“Attic,” he mouths silently, and then he lets me go. I nod, letting him know that I understand, and then I go into my bedroom and close the door. I lock it, grateful that Frank hasn’t removed the one thing that separates me from the rest of the family. I might not have much, but I have this small semblance of privacy, and that has to count for something.
Once in my room, I sit down on the bed and take a deep breath.
What the hell does Frank want to talk to me about?
Harrison, obviously.
It has to be Harrison.
Only, I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to say and honestly, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep faking my way through things.
I’m hungry, and I’m tired, and I’m worn out emotionally by trying to hide the way I feel about Harrison. I hate that Frank wants to set us up to be together. It’s worse because I like Harrison.
A lot.
More than I should.
When I touch myself, it’s to thoughts of him. Oh, I know he likes to play with people. I know all of the ways he enjoys bedding other women and touching them and teasing them. I’ve heard whispered tales at school about how magical his fucking dick is. I get all of that, but...
Well, I honestly just don’t care.
And I honestly just want him.
Harrison isn’t the guy people see at school. That’s a persona he pastes on. Just like I wear my mask when I have to deal with people and express myself, so does Harrison. The horrible thing is that both of us feel like we’re trapped in these worlds where we don’t have any freedom to actually be ourselves.
We both feel anxious and worn out and tired.
And today is no exception.
I wait for about ten minutes, and then I move to my closet. It’s a large walk-in closet with rows for clothing on each side. It’s still full from things I used to wear when I was young, and with a few items I wore over the summer. There’s a shelf at the back for shoes, and it’s completely full. I’m not a big shoe fan. I don’t care about having a collection.
Frank cares, though, and so I have about six shelves just full of shoes. There are boots and heels and flats and honestly, if I was someone else, I’d probably be thrilled. Mos
t girls would kill to have a collection as varied as mine, but not me.
I close the door behind me and flip the light switch on. Harrison and I discovered long ago that each of our closets has attic access. I don’t know if Frank knows. Hell, I don’t even know if the household staff knows. They must know, right? I mean, surely.
When we were kids and we’d get grounded or banished to our rooms, Harrison and I would always find a way to sneak out of our bedrooms and hang out with each other, and this was how we did it.
Only, it’s been a long-ass time since I sneaked out and into the attic.
Like, years.
Now I push aside the clothes at the back of the closet and find the tiny hide-a-door. It blends in almost perfectly with the design of the walls, and it was quite by accident that I even found it. Running my hands along the edge of the wood trim, I find the little latch that opens the door, and I press. It clicks open and I push the panel aside and climb in. It’s dark, but the light from the closet shines into the space. Reaching around in the darkness, I find the tiny purple flashlight I left here as I kid.
It’s got glitter and stickers on it, but I’m pleased that it still works. I turn it on and then close the door behind me.
I’m in a tiny enclosed space now with only one direction to go: up. There’s a narrow staircase that leads up. I just hope the damn thing holds me. Carefully, cautiously, I climb up the stairs. I choke back a sneeze as I reach the top, and then I’m there.
And so is he.
I’m alone in the dark with Harrison O’Conner, and my heart starts to race.
He stands in the center of the attic. It’s filled with boxes and forgotten furniture. There’s a space over in the corner where we pushed some couches together when we were kids. There’s a sheet covering the couches now, and that sheet is completely coated in dust. There’s a solitary window at one end of the attic: a round, little window that pours sunlight into the narrow space.
“Adalee,” he says.
“Harrison.”