Page 101 of Kingmakers, Year One

I use the information to plan our date. It can’t be anything as prosaic as a walk around the island or going to the cafe in the village.

I have to impress her. I have to make her feel something—something that will cut through the morass of her attachment to Leo Gallo.

I wait for her outside her dorm. She comes down a few minutes late, looking hesitant, like she considered not comingdown at all. I can tell she took care getting ready though, and that’s all the encouragement I need.

I no longer dislike Anna’s odd way of dressing. Instead, it’s having a Pavlovian effect on me. The moment I see her torn tights or her thick black eyeliner, my cock stiffens and my heart races. I want to tear those tights right off of her. I want to see her makeup run down her face with those full, pouting lips wrapped around my cock.

But not yet . . .

I have to be patient.

I take her off campus, because I know she’ll never be comfortable inside the walls of Kingmakers where Leo might see us together.

“Where are we going?” Anna asks me.

“You’ll see.”

We head down the winding main road of the island that leads from the school down to the harbor. I walk slow, wanting to have plenty of time to loosen Anna up with conversation about her favorite books. I already know from one of her sister’s letters that Anna loves Jane Austen novels, and I read one on purpose earlier in the week, sitting in one of the overstuffed armchairs in the library.

I mention it casually, and watch Anna’s face light up as she says, “I lovePersuasion! Everybody thinksPride and Prejudiceis her best one, butPersuasionhas such a beautiful arc from melancholy to happy . . .”

I don’t see it as deceiving her. I see it as evidence of what I’ll do to make her happy. What I’ll do to give her the conversation she deserves—centered around her likes and interests, instead of around whatever bullshit Leo Gallo would have talked to her about. He wouldn’t have read a book just to discuss it with her. He wouldn’t have spent all week planning a date.

When we get to the sheep farm, I take Anna right into the little stable I staked out earlier in the week.

“What are we—” she asks again. Then she breaks off, seeing what I brought her to see.

Three little lambs curl in a pile, two white and one black.

Their mother stands nearby, looking exhausted.

“What are they doing here?” Anna asks in amazement.

“Sometimes they come early in the winter,” I say. “This ewe had three, so the farmer’s been bottle-feeding them. He said we could help if we wanted.”

Actually, I bribed him with a substantial wad of cash so I could bring Anna here on this little excursion. I figured from her sister’s letter that she must love animals.

Sure enough, she gladly takes the bottle of warm milk I fetch from the farmhouse and kneels down in the straw so she can give it to the greedy lambs. The ewe doesn’t care—she seems relieved that we’re here to share the workload.

The lambs are only three days old. Their knees are still knobby and uncertain, their coats puffy and clean. They tumble over each other fighting for the bottle. Anna laughs with delight, pulling them onto her lap and feeding them in turn.

The little black lamb nibbles at her fingers and one of the white lambs tries to sample her hair. Anna pressedsher nose between their ears and inhales the clean scent of their wool.

I don’t give a fuck about the lambs, I’m watching Anna—watching her face soften, her lips part, her defenses drop.

At Kingmakers she’s always so intent on showing that she’s tough and emotionless. Here, just a couple of miles away, just us and the animals with no one else to see, I catch a glimpse of the real Anna. The same one I saw the night of the party. The one with a vulnerable heart.

“Do you want to feed them?” Anna asks, looking up at me.

“Sure,” I say, just for an excuse to sit down beside her in the hay.

I grab one of the white lambs and stuff the bottle in its mouth. It snuggles up against me, its rapid little heart beating against my hand. I’m surprised how soft its wool feels, and how comforting its warmth and weight seems, despite its tiny size.

“I’m not a vegetarian,” Anna says. “But I could never stand to eat lamb. They should have some time to live, even if they’re slaughtered in the end.”

“I think they just use these sheep for wool.”

“Have you ever seen pictures of that sheep that ran away and hid in a cave for six years?” Anna laughs. “When they finally caught him his coat had grown so big that they shaved sixty pounds of wool off him.”

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