"I believe you're not supposed to be here."
The worlds startle me, but as he's now merely inches away, I'm distracted by the way his nearness has my senses tingling.
"You probably aren't aware of it because you're new, but this place is private property."
It takes an extra moment for me to get past the 'private' part, and when my eyes fly up to him in disconcertment, he only shrugs, saying, "Everyone knows who you are, Ms. Mariposa. You're the only new student for the year, and so everyone has been understandably...curious."
Listening to him, I finally realize what that odd note was I detected earlier and what I'm hearing right now. That odd note is now mirrored by the glint in his dark gaze, and I also see it in the way his lips presently curve into a smile that's as beautiful as it's taunting. That odd note—-
It tells me that this man knows what I've been through. What I've been accused of. But instead of making him feel fear, pity, or sympathy towards me—-
All I can see in him...
All I can feel from him...
It's a cold and almost amused kind of speculation that's no different from a cat's curiosity towards a mouse it wants to toy with...before gobbling it whole.
Chapter Four
I don't need winter wear, after all.
Apparently, all I have to be is annoyed enough, and I don't even notice the cold. I'm mad at the jerk in the gallery, but more than that I'm mad at myself, for being even the slightest bit attracted to a man like him.
I'm still annoyed when I finally reach 44 Rosemary Square, but this time I make an effort to push all angry thoughts aside and calm myself. With help from my handy-dandy digital map, I take the stairs at the end of the hall and go all the way down to Suite 214. I glance at the name plate next to yet another pair of heavy wooden doors - Dr. Isabella Foames - and it gives me something to use as I knock on the door.
"Dr. Foames?"
Several moments pass, and I start thinking of how to best apologize for being seven minutes late. A lot hinges on my first meeting with Rosethorne's guidance counselor. No matter how you look at it, I'm the kind of student most other schools would see as just trouble waiting to happen: I'm adopted, I was accused of several people's murders, and I might be the only kid here who doesn't come from an old rich East Coast family who can trace her lineage all the way back to England.
There's no excuse for being late, but should I even try to explain?
Mm.
Maybe I should, just to make things clear?
It seems like a good idea, but when my new guidance counselor finally gives me permission to come in, the imperious note in her voice makes me start thinking otherwise. And once I finally enter her office, I'm absolutely certain of it.
Because Dr. Foames?
Not only does she appear as coldly beautiful as a porcelain doll, but she also happens to look super, super pissed.
At me.
"You're late."
And now I know why.
Hurrying forward, I hastily bow my head and make my apologies. "I'm so sorry, Dr. Foames." I take a peek at the other woman's face and immediately feel like I've been glared and scowled to death, despite the fact that Dr. Foames also happens to be one of the loveliest women I've ever seen, with her shiny black hair and fiery green eyes.
"I lost track of time—-"
The other woman suddenly slams a hand down, and the sharp sound startles me into taking a step back.
"You dare make excuses?"
I can only shake my head, instinctively feeling that anything I say will only make her angrier. Dr. Foames is obviously the kind of person who thinks tardiness is next to shittiness, but isn't she overreacting a little here?
Unable to help it, I sneak another quick little peek at her face, and my heart nearly stops beating. If I thought she was angry earlier, well...whatever it was she's reading on her phone right now, it's succeeded in making her look like a wrathful virago from the Underworld. What on earth—-
Her head suddenly jerks up, and I can only gulp anew as her enraged gaze lands on me. If looks could kill, I would have died by a thousand cuts by now, and—-
"Were you at the gallery earlier?"
Oh, that beautiful tattletale JERK!
"Answer me!"
There goes the guidance counselor's hand again, and this time I have a really bad feeling the older woman is wishing it's my head she's smashing.
"That place is private property, Ms. Mariposa! Professor Lucious is a very busy man, and he has no time for silly, infatuated schoolgirls."
Infatuated? I open my mouth to defend myself, but it's hard to get a word edgewise with Dr. Foames still intent on hauling me over the coals. Over an hour passes before her tirade finally ends, and by that time all I can do is nod at all of her stipulations.