Page 21 of Sinful Skulls
Fuck.
She yawns and stretches in her bed. “Another day in paradise,” she says, hopping up to get ready.
“Yeah,” I agree, shoving my blankets off.
“A couple of the girls invited us to go to Versailles with them this weekend. I think it will be fun. Do you want to go?”
“Um, yeah, sure.”
She pauses. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I think I’m just struggling with the time change.”
“Ugh, I hear that. Anyway, I’ll tell them we’re in.”
The rest of the day moves at a snail’s pace. My head is so fuzzy, I can’t concentrate.
I wonder if my biological father is the reason I’m here. Did I get the scholarship because Dean Baxter is my uncle? Or maybe my father paid for everything.
Is this why my parents were hesitant about me coming here?
I rub my temples. God, I have so many questions.
After my last class, I mindlessly wander the halls, heading to the Dean’s office. I bump right into him.
He grabs me by my arms. “Whoa there.” He tips my chin. “Are you okay?”
Why does everyone keep asking me that? Do I look that bad?
“Yeah. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Why don’t we head over to my house? It’s just a few blocks away. I’ll fix you a homecooked meal.”
“That’s okay. I have plans …”
“I wanted to show you some of my paintings,” he interrupts.
He’s got me there, because I am curious to see his art. I wonder if it’s like mine.
“Sure,” I say on a sigh, giving in.
He smiles wide. “Let me grab my bag.” He quickly steps inside his office.
I wait patiently in the hall, excited to see his art. Maybe it will help me understand myself a little better.
The dean locks his door and then guides us out of the building. We’re both quiet as we walk to his townhouse. When we get there, I smile. It’s beautiful inside and out.
“We’ll eat first,” he says, leading us toward the kitchen.
He points to a chair at the counter, empties his pockets, and then rolls up his sleeves. I listen to stories about him and his brother while he prepares our meal. “Our parents were artists too,” he tells me.
“So, it’s safe to say it runs in the family,” I joke, finally beginning to relax a little.
“You can say that.” He pours each of us a glass of wine and hands me one. He leans against the counter as we wait for our supper to finish cooking. “I’m really glad you agreed to join me tonight.”
“I guess I’m curious about my biological family.”
He nods. “When we’re here at home, you can call me Henry.”
