Page 39 of Dukes of Peril

She shakes her head. “Sorry, it’s just something we have to do.” Her eyes flick over my shoulder and she laughs. “Wow, he’s not liking the two of us talking too much.”

I glance over and see Nick staring our way. His jaw is set, eyes narrowed. He’s suspicious, which makes sense. The last time me and Story teamed up, things didn’t go so well for Nick Bruin.

I turn back to her, eyes rolling. “He’ll survive.”

Her face turns pensive. “How’s that going for you?”

“Me and Nick?” I don’t have to look again to feel his eyes boring into me. I used to resent it. Now it just makes me hot between my legs. He’s not the only one watching, but Sy has out a notebook, at least pretending not to stalk me, and Remy’s focus is completely on not falling apart at the moment. “We’re actually…” My shoulders pull up high, arms crossing. “Uh, together?” I brace myself for the disbelief. The disapproval.

Her eyebrow arches. “So he just needed a little tough love, huh?”

“Something like that.” There’s no judgment in her tone, though. Story is probably the only other person in the world that can understand me falling for a guy like Nick. I’m not exactly sure how far things went for her and her Lords, but I see the cuff on her wrist and the puckered scar lines peeking out of the top of her shirt. “Just tell me what you need me to do for the festival. I’m in.”

“I’ll text you,” she says, drinking the last of her tea and tossing the cup in the nearby trash can. “And seriously, I’m glad you’re helping this year. The other house girls...” She scrunches her nose.

I fill in the blank. “Suck?”

She grins. “Pretty much.”

Back at the table, I hand Remy his marker. “Thanks, Vinny,” he says, tucking it behind his ear.

Nick says nothing about my talk with the Lady, but Sy isn’t quite as good at playing it cool.

“What was that about?” he asks.

“The fall festival thing,” I say, grabbing my coat. I’ve got Chem in ten minutes. “Apparently it’s part of my job as Duchess to help plan it.”

“Bad idea,” Nick says. “We don’t fraternize with the enemy.”

“Yeah, actually we do.” Sy stands, picking up my backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. “A few times a year. It’s in the charter and part of the deal when you join one of the frats.” He gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry I forgot to tell you. Things have been…” He scratches his neck. “Well, you know how things have been.”

“It’s fine,” I assure, even though it isn’t. Five Royal women planning one festival? That’s a recipe for homicide, the likes of which even the Dukes have never seen. Still, I try to stay positive. “It’ll be nice to spend some time with Story, though. You know we’re… friendly. Ish.”

Sy looks uncomfortable about that statement, but Nick?

He steps next to me, arm sliding around my waist. His head drops, mouth warm against my ear. “Promise me the two of you aren’t going to team up against me again.”

I hum, leading him away. “We’ll see how you behave.”

Even havingto spring up the narrow staircase to reach it, the inert quiet of the room that houses the clock tower’s inner workings is a welcome reprieve.

It’s a mess when I enter for the first time in a week, parts and tools strewn everywhere, and I spend a long moment looking at it all. What was I thinking, taking this all apart? As if I could fix something this big–this important.

The plan had been to just start over. To take apart the strike train, and put it back together according to the ancient diagram spread out beneath the bare bulb in the corner. But I only got halfway through it last time I was up here.

Steeling myself, I gather my hair up into a ponytail and get to work, welcoming the distraction. Up here, I don’t have to pretend I can’t see the bulge in Sy’s pants when he watches me reach for a glass. I don’t have to wonder what crazy thing Nick is going to do next. I don’t have to avoid looking at Remy and seeing that flash of memory of Haley on her knees before him. I don’t have to think about my father and wonder how he’ll strike back at us.

The clock is a mess, but it can be put back together.

Will it work, after?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

It’s a long, tedious process, some of the parts looking so similar that it takes me a while to match it up to the diagram on the page. The problem is that I’ve read the materials, memorized the components, and know how it fits together, but I don’t understand it in any organic sense. I know what goes where, but not why, or how it synergizes with the other parts.

I’m almost done–placing the last awkward auxiliary arm–when I hear the door open. I don’t turn around, my arm wound so far into the clock’s guts that it’d be a chore to start over.

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