Page 1 of Cross My Heart

Chapter1

Tessa

Oxford. The city of dreaming spires, ancient legacies… andsecrets.

It’s also the last place in the world I ever expected to find myself, an ocean away from my regular life in Philadelphia, dressed up in a neat blouse and skirt, sipping tea in the gardens of the five-hundred-year-old buildings that make up Ashford College. The oldest, most prestigious of all the Oxford colleges.

And the one that hides the most secrets of all.

“Isn’t it incredible?” one of the other guests coos. Lacey, I think she’s called, and she’s wide-eyed and gasping over every detail of this place. “It was built in the sixteenth century; they shipped all the sandstone over from Florence to build the main cloisters. Can’t you just feel the history?”

“Mmhmm,” I give a vague nod, scanning the crowd. It’s a welcome party for all of us new graduate students at the college, and we’ve been stuck here an hour already: milling around the manicured lawn, drinking weak tea, and meeting the professors and staff. Everyone around me is buzzing with excitement to have finally arrived, and if I’m honest, my nerves are on edge, too.

But for a very different reason.

I look around, waiting for my chance. The crowd is an eclectic mix of graduate students in their twenties and thirties, and brainy-looking professors. Everyone has that awkward ‘first day of school’ look, laughing too loudly at bad jokes, and eager to impress.

“Hello,” a new staff member greets us, pulling me back to the conversation. She’s a tall, serious woman in tweed, her grey hair cut in a severe bob. “And who are you?”

“Tessa,” I introduce myself politely, “I’m here for the year, studying the social politics of eighteenth-century literature.”

“Ah yes, our Ashford scholar,” she says, naming the scholarship I managed to find to fund my trip. “Welcome, welcome, we’re thrilled to have you.”

“And I’m thrilled to be here,” I lie, forcing another perky grin.

“It’s always been a dream to study in Oxford,” Lacey gushes beside me. “I can’t believe I’m finally here!”

Neither can I. But it wasn’t my dream, but aplan.

Carefully made, painstakingly executed, step by step that would bring me here, to Ashford College, and all its secrets.

Secrets I’m determined to reveal, no matter what the cost.

“Are you one of the professors?” I ask the woman politely.

“No, I’m the administrator, Geraldine Wesley,” she introduces herself.

I perk up, recognizing the name. “So, you’ve been on the other end of all those helpful emails,” I say, flashing her a smile.

“That’s right,” she smiles back. “I supervise student life and keep track of everything here at Ashford outside of your studies. So, if you have any questions or concerns, just let me know.”

“I will,” I say, already knowing Geraldine here is going to be very helpful. Because I have a thousand questions, and she’ll give me the answers…

Just not the way she thinks.

Somebody taps a glass, and everyone quiets. It’s the head of the college, a bumbling, tweedy kind of guy stepping into the middle of the garden. “Welcome, welcome,” he beams at us. “It’s so wonderful to have you all here. I’d like to share a few words, about the legacy of our college, and what an incredible opportunity you have here…”

People move closer to listen, all eyes on him. It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for.

Nobody notices me carefully backing away from the crowd, and slipping out of the garden, down a passageway and out to the cobblestone courtyard in the middle of the campus.

I don’t have much time, so I walk quickly, tracing the route I memorized across the college grounds. It’s September, and the semester has just begun, so there are a bunch of other students around, going about their day or studying on the quad. Ashford College looks like something out of a magazine, with the fall leaves turning gold, and all the preppy, studious undergrads around. Exclusive. Prestigious.

Dangerous.

The administrators’ offices are just on the other side of the quad, up a flight of narrow, creaky stairs. I’m betting that in a place this old, they won’t have installed many new alarm systems or security gear, and I’m right. Geraldine’s door just has an old-fashioned keyhole set beneath the handle. And in a small, exclusive college like this, with high gates and security on the front entrance, there’s no reason to keep it locked all day while she pops out to meet us new students at the garden mixer…

Holding my breath, I slowly turn the handle.

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