Page 85 of Roaring Flames

“I have a meeting with Mr. Montgomery,” I lie smoothly, shifting from foot to foot.

Her brows crease. “I don’t think he has any meet?—”

“It’s all right, Olive.” Christian Montgomery stands in the doorway of his office, dressed in dark pants and a form-fitting blue button-up.

Like every time I see him, my breath leaves my body in a whooshing exhale. He is just too handsome to be real, tooethereal to be human. How did I not suspect him to be something otherwordly when I first met him?

His stylish dark hair is longer on the top than the sides, giving him an almost boyish look. But that sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes tell an entirely different story. Those features belong to the devil himself. Stubble grazes his jawline, and an irrational part of me wants to run my fingers across it.

I instantly squash the ridiculous thought.

Bad, Izzy. Bad.

“I forgot to add Isabella to the schedule,” Mr. Montgomery continues, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Oh.” Olive appears flustered, a delicate blush crawling up her neck and creating a home in her cheeks.

I don’t blame her. He has that effect on me too.

“Of course. Go on in, Isabella.”

I give her a tiny smile and step into Mr. Montgomery’s office. He closes the door behind him with a soft click and then moves to sit behind his desk. He folds his hands together and eyes me carefully, his expression unreadable.

After a long moment, he says, “You haven’t been at school in a while.”

“I’ve been…”

Overwhelmed.

Grieving the life I once had.

Confused.

Fearful.

I don’t say any of that. I just allow my words to taper off, giving him the opportunity to fill in the blanks.

He just continues to stare at me, not speaking, his eyes assessing.

I wonder what he sees.

Does he notice the cracks in my armor?

Does he realize how close I am to breaking? Shattering? Losing pieces of myself entirely?

I can pretend to be okay all I want—frozen in this superficial tranquility—but I’ve never felt so out of sorts before. I feel as if I’m pinned beneath a microscope and Christian Montgomery is studying me through the glass lens.

“Is this about the explosion?” Concern darkens his eyes until the sea-blue resembles a tempest in the middle of the ocean.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

I don’t like to think about that either. I grieve Minnie—a girl I barely knew and wasn’t overly nice to me—but I also can’t help but think of the “what-ifs.”

What if I had gone to the theater first thing in the morning like I planned?

What if I’d been in that explosion?

What if…?

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