Page 21 of Made in Malice

Morningstar and I have a stare off for several long seconds, and sadly, I’m the one to break it by speaking. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want and leave? That way we can both enjoy our lunch,” I offer.

“I am enjoying my lunch. You’re not significant enough to change that.” He tears a bite out of a burger as if to prove a point. When he’s done chewing—such a gentleman—he adds, “But if I make you uncomfortable, you could always crawl back under whatever rock or deadbeat they found you under.”

“Clever, clever boy,” I sing. “Do you feel better after putting me in my place, or are you just jealous I wasn’t under you?” I don’t know where the boldness comes from, because I’m dying of embarrassment on the inside, but I’ll never let it show.

Morningstar’s eyes narrow just the tiniest bit in warning, but I’m saved from his wrath when Alden jerks my chair back and demands, “Time to go, Miss Devlin,” then hauls me up by my arm. I’m not going to lie, it hurts, but I hide that too as he marches me out the door, leaving my food untouched.

Alden is silent until we make it into the study room I was assigned yesterday in the library, but once the door is closed, he explodes. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“With me?” I yell right back. “I’m not the one skulking around, looking for him so I can talk crap every chance I get.”

“Would it kill you to just keep your damn mouth shut and not engage?”

“Is that a real question? I’m not going to cower to some bully who hates me because of whom I’m related to. That’s stupid.”

“He’s not just some bully, Nova. The Morningstars are the next family in power. He can and will make your life hell, or worse.”

“Unbelievable,” I mutter to myself. I can’t believe I’m getting crap for this. “Do you ever think that maybe he acts like a spoiled brat because that’s how he’s treated? And that you people catering to him are part of the problem?”

Alden’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t respond to my question, instead he hisses, “I can’t protect you from your own stupidity.”

“Good, don’t. You think I want someone else around, telling me what a horrible piece of garbage I am? I got the fucking memo loud and clear, and if my grandparents want me around as much as they say they do, then you won’t have to worry about my stupidity again. Just go.” I point to the door, my chest heaving from yelling.

Alden opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but I shake my head.

“Don’t worry, I won’t put your job with them in jeopardy, but you need to leave.”

The second the door closes softly behind him, I pull out my cell phone and dial my grandmother.

Hours later when I’m finally done with all the testing, I leave the study room and find the area blessedly empty of Alden just as Astrid promised. I explained that having him around was making integrating into the school even harder, and I also said I would not accept an escort, and if she wanted me to stay, then he would need to go. It took a little coaxing, but I didn’t budge, and it feels like a small victory. Now I just need to make sure I don’t end up regretting the rash decision.

I’m not oblivious to the stares I get when I walk past the Union, but I pretend to be as I step out into the warm afternoon sun and shield my eyes.

By the time I’m thirty minutes into my walk back to the house, I’m grateful for my holey jeans and thin T-shirt, because it’s gone from warm to hot, even in the shade, but it feels good to get some fresh air and be alone with my thoughts—not that I’m not alone enough in the house, because I am, but it’s not the same.

When I hear a car approaching, I think about ducking into the tree line until it passes, but I’m already worried that if I can hear it, they can see me, so I just shift onto the grass, giving them more room. When the engine revs, I look over my shoulder to see a familiar black car zooming right toward me.

My mind goes blank for just a second, but then my instincts kick in, and I run toward the trees as the car hits the soft shoulder, kicking up sand and debris.

I go down hard, tripping on the uneven ground, and my palms scrape along the grass as if I’m sliding into first base.

The air gets knocked out of my lungs, but I don’t have time to worry about breathing, because I’m too busy looking at the car ahead of me as it slams on the brakes, screeching to a halt. I gape, trying to pull air into my lungs while realizing he was just trying to scare me. He never left the shoulder, and I overreacted, damn it. I lost this round.

Embarrassed and pissed, I roll over onto my back and wince. The car speeds away while I’m still staring up at the cloudless sky, wondering why I thought any of this was a good idea.

Wednesday, I wake up with a little dread swirling in my stomach, and I’m achy from the fall. After my shower, the mirror in the bathroom shows a ring of bruises around my upper arm from Alden jerking me around yesterday and skinned knees from the fall. My ragged outward appearance echoes how I feel on the inside.

Thankfully, when I made it to the house yesterday, I was able to go straight to my room without having to explain why I looked like a twelve-year-old who just learned how to ride a bike with no hands.

My palms are still sore, but landing in the grass meant I didn’t have to pick gravel from the small scrapes and cuts, so I’ll take it as a win.

I have a meeting with Mrs. Quade at ten to discuss my class options, so I dig through my closet to find something to wear that won’t show the aftereffects of yesterday or be too tight on my legs, but I come up empty, which means I can’t ignore the clothes Tabby dropped off any longer.

My hands bump over the velvet hangers, wishing I wouldn’t look like an absolute fool in the flirty skirts and maxi dresses. It’s what a lot of the girls here wear, but I’ve never really been a dress girl, not to mention I’d probably end up with my butt on display when I fall or get tripped, so it isn’t a chance I’m willing to take.

I opt for a super soft pair of army green, wide-legged pants with a belted waist, then tuck in an old Universal Studios ET shirt I got at a thrift shop. It makes me feel more like myself, even when I slide my feet into a pair of simple brown sandals she left for me. Thankfully, you can’t really see my feet unless I’m walking, because I can’t remember the last time I painted my toenails.

Rory meets me in the hall near the front door, and I pause when he gives me his full attention. “Astrid said you are refusing to allow Alden to accompany you.” So it’s not a coincidence we ran into each other.

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