Chapter 6

“And in her favor?” she asked.

“If you let me.”

Arabella stood up and walked toward the shelves. She needed space. She needed air. She ran her fingers over leather spines, first editions, and titles she had once dreamed of holding.

“He has an obscene library.”

“It's the most decent thing the Montroses have inherited.”

There was a crack in her voice. Small. Real.

Arabella turned around.

“And what about indecent things?”

Alistair took a while to respond.

“Everything else.”

The chimney creaked.

For the first time since she met him, Arabella saw something behind the elegance: an ancient shadow, carefully domesticated.

“I'm not a good idea for you,” he said.

She laughed humorlessly.

“How curious. I thought I was coming to reject it.”

“I should.”

“Is that what you want?”

Alistair slowly crossed the distance between them.

“No.”

Honesty was a direct hit.

Arabella backed away until her back brushed against a bookshelf. He stopped before touching her, but the proximity was enough to make her whole body react.

“If you ask me to leave, I'll leave,” he said.

Arabella should ask for it.

Ought.

But she could only whisper:

“I don't know what I want.”

Alistair looked down at her lips and then back into her eyes.

“Then I won't decide for you.”

Coming from him, that sounded almost like a promise.

At that moment, a door opened on the other side of the library.

An elegant, blonde woman, wearing an ivory dress and with a sharp smile, stood motionless upon seeing them so close.

“Alistair,“ she said. ”I didn't know we had company.”

His expression hardened.

Arabella felt the cold before she understood it.

“Catriona,” Alistair replied.

And the way he pronounced that name revealed something terrible to Arabella:

That woman wasn't a visitor. She was the past.

“How are your parents, Arabella?” Mrs. Wycliffe asks me.

I react quickly; something in my brain seems to make me respond more slowly.

“Good, thank you. Working for the moment.”

I continue eating my fettuccine. My stomach thanks me for it.

“Does your mother still work as an extra? —Yes, unfortunately she caught a cold last week and couldn't work.”

“Oh, please tell him to take good care of himself.”

She smiles maternally and continues eating. We chat quietly for a few minutes, and I had to admit, the food was delicious.

“Arabella—Seraphina leans in to whisper in my ear—. The businessman hasn't stopped staring at you. He's stalking you just by looking at you.”

What? Where is he? I look for Seraphina's gaze and fix my eyes on where she's looking. He's strategically seated at a table next to the university's senior administrators, and when I meet his eyes, he smiles at me. Like a crowd of uncles and grandparents of a student celebrating joyfully, it was difficult to find him.

I'm going to faint.

“He smiled at you—he hits my shoulder—. He hasn't stopped looking at you like that for the last five minutes.”

I blush and try to listen to Sebastian and the Wycliffes' conversation, ignoring any arguments Seraphina makes about Mr. Montrose. Ha. Five minutes! Bah, nothing out of the ordinary. I know that if I keep thinking like this, I'll faint from an overdose of thoughts.

The atmosphere becomes pleasant yet mysterious; there are students I've never seen before, and when I notice several girls visiting Alistair at his table, I try not to get upset. Minutes pass, and finally Montrose focuses on other matters. Mr. Wycliffe's jokes calm me down a little.

“To all the young ladies who will be at the ball auction...” announces Miss Elinor.

All that tranquility and peace he had has quickly vanished. Alistair Montrose remains engrossed in a conversation with the teachers.

“Let's go— Seraphina pulled my hand.”

“I don't want to,” I pout.

“We have to go and no one can miss the auction—he manages to get me to my feet.”

I'm pouting again, but there's no other way. What if I tell Miss Elinor I have a stomach bug? What if I break my foot right now? Nonsense. I can't dance, I think I'll have to put up a sign that says: “Caution, free stomping.”

The other girls and I approached the center of the stage and lined up in a long horizontal row. I noticed there were fifteen of us, and all except me were anxiously waiting to be auctioned off. God. Alistair Montrose stood up and, with a rather curious expression, looked at each of the girls, one by one, until he found me. Sebastian also stood up. They were standing just inches apart.

Adele's music, “Someone like you”, has started to play and more men in suits are approaching.

“Very well, gentlemen, these beautiful young ladies are ready to dance two pieces during this graduation dinner. The proceeds from your visit will be donated to our university and will provide scholarships of 25 and 50 percent to underprivileged youth.”

Teacher Elinor introduces a very beautiful, slender, long-haired African American girl in a lilac dress. She is tall and exudes incredible confidence. She looks stunning in the stage lights.

During a two-minute three-man wrestling match, she is auctioned off for two hundred and fifty pounds. She is chosen by a very nice, fat man. She steps off the stage, and when they meet up, only the two of them remain standing, waiting for this to end so they can begin.

Now it's Seraphina's turn. Six men bid frantically for her and she is sold for three hundred pounds.

“Goodbye,” she whispers to me before leaving.

Anxiety, stress, and insecurity... COME ON! I'm so angry about this. Why did she do it without my consent? If this buries my dignity ten feet under, I'll kill her as soon as I get home. I would have much preferred the cat daycare. Grr! Damn you, Seraphina Wycliffe. All the girls—except me again—are patiently waiting to be next.

“Now up for auction, Miss Arabella Sinclair.”

The blood drained from my face. I clasp my hands together for support. It's nothing, just a dance, you'll dance with a stranger and that's it. OH NO PLEASE. I'm hiding my smile so well, internally I'm going to have a meltdown.

“Begin—Teacher Elinor gives the instruction.”

Sebastian starts with twenty pounds, and seconds later an old man challenges him to offer thirty. A blond man joins the bidding and offers one hundred dollars. An African American man steps forward and shouts, “One thousand pounds!”

I think he already won.

“Fifteen thousand pounds!” shouts Alistair Montrose.

I look up at him; he has a firm expression and is very proud of himself. What the hell is he doing? —Fifty thousand—the African American offers again.

THEY'RE WASTING IT...! They're not even aware!

Alistair smiles slyly.

“One hundred thousand pounds—Montrose offers again.”

The girls next to me exclaimed in shock. I knew this wasn't a good idea, wasting money stupidly on... me. For God's sake, with that money they could buy an apartment, a car, or I don't know what. Please, let my face not be a rival to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer's nose.

God...

I glance at the African American man, who seems uncomfortable with Mr. Montrose's offer. “Well, who wouldn't be!” my conscience chirps, watching the scene with my adrenaline pumping.

But desire had already crossed the line.

One hundred thousand pounds.

For two dances.

And as Alistair Montrose looked at her like she already belonged to him, Arabella realized this was no longer a game.