Page 88 of The Art of Exiley
“I trust Georgie.”
“I don’t, and for better or worse, we’re in this together.”
“Okay,” I concede. I mean, I totally still plan to tell her. I just won’t let Rafe find out. “But you need to act civil toward her. And make your friends be nicer too. I can’t be pretending to date someone who acts like my best friend doesn’t exist.”
“Fine,” he agrees through gritted teeth.
“And no more death threats.”
“Also fine.”
“And I have one more stipulation.” This might be pushing my luck, but I know that this plan might mean the end of my time at Genesis, so I have to risk it before I lose my access. “I need you to help me cure my grandfather’s cancer.”
Rafe’s expression hardens. “I’m sorry to hear that your grandfather is ill, but that’s not possible.”
“Why not? You’re in Bioscience and have access to their Testament, and you know how to use your Sire abilities for healing. You must be able to do something.”
He stares at me, quietly contemplative for what feels like a full minute before saying, “If we successfully rescue Hypatia, you can bring me to your grandfather. I will examine him and look at his medical information. I can’t promise anything can be done, but—and only if we rescue Hypatia, mind you—I will do what I can to help.”
I almost start crying in relief.
We iron out a few more details, but the awkwardness is getting overwhelming, and I’m anxious to be alone to think about what I’ve just committed to.
As I leave, Rafe says, “Get some rest, because after classes tomorrow, you’re going to need energy for our training.” Then he adds with a wicked grin, “And don’t look so miserable as you’re leaving my room…. I have a reputation to maintain.”
I roll my eyes and let the door slam in his face.
25
At the end of my Sculpture Studio, Rafe is waiting by the door to escort me to lunch. I walk stiffly by his side.
This is new. This is weird.
It draws eyes when we arrive at the cafeteria together. Including Michael’s. I smile at him, and Rafe must see something in my expression, because he asks, “What is it with you two?”
“Nothing,” I respond too quickly.
Understanding dawns on his face, and he grins spitefully. “Naughty.” He leans closer to me and says into my ear, “He likes you too. I can tell.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say with as much flippancy as I can muster, but my heart leaps at his words. Or is it from the feeling of his breath tickling my neck? He’s standing very close, and I know how it must look to those around us. An apt display for our charade.
Michael is watching Rafe and me with a stormy look in his eyes. Is he upset? Rafe sees the look too, and he’s entertained. He puts his hand on the small of my back and leans in closer, causing a flurry of thrills in my belly.
Rafe whispers, “I’d go for him too if he weren’t so infernally self-righteousand dull.” The way he winks makes it look to everyone else as if he’s said something a lot more… intimate.
Michael’s jaw clenches, and his hands ball into fists.
I feel a power that I haven’t felt before. It’s intoxicating enough that I hardly notice the increasing heat of Rafe’s hand through my shirt or the way the warmth spreads as he moves that hand to grasp me around the waist and steer me toward his table.
Michael follows us. “Journey Castle,” he says stiffly. “I need to speak with you.”
I feel Rafe chuckle under his breath. “See you after,” he says, gently kissing the air close to my cheek. All a performance for Michael’s benefit, I know, but it doesn’t stop the heat building in the space between us. My breath is unsteady as I approach Michael, and I’m honestly confused about which of the boys is most responsible.
“Yes?” I ask Michael once Rafe has breezed out of earshot.
“I had some books to give you.” He rifles through the contents of his leather briefcase, not meeting my eye, then shoves two books at me, his hand stilling momentarily as our fingers brush. “The rest of the Foundations seminar read them earlier in the year; you’ll have to catch up.” It’sUtopiaby Thomas More andThe Princeby Niccolò Machiavelli. They’re so different from the books of the same name back home. These leather-bound volumes have stylized script and textured pages, and oh so much character, like a letter written from the author as a gift to the reader.
The hope I feel from noting his earlier expression causes me to be brave, so I ask, “Maybe you can help catch me up?” Not that I’m hoping anything will happen; I’m supposed to be pretending to be in a relationship with Rafe after all. But I miss the mentor sessions with Michael I had as an apprentice.
