Page 45 of Want It All
‘Um. Green? Pink, maybe? And blue. Oh, red.’ She huffed a tiny laugh. ‘I think I like all of them.’
‘That is supremely unhelpful,’ I drawled. ‘What colours make you feel calm?’
‘Blue, I think. And green. Like, dark greens. Golds? Ocean colours.’
‘Ocean colours.’ I looked around the nest. I could do ocean colours; I was already halfway there.
‘Why do you ask?’
I smiled. ‘No reason.’
There was a short silence. ‘Seb,’ she said tentatively. ‘Are we going to talk about what happened?’
‘I’d rather talk about something else.’
‘Oh,’ she said, and I could hear the hurt in her voice. ‘Okay. Did you have something in mind?’
‘Yes, Rosebud, I do,’ I purred. ‘When are we doing it again?’
It wasn’t until hours later, when I was lying in my nest, the fairy lights casting a soft glow across the bed, that it occurred to me – I’d never asked Tristan whythe Revels had asked him to do it.
Ittookaboutaweek for things to return to normal between Sebastian and me. After the first night spent in his nest, he came back to our bed, but things were strained for the first few days. He didn’t talk about it again, and I didn’t volunteer to start. Even when the tension between us had eased, I wasn’t sure that he forgave me; it was more that he couldn’t hold a grudge any longer than that. My golden love was too good-natured.
He clearly hadn’t told Rose; her manner towards me didn’t change. She treated me as she had before: with nervous warmth.
Something had changed between her and Byron, though. She went bright pink every time he opened his mouth, and his grey eyes went dark with heat every time he looked at her.
And he, clearly,didknow what I’d done.
He didn’t speak to me for days; not until he was standing behind me in the dinner line, Rose and Sebastian safely tucked into seats at the end of a table, deep in a teasing argument about a contestant on a reality TV show.
‘I can’t believe you did that,’ Byron said, his voice low.
Despite myself, I stiffened. No matter how comfortable I was in my own strength, knowing that Byron Griffiths was looming behind me,angry, wasn’t easy. ‘And what, exactly, did I do?’ I said flatly.
‘Risked the safety of two people you had no right to risk.’
I turned and looked him in the eye, watching them darken like a storm. ‘I understand that you’re angry about Rose, and I can’t take exception to that. But you havenothingto do with my relationship with Sebastian. Take your outrage elsewhere, because I don’t want it.’
He studied me evenly. ‘You really are something, Tristan Grace.’
Unaccountably, my stomach twisted into an uncomfortable knot. I couldn’t easily identify the feeling – was it guilt? Shame? – but I knew it wasn’t good.
A moment later, I was doubling down. I could tell him, I supposed, explain everything I’d done to make sure there had been no risk – but why would I care what he thought about me? He wasn’t Sebastian. In a few years, he’d be nothing but a handsome memory.
I raised a disdainful eyebrow and turned away. It didn’t matter what he thought. Sebastian and Rose had always been safe, and the return for these few weeks of discomfort would be membership to the Revels, and Sebastian winning the Banksia Prize.
Byron didn’t say another word. When we walked back to the table, each with two plates in hand, he fell into step beside me, but it was for show; he didn’t want Rose to know that something was wrong. It wasn’t hard for either of us to pretend, because we’d never been overly chatty anyway. All he had to do was hide his repulsion for me, and Rose would never know the difference.
I was more worried about the attraction between Rose and Sebastian. Sebastian knew it couldn’t last, but Rose didn’t; Icould tell he was trying to draw it out for as long as possible. I had a strong suspicion that the length of time would only make it worse when it came to an end, but Sebastian’s choices were his own. When we studied together, Rose practically perched on his lap. In class, Sebastian dragged his desk so close to hers that their knees touched. Neither of them paid much attention to Heathcote, too busy messaging and biting back smiles at secret jokes.
I took copious notes and shared them after class without comment.
Heathcote would have been a good teacher, if he weren’t a bigot. He was knowledgeable and passionate, and although I’d studied some anthropology as part of my undergraduate degree, he expanded on what I knew and made it far more interesting than my other teachers had.
I wondered if that was how he’d gotten away with his bias for so long. Most of the students at Banksia were alphas because most of the students atuniversitywere alphas. How many alphas would evennoticeHeathcote’s comments? And how many of them wouldsaysomething?
I despised him, but I learned a lot.
