“Hey,” Jasper said, turning to her suddenly. So suddenly she almost stepped on his toes. Their knees bumped, and Ariana felt a surge of attraction followed by a hatred so white hot she could hardly keep herself from screeching. “You sure you don’t want Lexa to join us?”
And just like that, Ariana snapped. She closed her hand around his throat and backed him into the shelves behind him, so hard she slammed the back of his head against an edge.
“Ow! Sonofabitch!” he shouted. He pushed her away with both hands. “What the hell was that?”
“What do you know?” Ariana demanded, her chest heaving.
Jasper laughed. He touched his hand to the back of his head, then checked his fingers for blood. “God, Ana. If you like it rough, you could have just told me.”
“Shut up!” Ariana turned and grabbed the first pair of shears she saw. The blades were at least a foot long and rusty, their tips still crusted with dirt. Jasper’s eyes suddenly widened, and he backed into the shelves again. “What do you know!?” she demanded. She stepped right up to him and held the sharp tip of the blade right beneath his chin. Jasper tilted his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he eyed the shears with terror.
Yet still, he laughed. “Okay, calm down. Calm down,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “There was this guy at the game . . . he went to your old school.”
“A guy?” Ariana demanded, confused.
“Yeah. Glenn or something. No . . . Gray . . . ?”
“Gage?” Ariana demanded, pressing the blades into his skin. “Was it Gage?”
“No, no! It was definitely Glenn something or other,” Jasper said, panicked. “He told me about the affair you had with your professor last year,” he said in a rush. “Your female professor.”
Ariana blinked. Sweat had popped out along her lip and under her arms, even in the freezing-cold room. What the hell was Jasper talking about? Last year she’d been at the Brenda T. She’d had no professors, let alone female ones, let alone female ones with whom she’d had an affair.
“Ana? Can you let me go now?” Jasper asked.
Ana.
Ana Covington.
Briana Leigh Covington. Of course. Jasper wasn’t talking about Gage Coolidge. He wasn’t even talking about Ariana Osgood. He was talking about Briana Leigh. The real Briana Leigh. Of course.
Slowly, Ariana dropped the shears. They hit the ground with a clatter.
“The affair,” she heard herself say. “The affair I had with a female professor.”
Jasper stood up straight and cleared his throat. He shifted the knot of his tie. “Yeah. Some woman named Miss French?” he said. “And I just thought . . . I don’t know . . . since you and Lexa have been spending so much time together lately . . .”
“You thought Lexa and I were having an affair?” Ariana asked.
“I don’t know. Not really,” Jasper said. “I was just messing with you. Not that, I mean, if you are, I want to make it perfectly clear that I’m totally okay with that.”
Ariana’s shoulders slumped. Suddenly she felt exhausted. So exhausted she could hardly stand. She leaned back against the cold metal sink and put her face in her hands. Jasper didn’t know anything. Not one single thing. She should have been relieved. She would have been, if she hadn’t just threatened the life of the boy she loved with a pair of rusty old pruning shears.
“Um, Ana?” Jasper asked. “Can I ask you a question?”
With a sigh, Ariana dropped her hands. She looked up at him, at his innocent, questioning face, and knew it was all over. Knew that she might still have to kill him. Because he’d seen her. The worst of her. And now, he’d be suspicious. Now he’d question everything about her.
Everything, everything, everything hinged on whatever he said next.
“If I promise to never piss you off again, will you promise to never wield sharp objects at my throat again?” he said.
And, just like that, Ariana started to laugh.
Jasper took a step toward her, and Ariana, full of relief and love, was about to fall into his arms—fall into his arms and kiss him like nothing else mattered—when there was a crash. It was a crash so huge, so startlingly loud, so never-ending, that Ariana was certain the entire greenhouse had just collapsed atop all her friends.
And then there was a scream. One long, piercing, wailing scream.
Ariana whirled for the door. She shoved through the wall of men in front of her, gaping up at the huge, yawning hole in the roof of the greenhouse. It looked as if a boulder had fallen through the glass. Giant shards jutted out toward the opening, and several pieces dangled precariously, ready to fall onto the crowd below at any moment. What had fallen through the roof ? A tree? A meteor? What could possibly make a hole that big? Ariana’s heart was in her throat. If Lexa wasn’t freaking before, this would end her.
Just as she had this thought, she arrived at the center of the crowd, which had formed a circle on the marble floor. Ariana stopped in her tracks and grabbed Jasper’s arm to keep from going down—from collapsing in shock. It appeared that she was wrong. Lexa wasn’t going to be ended by the sight of all the broken glass. Because Lexa lay in the center of the floor, blood pouring from one ear, glass all around her, with Maria, Soomie, Tahira, Palmer, Rob, and Conrad kneeling all around her.
This is my fault. I did this. This is all my fault.
Ariana rushed into the emergency room after her friends. Palmer gripped her hand as they followed Soomie and Landon to the admitting desk. Maria had ridden in the ambulance with Lexa, who, miraculously, was still alive. At least, she had been when they’d wheeled her stretcher out of the greenhouse.
“Where is she!?”
Ariana whirled around to find Senator and Mrs. Greene barreling through the door. Mrs. Greene was dressed in a royal blue ball gown, her husband in tails. Clearly they had been attending a formal function this evening as well.
“Mrs. Greene, I’m so sorry,” Soomie said, tears streaming down her face as she approached. Hunter came with her, looking ashen under his lank hair.
Ariana’s heart stopped beating. Did they know something new? Had Lexa . . . died?
“She . . . she tried to kill herself,” Soomie said. “We didn’t even realize she was gone. She must have gone upstairs . . . Maria’s bedroom . . . one of the windows overlooks the greenhouse and she . . . she jumped.”
“Omigod!” Mrs. Greene covered her mouth with one hand.
“Is she going to be okay?” Palmer asked.
“We don’t know. They won’t tell us anything,” Soomie said with a sob.
Mrs. Greene went right for the desk, her husband in tow.
“Where is she? Where’s my baby?” she demanded of the overwhelmed clerk. “Take me to see her now.”
Ariana, unable to take it any longer, fell into the nearest chair. Palmer sat next to her, on the edge of his own seat, rubbing her back mechanically.
“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” he said.
“You don’t know that,” Ariana snapped, past being polite.
Palmer didn’t seem to notice, however. He stared at the crowd near the desk as if trying to read their lips. Jasper walked in and sat down at Ariana’s other side.
“I’ll be right back,” Palmer said. “I’m gonna see if I can find out what’s going on.”
The second he was gone, Jasper took her hand. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m here, Ana.”
She turned and looked at him. “This is my fault,” she said aloud. “I should have been there with her. I should have protected her. I should have done a better job.”
“What are you talking about?” Jasper said. “You couldn’t have stopped her.”
“I could have,” Ariana said. “I should have. I should have seen this coming. I—”
Suddenly Ariana’s words died in her throat. Her mouth snapped shut. The entire world faded to gray around her. Jasper wasn’t there. Palmer wasn’t there. Soomie and Hunter and Rob and Tahira and Mr. an
d Mrs. Greene. The boy with the broken arm, the woman in labor in the corner, the young girl holding her head in her hands, all of them were gone.
All there was in the world was Reed Brennan. Reed Brennan, Reed Brennan, Reed Brennan.
Reed Brennan, who was standing not twenty feet away.
Even at the tender age of sixteen, Elizabeth Williams was the rare girl who knew her mind. She knew she preferred summer to all other seasons. She knew she couldn’t stand the pink and yellow floral wallpaper the decorator had chosen for her room. She knew that she would much rather spend time with her blustery, good-natured father than her ever-critical, humorless mother—though the company of either was difficult to come by. And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that going away to the Billings School for Girls was going to be the best thing that ever happened to her.
As she sat in the cushioned seat of her bay window overlooking sun-streaked Beacon Hill, she folded her dog-eared copy of The Jungle in her lap, making sure to keep her finger inside to hold her place. She placed her feet up on the pink cushions, new buckled shoes and all, and pressed her temple against the warm glass with a wistful sigh. It was September 1915, and Boston was experiencing an Indian summer, with temperatures scorching the sidewalks and causing the new automobiles to sputter and die along the sides of the roads. Eliza would have given anything to be back at the Cape house, running along the shoreline in her bathing clothes, splashing in the waves, her swim cap forgotten and her dark hair tickling her shoulders. But instead, here she was, buttoned into a stiff, green cotton dress her mother had picked out for her, the wide, white collar scratching her neck. Any minute now, Maurice would bring the coach around and squire her off to the train station, where she and her maid, Renee, would board a train for Easton, Connecticut, and the Billings School. The moment she got to her room in Crenshaw House, she was going to change into her most comfortable linen dress, jam her floppy brown hat over her hair, and set out in search of the library. Because living at a school more than two hours away from home meant that her mother couldn’t control her. Couldn’t criticize her. Couldn’t nitpick every little thing she wore, every book she read, every choice she made. Being away at school meant freedom.
Of course Eliza’s mother had other ideas. If her wishes came true, Billings would turn Eliza into a true lady. Eliza would catch herself a worthy husband, and she would return home by Christmas triumphantly engaged, just as her sister May had.
After two years at Billings, eighteen-year-old May was now an engaged woman—and engaged to a Thackery, no less. George Thackery III of the Thackery tanning fortune. She’d come home in June, diamond ring and all, and was now officially their mother’s favorite—though truly she had been so all along.
Suddenly the thick oak door of Eliza’s private bedroom opened and in walked her mother, Rebecca Cornwall Williams. Her blond hair billowed like a cloud around her head and her stylish, ankle-length gray skirt tightened her steps. She wore a matching tassel-trimmed jacket over her dress, even in this ridiculous heat, and had the Williams pearls, as always, clasped around her throat. As she entered, her eyes flicked over Eliza and her casual posture with exasperation. Eliza quickly sat up, smoothed her skirt, straightened her back, and attempted to tuck her book behind her.
“Hello, Mother,” she said with the polished politeness that usually won over the elder Williams. “How are you this morning?”
Her mother’s discerning blue eyes narrowed as she walked toward her daughter.
“Your sister and I are going to shop for wedding clothes. We’ve come to say our good-byes,” she said formally.
Out in the hallway, May hovered, holding her tan leather gloves and new brimless hat at her waist. May’s blond hair was pulled back in a stylish chignon, which complimented her milky skin and round, rosy cheeks. Garnets dangled from her delicate earlobes. She always looked elegant, even for a simple day of shopping.
Eliza’s mother leaned down and snatched the book right out from under Eliza’s skirt.
“The Jungle?” she said, holding the book between her thumb and forefinger. “Elizabeth, you cannot be seen reading this sort of rot at Billings. Modern novels are not proper reading for a young lady. Especially not a Williams.”
Eliza’s gaze flicked to her sister, who quickly looked away. A few years ago, May would have defended Eliza’s literary choices, but not since her engagement. For the millionth time Eliza wondered how May could have changed so much. When she’d gone away to school she’d been adventurous, tomboyish, sometimes even brash. It was as if falling in love had lobotomized her sister. If winning a diamond ring from a boy meant forgetting who she was, then Eliza was determined to die an old maid.
“Headmistress Almay has turned out some of the finest ladies of society, and I intend for you to be one of them,” Eliza’s mother continued.
What about what I intend? Eliza thought.
“And you won’t be bringing this. I don’t want the headmistress thinking she’s got a daydreamer on her hands.” Her mother turned and tossed Eliza’s book into the crate near the door—the one piled with old toys and dresses meant for the hospital bazaar her mother was helping to plan.
Eliza looked down at the floor, her eyes aflame and full of tears. Then her mother did something quite unexpected. She clucked her tongue and ran her hands from Eliza’s shoulders down her arms until they were firmly holding her hands. Eliza couldn’t remember the last time her mother had touched her.
“Come now. Let me look at you,” her mother said.
Eliza raised her chin and looked her mother in the eye. The older woman tilted her head and looked Eliza over. She nudged a stray hair behind Eliza’s ear, tucking it deftly into her updo. Then she straightened the starched white collar on her traveling dress.
“This green really does bring out your eyes,” she mused. “You are a true beauty, Eliza. Never underestimate yourself.”
An unbearable thickness filled Eliza’s throat. Part of her wanted to thank her mother for saying something so very kind, while another part of her wanted to shout that her entire life was not going to be built around her beauty—that she hoped to be known for something more. But neither sentiment left her tongue, and silence reigned in the warm, pink room.
“May. The book,” her mother said suddenly, snapping her fingers.
Startled, May slipped a book from the hall table where it had been hidden from view, and took a step into the room to hand it to her mother.
“This is for you, Eliza,” her mother said, holding the book out. “A going-away gift.”
Silently, Eliza accepted the gorgeous sandalwood leather book with both hands, relishing the weight of it. She opened the cover, her eyes falling on the thick parchment pages. They were blank. She looked up at her mother questioningly.
“Today is the beginning of a whole new life, Eliza,” her mother said. “You’re going to want to remember every moment . . . and I hope you’ll remember home when you write in it as well.”
Eliza hugged the book to her chest. “Thank you, Mother,” she said.
“Now remember, May is one of Billings’s most revered graduates,” she said, her tone clipped once again. “You have a lot to live up to, Elizabeth. Don’t disappoint me.”
Then she leaned in and gave Eliza a brief, dry kiss on the forehead.
Eliza rolled her blue eyes as her mother shuffled back down the hall. Then she bent to pluck her book from the trash, but froze when something caught her eye: May still hovering in the hallway.
“May?” Eliza said. Usually her sister trailed her mother like the tail of a comet.
May looked furtively down the hall after their mother, then took a step toward Eliza’s open door. There was something about her manner that set the tiny hairs on Eliza’s neck on end.
“May, what is it?” Eliza asked, her pulse beginning to race.
“I just wanted to tell you . . . about Billings . . . about Crenshaw House,” May whispered, leaning into the doorjamb. “Eliza . . . there
’s something you need to know.”
“What?” Eliza asked, breathless. “What is it?”
“May Williams! I’m waiting!” their mother called from the foot of the stairs.
May started backward. “Oh, I must go.”
Eliza grabbed her sister’s wrist.
“May, please. I’m your sister. If there’s something you need to tell me—”
May covered Eliza’s hand with her own and looked up into her eyes. “Just promise me you’ll be careful,” she said earnestly, her blue eyes shining. “Promise me, Eliza, that you’ll be safe.”
Eliza blinked. “Of course, May. Of course I’ll be safe. What could possibly harm me at a place like Billings?”
The sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs stopped them both. Renee rushed into view, holding her skirts up, her eyes wide with terror. The sort of terror only Rebecca Williams could inspire in her servants.
“May! Your mother is fit to burst,” she said through her teeth. “Mind your manners and get downstairs now.”
A tortured noise sounded from the back of May’s throat. Then she quickly gave Eliza a kiss on the cheek, squeezing her hands tightly. “I love you, Eliza. Always remember that. No matter what happens.”
Then she released Eliza and was gone.
Kate Brian, Pure Sin
(Series: Privilege # 5)
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