Page 41 of Cross My Heart

I should have guessed that Saint would be connected somehow. After all, if there really is some secret society here at Oxford, Professor Anthony St. Clair and his illustrious friends seem like the most obvious members. They’re rich, aristocratic, connected… Exactly the kind of people to belong to a group like that. Saint wasn’t here at Oxford at the same time as Wren, so I can thankfully rule him out of being involved, but Max Lancaster…?

He knew Wren, maybe even dated her, or was secretly hooking up behind Annabelle’s back. Wren hated cheaters, she would never be the ‘other woman’ and sneak around, but what if she didn’t know he had a girlfriend? Max is a charming guy, I saw that for myself tonight, and if he turned the full force of his dashing good looks and playboy routine on my nerdy, play-it-safe sister…?

Well, maybe she wanted to let go and live a little. Have a wild British fling.

Not realizing there might be consequences.

The questionswhirl in my mind over the next few days. Questions, and sensual memories of Saint… But it turns out, I have to put a pause on any extracurriculars, because the semester kicks into high gear, with lectures and assignments demanding all of my time, until I feel just about brain-dead trying to keep up. Still, Saint texts me. Small, flirty messages, and invitations to have another date.

‘Another?’ I text back, from my regular study spot, deep in the Ashford library stacks. ‘I must have missed the first one…’

‘You came, that makes it a date,’ the reply says, making me smile.‘In fact, that makes it two now. Third time’s a charm?’

‘Your charm will have to wait,’ I type, ignoring the butterflies of anticipation in my stomach.‘I have two essays due, and a seminar to prepare for. And my professor is a real piece of work.’

I tuck my phone away and focus on my never-ending reading list of weighty eighteenth-century thinkers. But I’m not sure whether I’m keeping my distance from Saint because I really am snowed under with academic work…

Or because I know that just a few moments alone with him will make me forget about it all: my course load, my investigations.

My self-control.

It’s safer to just ignore his charming messages—and the lavish basket of gourmet snacks he has delivered to the apartment, along with a note.

“Brain fuel,” Jia reads aloud, as we all poke through the goodies on Friday night. “Study hard.”

“Ooh, these are the fancy chocolates,” Kris celebrates, biting into a truffle. “And is that… Dom Perignon?” He plucks the bottle of champagne out of the basket. “I wish a rich duke would try and seduceme.”

“He’s not seducing me,” I argue automatically. Then I pause. “Well, kind of… Is that bad?” I ask, sampling a truffle. They are delicious. “Against the rules of the college, or something.”

“I mean, it’s frowned upon, but what are they going to do?” Jia replies. “You’re both consenting adults. If you want to bang like bunnies all over Ashford, nobody can stop you.”

“We’re not banging,” I say quickly.

“Yet,” Kris gives me a smirk. “You know what? We should have a picnic, put all this fancy food to good use. It’s your birthday tomorrow,” he says to Jia—and keeps talking over her protests. “And yes, I know you don’t want to do anything big to celebrate the impending march towards death, so we’ll keep it small. The three of us, this Italian pistachiofoie gras,and all the chocolate you can eat.”

Jia relents. “Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But there better not be any balloons!”

Saturday dawns bright and blue-skied,a perfect September day. I squeeze in a couple of hours at the library, then stop by the gatehouse to subtly quiz one of the porters if they have any security cameras around.

“Why, you get something nicked from your mailbox?” he asks, sorting through packages.

“Yes,” I fib. “My friend swears they dropped it off for me, last Friday night. I thought if we could take a look at the security footage, we could see who took it. Or if my friend is lying,” I add with a little laugh.

I haven’t forgotten about that mysterious party invitation—or the scribbled note on the back.

‘I know what happened to Wren.’

Whoever wrote it hasn’t been in touch again, and I’m getting impatient, wondering who it is who’s pointing me towards the secret society. I figure, if I can get a glimpse of them dropping off the envelope…

But the porter just gives me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, love,” he says. “We only store our video for three days—and just between us, the camera in the mailroom’s been out for a month. Keep meaning to get it fixed but… Anyways, your best bet is to have them leave things with us at the front desk here. We’ll make sure you get it.”

“Oh.” My hopes fall. “Thanks all the same.”

It looks like there’s nothing I can do to find them out. At least, not today. So, I pick up a box of Jia’s favorite cookies, and go to meet my roommates by the river, at the Oxford Botanical Gardens. I’m looking forward to unwinding, and soaking in some of the rare English sun, but when I spot them on the riverbanks, I realize, it’s not the low-key affair Kris promised. Not at all.

“Tessa!” Jia whoops in greeting, already pink-cheeked with a cup of something bubbly in her hand. “Come, sit. This is Klaus and Eric,” she gestures, to the hunky Nordic guys sitting with them on the picnic blanket. “We met them at the deli.”

“Locked eyes over the fine salamis,” Kris adds with a wink.

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