Page 6 of Deceit

“I’m assuming you’re lost? C’mon. I’ll show you around,” she smiles.

Relief flutters through me as I throw an irritated farewell look to the useless map, before I hand my phone over to Maggie. Her eyes flicker across it before she smiles and nods.

“Perfect. We have history up first together. Let’s go,” she says as she starts practically booking it across campus. Thank god I didn’t opt for heels today.

Finally, we come to a door that Maggie opens for me before sweeping her arm out in a grand way that makes me laugh.

“Thank you,” I smile, as I step inside the lecture hall.

It isn’t nearly as large as I expected, with only five rows of seating available in three sections. That doesn’t mean that just like the rest of this school, it isn’t drenched in opulence. The ceiling is high and arched sharply, continuing with those seventeenth-century themes that seem to have been embalmed in this city and especially in this university.

My eyes move across the room, looking up at one of the black stained windows, or maybe it’s closer to a grey color. The intricate patterns and designs on each vary. Some have religious crosses, while others are too hard to make out from downhere. Several large chandeliers decorate the ceiling, surprisingly bright for how old they appear.

I expect her to ditch me now, obviously not owing me a single thing as she goes in search of her friends. Instead, she loops her arm through mine, walking me towards the middle back of the room before plopping down into a seat. I give her a cautionary look, making sure it’s okay that I sit before she looks at me strangely and nods.

Setting down my bag, I slide into the seat and adjust my posture, always making sure to be presentable and attentive. That was one of the first lessons I learned back in London, first impressions are everything. It’s how you set yourself up for the world, and the way everyone will always perceive you.

“Why are you sitting like that?” Maggie asks.

I tuck my folded hands into my lap as I turn to her with a raised brow.

“Sitting like what?”

She mimics my posture, sticking her nose in the air as she does.

“All prim and proper, there is no one of importance around here. You’re fine, relax.”

I go to tell her she’s clearly never met my father, that he would argue that there is always someone of importance on the horizon. However, I can’t help but test the theory slightly, relaxing just a bit into the chair, instantly feeling a sense of relief as I do.

Maggie’s smile is playing at her mouth as she watches me before shaking her head and laughing.

“We’ll have to work on that.”

I smile and shrug my shoulders. “So, do you have any siblings?”

Her smile strains and her eyes squint slightly as she shrugs.

“Not blood.”

I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. I think that’s the end of the conversation when she continues.

“Stepsister. Total cunt.”

I grimace at that. “My condolences.”

She laughs and nods when a smooth voice practically croons from above me.

“Well, hello."

My eyes go up and up and up, until they land on a guy with blond hair, bright green eyes and a blinding white smile. His skin is perfectly tanned, like he spent all summer outside. His white polo shirt and tan slacks make him look like every bit the trust fund baby he no doubt is. I can’t deny a fluttering that runs through me, as his eyes obviously rake over me like I’m a five course feast before him.

“Hello,” I smile politely, doing my best to keep my tone even under this man’s stare .

“What’s your name, babygirl?”

“Skyla Parris, and you?” I ask, with an outstretched hand.

He takes my hand in his, practically dwarfing it. He wraps his other hand around mine, lifting my knuckles to his lips as he does. A strange look passes across his face when he hears my name, before his grin widens as if that were even possible.

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