Page 57 of Wicked Salvation
His shadow in places he hasn’t been.
A ghost.
A god.
A reckoning.
I’m almostat my first class when I hear another chime.
My eyes sweep my surroundings quickly. Is he nearby? I don’t see Silas anywhere close so I don’t check my phone, just quicken my steps toward the classroom.
Analytical Geometry.
I sit there, but my mind is so far away. It drifts to the grave, to the flowers Lucian left, to the way his voice cracked as he spoke to me about the danger I was in. My lips tingle when I think of how much I wanted to kiss him, followed by the sinking feeling of knowing that he chose not to, even when he could have.
It could have been our secret.
It would have lifted the storm I’m carrying.
Even though I understand him completely, there’s a shameful selfishness mixed in with it all. I want Lucian in my life, and I’m certain of that.
But I can’t have my cake and eat it.
It’s either Silas or Lucian.
And instead of paying attention at how to use algebraic methods to solve geometric problems, I spend the entire class trying to choose between the two—Silas will give me my mother’s approval, secure my future and etch my name in a legacy far more illustrious than I’d ever be able to dream of. He’d tire of me eventually, like everyone else does.
My life with Lucian would be vastly different. I would lose my inheritance and end up living with him—in whatever his living situation is. I won’t have any expensive clothes, and live a modest life. But I’d have a husband who loves me. One who put my happiness—and pleasure—before his own.
One who knows how my mind works and loves me for it, notdespiteit.
I’m imagining Lucian and I walking to the shops together, hand-in-hand when my phone chimes a tone that makes my hair stand on edge. I gave my mother a unique ringtone years ago, so I never end up missing her calls.
I step out of class to answer it, wandering down a nearby hallway.
“Eden?”
“Yes, Mum?” The word feels strange coming out of my mouth, but she titters on the other end. It doesn’t bother her, even though she once slapped me across the face when I said it before.
“How are you, darling?”
My voice dies in my throat.
She’s being nice to me. She’s treating me like she loves me.
But my stomach still lurches. I step out of the hallway and into a quiet spot with a wooden bench and a gilded cross hanging above it. The bench creaks under my weight. I hold my forehead in my hand while I try to find an answer to her question.
Pain blooms where my hand touches my skin.
Makeup might hide the bruises, but not the pain.
“I’m doing fine. On my way to my next class.”
“That’s lovely, dear. I won’t keep you long. I just have a few things to go over…”
My mother starts droning on about the guest list for the engagement party, the decor, the dress she’s chosen for me. Irealize that I’ve checked out mentally when her clipped tone pulls me back to the present.
“Well, what do you think, Eden? I pulled some strings to have the floristandseamstress flown in from Milan on such short notice.” Then she adds, “You also haven’t sent me your list of bridesmaids. The groom will have three, so I expect the same from you.”
