me about the text you sent him about the hoodie, and I have my suspicions.” His gaze slid to Freya and then back. “Doesn’t really help with the rumours that things are going on between us, does it?”

“No, but I’m glad you’re here,” I said honestly. “I can’t believe?—”

“Quinn.” Penelope spoke loudly. Her brows pulled together, her expression instantly contrite. “Sorry, but this is important.”

I nodded. “Of course. Sorry. I’m listening.”

She smiled and continued her rundown of the plans, but my mind wandered. Would Freya really take the hoodie? I didn’t think she was that petty. My roommates hadn’t seen any sign of it, so it hadn’t been accidentally tidied away. I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling inside me, sitting heavy in my stomach.

“This is fucking boring, isn’t it?” Tristan whispered to me.

“Hmm.” Tapping my pen against my lips, I pretended to think. “Maybe you should contribute to the discussion. Make some suggestions.”

“Oh, I have suggestions.” He smirked at me.

“Tristan. As you’re the head boy, could you join me at the front?” Penelope said sharply, and I grimaced when I realised everyone was staring at us.

“I’d love to,” he replied, drawing his chair back with a loud screech, and then sauntered up to the front of the classroom. “I have some ideas. Let’s get into this ancient Greece theme. Dress the staff in togas. Our gods—of which I will be one—should receive crowns of laurel wreaths made from actual laurels, and each will be served by a harem of women.”

“Absolutely no to a harem. Yes, to the togas, no to the laurel wreaths. My parents are contributing a generous amount towards the budget, and so I’d like us to have laurels of gold, as we usually do.”

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