Page 84 of Taming His Teacher

The Headmaster’s jaw has dropped open but before he has a chance to yell at me, his wife is grabbing his arm and tugging him off the old-fashioned couch and toward the door. “Give them a minute, Rett.”

When the Wilsons have left, I sit next to Erin, not touching her though I ache to. I want to hold her so badly I can taste it, bury my face in her sweet-smelling hair and soothe her. Though I’m desperate for her warm little body against mine, I won’t touch her. Not until she says it’s okay.

“So Lana didn’t come to your apartment last night? That was all a figment of my imagination?” I hate the hardness in her voice and have to beat back my own defensiveness. Getting angry at her for doubting me isn’t going to help matters any.

“No, she was there. But not because I invited her and not because I wanted her. If I were having an affair with her, why would I be doing it out in the hallway where any of the guys could see? You know if they thought I was cheating on you they’d kill me themselves.”

It’s true. Erin has quite the devoted following among the students and they can be extremely protective of her. Especially the ones she’s taught or have lived in her dorm. And don’t get me started on the faculty. If Erin had let slip anything Will had done, they’d never find the body. These tweed-and-tie types look all civilized, but if you hurt one of theirs, you’d best watch your back.

“Yes, she was there because she wanted to start something. She’s been trying to start something since we saw her at the dance. But I sent her away, told her I’m with you. Erin, I—” If there’s one thing I learned in my English classes on the Hill, it’s that showing is better than telling. I do some quick mental math and make my last-ditch effort. “Fifteen minutes. Give me fifteen minutes and if you’re not convinced after that that I love you and I’d never do anything to hurt you, especially not sleep with Lana Davis, then I’ll leave. You can stay on the Hill where you belong and I’ll find someplace else. You belong here, no matter what else you decide. But I need you to have all the information before you make your choice.”

* * *

Erin

I want to believe him. Every particle of my body is longing to be convinced. But there’s that horrible voice that always nags at me.That’s what he’s been doing every night we weren’t together. Lana probably flew down and spent the week with him in Fort Lauderdale. That’s why he’s been acting so hopped up and weird for the past month. Her.

But all he’s asking for is fifteen minutes. Even if he has been cheating on me, I could give him that. I gave Will years; surely I can spare fifteen minutes for Shep. Fifteen minutes that might get me my life back.

“Fine. But the clock starts now.”

He holds out a hand and that piece of me that so desperately wants to believe him compels me to slip my fingers through his. A distinct expression of relief settles over his features and then he’s pulling me off the settee and toward the door. “Then we’ve got to get a move on.”

Ten minutes later, we’re standing in front of the art gallery on Main Street. The doors are closed, the lights are dimmed and an off-kilter sign hangs in the picture window facing the street: “We’ll be back at eleven!”

He brought me to a closed gallery why?

But he doesn’t look discouraged or disappointed. Instead he draws something out of his pocket and then he’s sliding a key into the lock. Why does Shep have a key to the gallery? He doesn’t stop for an explanation, but nudges me through the door and through the first darkened room, not bothering to turn up the lights. When we turn the corner into the back room, though, he flicks a switch and the space is illuminated, bathed in bright light.

Like most galleries, this one is usually pretty spare. Pieces hung far apart give you the time and space to consider them, but this—drawings and paintings cover the walls from floor to ceiling, a collage of images that’s almost overwhelming. At first I can’t process it, there’s so many of them, but then something catches my eye.

It’s the drawing of my shoes, my heels lifting out of the backs, the constellation of freckles on the back of my calf I’d never paid much attention to but now I find a secret pride in it, knowing how Shep loves the scatter of tiny brown dots. When I slow my gaze to wander over each of the pictures, my breath hitches in my throat. They’re me. They’re all of me. Some I’ve seen, from his senior art show and from the walls of his apartment, but most I haven’t.

The fall of my hair over a pillow, crossed ankles under a table, a hand holding a piece of chalk up to an overflowing chalkboard. In none of them can you see my face but I know in my heart they’re all me. He’s been so careful to maintain plausible deniability, but here they are, love letters hiding in plain sight again. Dozens upon dozens, and each one chips at my doubt. I spin around, trying to take it all in but there are just somanyof them.

“Time’s up.”

His soft, low words yank my attention from the walls.

“How did you—”

“I took your advice.” The corner of his mouth is curled up in a nervy, hopeful smile. “They’ve been hanging up here for a week. I’ve had a few offers on some of the pieces but I don’t think I’m going to sell any of them. I…I did this for you. You’re the one who’s always supported me, believed in me, made me believe in myself. Gave me the courage to choose what would make me happy. I wanted to show you that you’re the one. You’ve always been the one. I love you and I don’t want to be with anyone else, ever.”

“When did you even…”

“What do you think I do on the nights I’m not with you?”

Guilt squeezes my lungs because it sure as heck wasn’t this. All this time I’ve had pangs of suspicion and mistrust, and he’s been so devoted that he draws me when I’m not around. Even the particularly stubborn brand of paranoia I’ve been cursed with can’t withstand the prodigious amount of evidence that it’s been me in his thoughts, me in his heart since the beginning, and I’ve never left.

“They’re beautiful.”

“How could they not be? They’re you.”

“Shep, I—”

He silences me with a shake of his head and reaches for my hands. I give them over, gladly. I want his touch.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Lana. The only reason I didn’t want you to know she was here is because I knew how much it would upset you. You’ve had so much going on, I didn’t want to add to your load. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you. Whenever I try too hard to protect you, it bites me in the ass.”

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