Page 95 of Wicked Court

“I know, right? Which means it must be truly superb for me to actually follow instructions. Anyway, they’re allowing us to bring a friend tonight. And I think…” she chews on her lip, ruminating over her next words. “I think you should be my plus one.”

A beat of hesitation wavers within me. Accept the invitation or decline?

Sasha scrutinizes my expression, the shiftiness in her eyes a sure sign she expects, even hopes, for a certain response.

My decision hovers between us like another being, asking for a choice that feels weightier than it should.

Maybe she’s going through something, too. I haven’t been around enough to notice, and as a genuine friend, that is inexcusable.

“No strings attached,” Sasha adds quickly, sensing my trepidation. She wraps her slender fingers around her tangled hair and pulls it up into a messy bun. “Just some fun. And I mean, really good fun.”

Intrigue gnaws at me. This is as good an excuse as any for an escape from the turmoil between who I am and who I’m becoming. Not to mention the ruby Heart and Cav’s fury when I apparently only gave him half.

It doesn’t matter. My part in their treasure hunt is done. I can’t offer him any more.

“Okay.”

The word slips from my lips before I’m even conscious of the agreement.

Sasha grins. “Yes! I’ll meet you back here at 9 tonight. And wear a black dress. This isn’t your typical campus party, trust me.”

Chapter 29

Elara

For the rest of the day, every lecture hall feels like a furnace, stoking the fires that kindled while I slept.

Words from professors drift in and out of focus, mere background noise. I try to concentrate on the intricacies of gothic architecture, but my thoughts stray, constructing not cathedrals, but scenarios—each one starring the men who have unwittingly become the engineers of my obsession.

Even now, as I jot down notes because I forgot to charge my laptop last night, my handwriting betrays me, curving and twisting into shapes that remind me of the hard lines of Axe’s body, the sharpness of Wilder’s teeth. The curve of Kaspian’s lips.

I shake my head, chastising myself for this distraction, and yet it’s a battle I’m not sure I want to win.

“Elara?”

My neighbor, Helen, whispers under the hum of the professor’s discussion. “You’re missing the point about the flying buttresses.”

“Oh. Sorry,” I reply, swallowing down annoyance, then instantly feeling guilty. Usually, she and I compare notes even in class. Why am I suddenly protective of what I’m doing? “I’ll catch up.”

The day drags on, a relentless march of hours.

As much as I hate to admit it, I was hoping to glimpse them somewhere, but they’re nowhere to be found or “accidentally” run into at the food halls, the quad, the parking lot…

Ugh. Even I disgust myself at this point.

As dusk falls and the promise of escape looms closer, I accept that I might not see them again. In their eyes, I fulfilled my role. I gave up my family heirloom, this alleged priceless ruby.

Broken.

The other half lost.

Where could it be?

No. I stare at my reflection in my vanity mirror firmly. I will not fall down that rabbit hole.

The freedom of a night out, away from campus, is just the escape I need.

And tequila. So much tequila.

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