Page 86 of Cross My Heart
I slip out of bed, and into the bathroom to take a long, luxurious shower. The list of perks being Saint’s houseguest is growing by the hour; compared to the sputter of lukewarm water back at the student flat, the jets here are pure bliss, pummeling my tired limbs until I’m refreshed and wide awake. I towel off, then pause by the mirror, examining the ugly bruise that’s bloomed on my ribcage. I trace the site of impact and wince. It’s another reminder that I need to be more careful now.
My questions have consequences.
Still, I have to admit that I feel safer already, staying here with Saint. The townhouse is secure, with a modern security system. Dozens of people come and go at all hours of the day from the student apartment block, but here, we’re located on a quiet street, and anyone hanging around will draw attention. At least, that’s what Saint reassured me. And it’s a relief to linger as long as I like, blow-drying my hair, without wondering if my roommates are whispering about me in the next room. I sent Jia a quick text last night, explaining that I’ve gone to stay with a friend.
She didn’t respond. Not even to ask if I was doing OK.
Saint is out of bed when I return, already dressed and buttoning his shirt. He looks delicious, there in the morning light, and I feel a strange sense of warmth blossom in my chest.
Comforted, and calm.
“Good morning,” he looks up, smiling when he sees me. “Am I going to wake up a vision like this every day?”
I laugh, my hair still damp, and dark circles still lingering under my eyes. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” I tease, pulling him down for another kiss, longer this time. Then, reluctantly, I break away. “I need to get to college,” I say, sighing. “I’ve been summoned.”
I show him the email. “Ouch,” Saint says, then catches my nervous expression. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You can be very charming, when you like,” he adds.
“Somehow, I don’t think my charms will work half as well on Ms. Latimer, as they do on you,” I joke wryly.
“I don’t know about that,” Saint grins. “Maybe you’re just her type. And I could always put in a call for you. I have some pull here,” he adds, smirking. “The Ashford name and all…”
I shake my head. “Thanks, but I don’t think that’ll help.”
“Then let’s meet for breakfast, after. I have some time before my first class.”
“Wait, youteachhere?” I ask, teasing. “I just thought you hung around, hitting on sexy grad students.”
“Hush you,” Saint lands a light tap on my ass. “If I recall, you have a paper due.”
I wince. And his assignment isn’t the only one waiting for me. “A quick breakfast,” I agree. “Very quick. Because I’m going to have to spend the rest of the day in the library.”
I finish dressing,and quickly walk over to Ashford. I can’t stop glancing over my shoulder, and wondering if that masked man is still on my trail. But it’s bright and busy out in town, with plenty of people around, and I’m reassured that the porters are keeping a watchful eye on the front gate, checking student IDs of everyone who passes through.
Unless my attacker is a student here, too…
No. I shove that thought aside and try and focus on the problem right in front of me. Ms. Latimer, my supervisor, is waiting in her office with a stern look. “Good morning,” I say brightly, as I enter the room.
“Miss Peterson. Take a seat.”
Oh boy.I brace myself as I take a seat across from her desk. Ms. Latimer is an intimidating woman at the best of times, with a severe grey bob and matching tweed, but today, she’s got an extra-disapproving look in her eyes.
“I assume you know why you’re here?”
I gulp. Has she discovered I’m snooping around, here under false pretenses? “I… um… I’m not sure.” I offer an innocent smile. “Is something wrong?”
She shuffles some papers in front of her. “I’ve heard concerning reports,” she begins, and I sink a little lower in my seat. “Your tutors are worried you’re falling behind. It’s still early in the term, but you’ve been late with a number of your essays, and your performance in tutorials has left something to be desired.”
This is about my academic performance? I let out a breath of relief. But no sooner have I relaxed, than Ms. Latimer fixes me with a look.
“You understand, of course, that as an Ashford Scholar, we have certain expectations. A commitment to your studies. Perhaps we were mistaken, extending the placement to you—”
“No!” I blurt, panicking. “I’m sorry, I know I’m a little behind, but… It’s been an adjustment, I guess. I’ll make it up, I swear,” I add quickly.
Ms. Latimer gives me an assessing look. “Oxford is an exacting environment, and not everybody is suited to the rigors of Ashford’s high academic standards. There would be no shame in deciding it wasn’t the right place for you.”
No shame, maybe. But it would stop my investigation dead in its tracks. My student visa is tied to this program. There’s no way I can leave.
“I’ll work harder,” I vow. “Whatever it takes. I’m committed to this program, I promise.”