Page 121 of Vicious Knight
“We’re going away.”
Chapter 27
Ivy
Thorne took me to Amherst.
We got in his car—a Ferrari. It was the first time I’d seen it and had him drive me anywhere.
When we drove off campus it felt like we were leaving all our troubles behind and venturing off to a new world. And when I spotted the Welcome to Amherst sign excitement overwhelmed me.
Weeks ago, when I missed out on the trip, I was so disappointed.
I’ve always wanted to visit Amherst to learn more about Emily Dickinson’s life and the inspiration behind her work. She’s always been one of those writers from the past who left a mark on me. She loved to use nature and landscapes, too, to spark her creativity.
What she did with words, I try to do with music.
Thorne booked us at the Inn on Boltwood, a stylish boutique inn with the ambiance of the old world.
We got their best room and Thorne had me in bed the moment we stepped through the door.
We woke up early today and started the day off with a gourmet breakfast, then we spent the day at the Emily Dickinson Museum and sightseeing.
I could tell Thorne was bored for most of the time but he didn’t show it.
Today was the best day I’ve had in a long time, and I experienced it with him.
Now we’re at dinner, eating a fine meal of Wagyu beef tagliolini. We can’t have wine in here, so we're drinking mocktails, but we have some wine back in our hotel room we saved for later.
I feel like we’ve exited time and space today, but there are moments when I’m pulled back to think of reality. The reality where we’re not really what we appear to be, and I’m still the daughter of a disgraced Knight.
A Knight who sits in prison for something I know in my heart he didn’t do.
Thorne and I don’t talk about my father at all. Sometimes my answers verge on the truth to him, but I have to think fast to be mindful of his feelings.
And then there’s that little voice in the back of my mind telling me I still need to be careful because Thorne knows my secret.
He stares at me while I allow my pasta to dangle from my fork.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, little deer?” He takes a sip of his drink.
“Just stuff.”
“What stuff?” He gives me a toothy grin and rolls his sleeves up his thick forearms, exposing his tattoos and muscle. I swear he’s gotten bigger over the last few weeks.
“Everything,” I confess. I guess my answer could mean every and anything.
“Thinking of music? There were a few times today when I thought you were going to burst into song.”
I laugh and he smiles at me the way he does whenever I find myself laughing around him. Sometimes I think he says things just to hear me laugh.
“I can’t sing. At least not well. I hum when I need to sound out my notes but I promise you’ll never hear me bursting into song.”
“I suppose your music isn’t exactly the like burst-into-song kind, is it?”
“Not really.”
“It’s darker.”