Page 106 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

“…It is?”

“It’s the only medium of art which, to outsiders, appears so fantastically alien that they have no desire to engage with it and sully the waters.”

“Sully?” I ask sharply. “Really? Then why am I here, if I’m just going to besullyingthe good name of opera?”

“Because you deserve the finer things in life,” Rory answers with ease. “Were you not listening to me the night of the dance? Opera may require a degree of education to decipher but I endeavor to make it worth your while.”

I nod slowly. “So you don’t understand it, either. You just pretend you do.”

Rory smiles at me as though my statement is in some way amusing. “No, little saint. I understand opera quite well.”

“But it’s an elitist art form—”

“How many times have I told you to stop parroting Fin?” Rory asks casually, and he takes a sip of water. “Opera isnotelitist. It’s intricate. It requires time and effort to pick apart and understand, and there’s nothing like the hit of satisfaction when you succeed.”

“The elites,” I say pointedly. “People with spare time to dabble in opera are elitist.”

“I do notdabblein anything,” Rory states with swift, unexpected passion, his gray eyes on me like sun-warmed stone. “I give everything I pursue my utmost. The entirety of my being.”

Rory’s gaze on me is a hot, burning thing. I take a cool drink of water, because this is starting to sound less about opera and more about something else, something undefinable. Something more dangerous. Something that has me itching for the fuzziness brought on by wine instead of the clarity of fresh, filtered water.

“That’s what it means to be a leader,” Rory notes, as a waiter approaches to take our orders. “The way you will be soon.”

“And Istilldon’t understand why I have to be a leader—”

“Because I want you,” Rory declares seriously, so loud that people from the next table stare at us. “I’ve wanted you right from the start, little saint. And in time I may ask you a question that’ll fuse both of us for eternity, bodies and souls as one. To be in that position, as the partner of the Lord of Lochkelvin, I’ll need you to learn our ways.”

I blink at him in astonishment, barely daring to breathe. Right now, it feels as though Rory’s making as much sense as the menu. “A question?” I ask him, lost.

“You know the sort,” Rory answers amiably, his silver-gray eyes fixed on mine. “The type usually asked with a ring.”

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