“We were just talking about her little love affair with Principal Hawthorne.” Bree slides my phone from her back pocket, handing it over. “Sorry. Alleged love affair with Principal Hawthorne.”
“Why do you have this?” he asks, taking my phone, my entire life, with a single impatient grab.
“It was going off earlier,” she says. “I went to shut it off, but a message popped up on the screen. I think you should take a look. Just press that green app right there. You can see every email and message they’ve exchanged since summer.”
“It’s not Hawthorne,” I say. I’m a terrible liar, but I’m not going down without a fight. I’ll fight for him. He doesn’t deserve this. He did nothing wrong. It was all me. I pushed him. I wanted him, and I recklessly crossed the line every time he told me not to.
Victor’s gaze moves between the phone and my bewildered expression. How one botched homecoming night could go from bad to worse over the span of a few hours is beyond me, but there’s no going back.
I’d say the damage has been done, but I have a feeling it’s only just begun.
Chapter 35
Ford
“Victor, hi. Come on in.” I pull the door wide and step aside, instantly regretting my decision to let a man with murderous eyes set foot in my house. But when my boss pounds on my door in the middle of a Sunday evening, there’s got to be a good reason. “Everything okay?”
“I need a word.” His tone is brusque and impatient, his eyes narrowing and his complexion ruddy.
Exhaling, I point toward the living room.
Victor stands dead center, not sitting, not making himself at home. With arms folded, he examines me from head to toe.
“When I first interviewed you, I was impressed with your professionalism,” he says. “Several candidates made the short list, many of them with impressive job histories and Ivy League educations, reference lists a mile long, extraordinary recommendation letters. They gave all the right answers. They knew exactly what I wanted to hear. They exceeded my expectations in each and every way. And then there was you. You were well-spoken and efficient. You didn’t bullshit. You had full control of yourself, a commanding presence. You were easy to respect, Ford. It was easy for me to overlook the fact that you’re new at this. It was easy for me to make an exception for you.”
Victor pauses, moving toward the window and glancing outside at a passing family of bicyclists. I really wish he’d get the fuck on with this.
Turning back, he lifts his brows. “So, tell me, Ford, what the hell you were thinking when you decided to involve yourself with my goddamned niece?!”
I knew it.
I fucking knew it.
All those times Halston swore up and down she’d never let it slip, that she’d never tell a soul …
She lied.
When we messaged last night, she was furious with me.
This is her retaliation.
I imagine her reading my email, laughing at my ridiculous declaration of love, and then running off to Uncle Vic so he can give the knife a final twist.
If she wanted to get back at me, if she wanted to hurt me for hurting her …
… mission fucking accomplished.
I hope she’s happy.
“Because this involves my family, we’re going to keep this quiet,” Abbott says, chin tilted down, voice low. “But I expect your resignation on my desk first thing tomorrow. And if you so much as think about contacting my niece again, I’ll make sure you never set foot in a school ever again. In fact, I’m going to recommend you find a new career altogether. There’s no way in hell I’m going to recommend you for any job in the education field after this. I was wrong about you.”
The disgust in his voice is unnecessary. I’m already disgusted with myself. I knew better.
I nod, saying nothing because there’s nothing more to say.
I’ll resign tomorrow.
I’ll leave Rosefield.
And as for Halston, she better hope we never cross paths again.
Chapter 36
Halston
Nobody smiles here.
I walk behind the headmistress Tuesday morning as she spouts impressive facts to Uncle Victor, reassuring him he did the right thing.
“Our success rate is second to none,” she says. “Many of our girls go on to be doctors, lawyers, and CEOs. Of course, most of those girls started with us in their younger years, but I just know Halston will do wonderfully here. We’ll be sure to make the most of the short time we have with her.”
She doesn’t look at me when she speaks, and she seems quite smitten with Vic. He’s wearing his power suit, his gray hair slicked back.
He keeps a stern presence, rarely making eye contact with me. I didn’t speak to anyone Sunday, refusing to leave my room. It wasn’t until my stomach was growling at two in the morning and hindering my sleep that I finally snuck down for a bowl of cereal.
Aunt Tabitha tried to hug me goodbye Monday afternoon when we left for the airport.
I kept on walking.
And as for Bree, I hope I never see her again.
The headmistress is still schmoozing as we pass the cafeteria. Girls glance up at us with dead eyes, their mush breakfasts resting on beige trays, mostly uneaten. This place feels like a bad dream and a horror film all mixed into one with its limestone, Gilded Age exterior, the weeping willows lining the circle drive, the sconce-lined walls, and the sweeping ceilings that make every footstep echo. The only thing it’s missing are bars on the windows and ravens quoting “nevermore.”
“The rooms are this way,” the woman says, pointing down a long corridor lined with oil portraits. “Each girl has one roommate and each hall has one communal bathroom. Twenty girls to one bathroom. The curtains rise at five o’clock each morning and lights are out by eight PM sharp. We have one hour of recreation before bedtime each night, and we encourage our girls to work on their homework between dinner and their final class of the day.”
We pass an exit with glaring red letters. It seems out of place in a home that appears to have frozen in time one hundred years ago, and for half of a second I think about walking away.
But I have no money. No car. Nowhere to go.
And I’d be throwing away a free college education, my only shot at a decent future.
Girls in gray dresses begin to fill the hall, all of them walking in a straight line, eyes forward as they disperse to their rooms.
“Would you like to meet your roommate, Halston?” the woman turns to me, her pencil-thin mouth curling.
Victor turns to me. I nod.
Stopping outside a room labeled “The Katrina Howell Suite,” the headmistress tells Uncle Vic about “Our dear, sweet Kat, who went on to become the US Ambassador to Norway before meeting and falling in love with the Duke of Pendleton …”
When she finally stops rambling, she raps on the door three times before barging in.
A girl with shiny dark hair and deep set aquamarine eyes gazes up from a thick book. She doesn’t seem the least bit startled about anyone barging into her room. Didn’t even flinch.
“Lila Mayfield, I’d like you to meet your new roommate, Halston Kessler,” the woman says.
The room is small, the two twin beds maybe five feet apart, but the ceiling is sweeping and the windows run from floor to ceiling. We each have a desk and a wooden wardrobe but nothing else. This is nothing more than a glorified prison cell in a gilt mansion.
“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” The headmistress places her hand on Victor’s forearm. “If you’d like to come with me, we have a few forms we’ll need signed. I’ll send someone for her bags shortly.”
She leaves the room first, and Victor’s eyes meet mine.
I’ve never known him to be an emotional man. He holds his cards close, his heart forged of tungsten and coal. But his eyes shine, glassy.
“We’ll visit in—,” he says.
“Don’t bother,” I cut him off. I don’t want them to visit. I don’t want them to call or write. I don’t want to see them a month from now and have to pretend like everything’s kosher, like he didn’t just toss me to the side like I’m someone else’s problem now.
He stops, lingering for a moment, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s regretting his decision, though even if he were, it wouldn’t matter. Victor Abbott doesn’t apologize for anything, and he never admits he’s wrong.