Page 52 of Lunar Crest University

Rosewood Londonis a beautiful hotel, with chandeliers and stunning marble stairwells. There’s plush furniture that accents the lobby and a courtyard outside at the entrance that makes for an amazing view. It’s luxurious and elegant in every sense of the word, even though words don’t quite do it justice when you’re looking at it in person.

I’m so busy admiring it all as I wait in the lobby, I don’t even realize Finley has come down from her room until she’s clearing her throat next to me.

“This is the fanciest hotel I’ve ever seen.”

I chuckle faintly. “Impressed?”

She nods.

I look down at her, and my exhale is shaky as I take in the brown, long-sleeved dress and cream-colored, thigh-high boots she wears. Her hair is slicked back into a high ponytail, showing off the entirety of her face, and I’m in awe. Her cheeks are pink, matching the shade of lipstick she’s wearing, and she diverts hereyes as I take her in. She looks elegant dressed up like this—a side I haven’t seen of her, yet. Resisting the urge to reach out and tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me, I shove my hands in my pockets.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I tell her, my voice low. “What I was trying to say was that it wasn’t my intention to make you feel that way. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I didn’t care. My head was all over the place, and I wasn’t thinking about how that may come across.”

She frowns, her brows crinkling slightly as she peers sheepishly up at me.

“I don’t want to ever make you feel like I’m using you, Finley.”

“Then whatareyou doing?” she asks in a small voice.

I’m not sure how to answer her question because I don’t think I even know, but like clockwork, Genevieve comes waltzing down the marble stairs before I can try to respond. Her blue eyes give Finley a once-over before falling on me, a smirk resting on her overly glossy lips.

“Dressing up for us, Professor Serrano?”

Give me a fucking break.

Looking down at my attire, I force a smile. “No, Ms. Pierce. These are just my clothes.”

The way Finley’s shoulders slump as her body practically folds in on itself is like a flashing red signal as I glance at her quickly. She doesn’t look nearly as confident as she did when she first came down, and I hate that. I hate that she allows thisgirlto make her feel less about herself when she’s the prettiest person in this room. Inanyroom.

Genevieve hums happily despite my dull response, jutting her chin to her shoulder with a smile before she saunters past us and toward the front entrance.

I look down to see Finley staring up at me, almost like she’s trying to gauge my facial expression, before she crosses her arms over her chest and stalks past me too. Her ponytail grazes the tip of my nose as it sways with her sassy hip movements, and I catch the faint scent of her perfume as she follows Genevieve. She smells like warm vanilla, and all my dirtiest thoughts of her come to life.Fuck. Me.

This is going to be a long night.

Chapter Twenty-One

LUCA

MONDAY, OCTOBER 23RD, 2023

Holborn Dining Roomis almost as elegant as our hotel, with fancy chandeliers hanging overhead and red leather upholstered seats. Even though the lighting is on the dimmer side for dinnertime, I can still see the glossy haze in Finley’s green eyes. She’s on her second glass of wine before the waiter has even brought out our food, but I can’t say I blame her with the way Genevieve is putting on a flirty display next to me as she talks—her hand falls on my arm every now and then as she throws her head back with a laugh.

I don’t even know what the fuck she’s laughing at. I haven’t really been listening. My attention span is only big enough forone, and she’s sitting across from me, chugging her wine and gripping the glass as if her life depends on it.

If we were alone, I’d tell her she’s being a brat. Irresponsible. She’s taking her frustrations out on the wine and making no attempt to hide the daggers she’s shooting at Genevieve from across the table.

I want to wrap that ponytail in my fist as I?—

“How old are you, Professor Serrano?” Genevieve asks.

I sigh quietly. “Older than you.”

She smirks before pursing her lips. “Thirties?”

As I lift my gaze, it’s not Genevieve it falls on, but Finley. She throws her head back, downing the rest of her glass and licking her top lip as her eyebrow quirks at me in a silent dare, beckoning me to answer the question—but I don’t. My lips are sealed. Our eye contact doesn’t falter until she breaks first, looking down at her lap. I fight the arrogant smile that pulls at my lips and reach to take a sip of my own wine.

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with thirties,” Genevieve continues, completely oblivious. “I like thirties. More mature. Moremanly…you know?”

---