Page 29 of The Good Girl

Chapter Twenty-Four

Elena

Ispend my lunch break in the music room with my violin, just as my father suggested. I should be practicing for the pep rally we have coming up with the rest of the cheerleading squad, but the masquerade ball is coming up too, and my father wants me to play a piece just before he gives a speech and announces my engagement to garner support in the election. I don’t know why he tries so hard sometimes, the election can easily be bought, and with the backing of The Society, it’s virtually a sure thing.

I try to lose myself in the music, but it feels flat. My knees ache from kneeling outside my father’s office for three hours yesterday on a straw mat as punishment for being insolent. I was here early this morning too, and I’ve been practicing at home, but the bow feels wrong in my hand, and my chin feels like it's beginning to bruise as I butcher Beethoven’s music. Tristan was right, I sucked. I chastise myself, my father asked me to do this. I couldn’t disappoint him. I wouldn’t.

Sighing softly, I keep going, my fingers moving over the strings, ignoring how they bite into my skin as I force it. Sweat begins to bead on my forehead, and I bite back frustration as I ruin another note. Finally, I pause and inhale. I need to calm down and try again.I am not a failure. I am not a disappointment. I am just tired,I tell myself. I lower the violin as a lone clap echoes around the room.

Turning, I see Tristan standing in the doorway, clapping slowly with a huge grin. He looks tired, and there’s another mark on his face, a gash from his eyebrow to his jaw this time, nestled in a pretty purple bruise. I don’t ask, because I don’t need to know. I could already feel myself softening towards him and I hated myself for it.

“Sonata No.9 has never sounded so shit,” he laughs as he enters the room.

“You think you can do better?” I hiss, annoyed. “Then here, have at it.”

I shove the instrument into his chest, getting a pang of enjoyment at the look of surprise on his face. Was he expecting me to cry at his comment? Was I supposed to care what he thought?

“What’s happened?” His concerned voice makes me frown. Putting the violin down on a nearby table, he grabs my hand. Turning it over, he looks at the red angry lines forming on my fingertips, and we both stare as a droplet of blood begins to form on my index finger. Without saying a word, he takes my finger in his mouth and gently sucks. This is more than when his hands rested on my thighs at Hunter’s house. I can feel his tongue flick over my skin as he slowly moves up the length of my finger. I stand, rooted to the spot, confused. Drowning in sensations. What on earth was happening here?

I finally catch myself, and placing my hands on his cheeks, I trace the wound with my thumb before pressing down on it and shoving him away. He yelps as he steps back, eyeing me wearily as he sucks in a sharp breath. I can see the way his trousers begin to bulge that he gets off on the small amount of pain I inflict on him, and I sneer.

“What the fuck was that?” I demand, glaring at him like he’s lost his mind. “Keep your hands and your mouth to yourself.”

He straightens up, that smirk appearing as he cocks his head at me. “Jesus, how sexually frustrated are you if that got you all hot and bothered?”

Crossing my arms, I roll my eyes. Why did it feel like Tristan Radcliffe was everywhere I turned these days? I couldn’t even have ten minutes in the music room anymore? “I am not hot and bothered.”

“Really?” He leans against the desk and swipes his thumb across his bottom lip before crossing his arms and mocking my stance. Why did that make my chest feel tight? “The fact that you just got violent with me says otherwise.”

I grab my violin case from the floor and begin putting my instrument and sheet music away as I smile sweetly. “If it wasn’t illegal, I’d always be violent towards you.”

My body brushes against his as I reach across the table he’s leaning on to grab my bow. Placing it inside the case, I close the lid and secure the clips with a snap.

Leaning in, so that I get a hint of something musky, he whispers, “Don’t lie. The Society would help you hide my body if you wanted me dead. You want me very much alive and breathing.”

It’s impossible to miss the suggestive tone of his voice, but Tristan isn’t on my ‘to-do’ list this week, or next. I have other things I need to take care of, and he isn’t even a stray thought. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Stretching out, his arm crosses in front of me as he uses it to prop himself up. “C’mon, Lena, when was the last time you got laid?”

His dark eyes burn into my skin as he watches my face, I don’t know what for, embarrassment? A blush? I refuse to give him whatever it is he wants.

“It’s none of your business,” I reply calmly as his hand comes around my wrist. He tugs gently and reverses our positioning so that I now have my back to the desk, and I’m pinned in place with his body. “As your future husband—”

I lift my chin defiantly, cutting off his words. “You’re not my husband yet. My current sex life is still none of your business.”

“Current? So, there is someone?” he murmurs as he leans in, lips inches from mine. I’m aware that his free hand is resting on my hip, and it’s almost like a gravitational pull as my body moves closer to his.

“Why are you so invested?” I ask, not shrinking away from whatever game he is playing. He was not going to make me hang off his arm like Blip. I wasn’t going to drop my panties and beg for his attention, and I certainly wasn’t going to make it easy on him.

His lips brush against mine, and I feel his smile as he says, “Because, you’re mine.”

Tristan freezes as I snake my hand up his chest, fingers dancing over the exposed skin of his neck, until I’m cupping his face. We both stand perfectly still, caught up in a moment as I follow the lines of his cheekbones up...and shove my fingers into his bruised injury again, pushing hard enough to bring him to his knees.

“Not yet I’m not,” I growl, watching him glare at me from his position on the floor. Using my foot, I push him back onto his ass, which is where I leave him as I stride out of the classroom, more exhausted than I was ten minutes ago.

* * *

I’ve avoided Tristan as much as I can for the remainder of the week, but he always seems to be lingering, watching with his intense stare, and I know he’s just waiting for another opening. I make it to Friday, barely, and feel like I need to crawl out of my own skin to escape. The pep rally tonight has been a huge thing on my list, and I’m glad it’s finally out of the way so that I can focus on the violin. I gave it my all during our routine, cheering and shouting until my throat felt raw, but I was far from exhausted. I still needed to dance after this, I still had too many things on my mind that I had to untangle so that I could get through the next week. Dancing was like my drug, and I practiced through the week, but Friday was my day to blow off steam. No rules, no expectations, I just felt it. I moved without planning, without thinking, and sometimes without music. I craved that.

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