Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“Thank you, Dahlia,” I say loudly and she abruptly stops, giving me a loaded look over her shoulder, as if I’m being rude. “I’m afraid I have to cut you off or we’ll be here all day.”
She shifts around on the bench, her brows raised. “And what do you think?”
“About the song? It happens to be one of my favorites.”
“One of your favorites?” The corner of her mouth lifts. “Well that’s pretty cliché.”
I frown, feeling my body go still. “Cliché?” I repeat.
Well, fuck. Maybe she does know the truth.
“Yeah,” she says, her smile turning to a smirk. “As an organist.”
I swallow. “Right.”
As an organist.
Not a vampire.
An alarm chimes on Leo’s phone, signaling end of class. It can be easy to lose track of time in here.
“Well then, that’s the end of your first class. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Everyone gets up from their chairs and leaves the classroom and I am acutely aware that Dahlia is still sitting on the bench, not moving.
I give her a quick smile. “I know you probably want to play some more but I’m afraid another class is coming in here.”
“Are students allowed to practice after class otherwise?” she asks me in English.
I make the switch. “Not without permission.”
“From you?”
I nod, folding my arms across my chest. “Yes.”
“Can I get your permission?” she asks, her voice taking on a sweet tone that causes a rush of blood to my cock. For a moment I see her in the Red Room, on all fours, asking for permission to come.
Bloody hell.
“Not today,” I tell her, shifting my stance.
“Then another day?”
“Well see,” I say hoarsely gesturing with my chin to the door. “We better get a move on. I believe strings are up next and they can be a moody bunch when they don’t get their way.”
She breaks eye contact with me and I feel a strange sense of relief, like she had been looking too far inside me, past all my walls. She quickly slips on her sneakers and gets to her feet, sweeping her hair over her shoulder as she walks over to me, stopping a couple of feet away. I can smell her clearly, a meadow of wildflowers on a summer’s day. The scent triggers a memory but it’s too fast and fleeting to catch.
“Can I ask your permission for something else?” she asks, her eyes staring right into mine. I can’t get a read on them. There’s a boldness there, a desire, and yet underneath it all I still get the feeling that she despises me.
It’s confusing as hell.
“What?” I ask, my voice dropping.
“If I may take you out for a drink?”
I blink at her. She’s serious? I laugh. “You’re asking me out for a drink?”
She nods, her mouth in a firm line.
I give her a half-smile, unsure how to handle this. “I can’t…I don’t do that. Date students, that is.”
“Who said it was a date?” she asks. Then she shrugs. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hops off the stage and walks past the rows of the chairs to the doors, leaving just before students for the next class start walking in with their violins.
Did she just ask me out for a drink?
And I said no?
The violin students are giving me a funny look, so I get off the stage and make my way past them to the halls, trying to mull over what just happened.
I wasn’t lying. It’s in the rulebook that teachers can’t have relationships or sexual encounters with their students. People do get fired for it and I wouldn’t be an exception. The last thing I want is to lose my job here.
I’m just surprised that my first instinct was to turn her down.
I’m also surprised she asked me in the first place.
If it wasn’t a date—and perhaps I was being a bit presumptuous there—then even her just wanting to be around me has me perplexed. I thought she didn’t like me? In fact, I swear she still doesn’t, which has me even more curious about her.
And that’s a problem in itself.
Because curiosity almost always gets me in trouble.
Chapter 5
Dahlia
“Ciao bella,” Livia says to me as she gets out of her chair to give me a kiss on each cheek. “You look beautiful.”
“Glamor still holding up?” I ask, patting my head as if I have an invisible shield over me, which I suppose I do, in some ways.
“You tell me,” she says, gesturing for me to sit.
It’s Friday afternoon, a few days after our meeting here for coffee. I tried not to be a nervous wreck all week, and if I was, I tried to play it off as if I was just nervous about my first week of school. It was hard not to worry that at any moment my glamor might slip and that Professor Aminoff would see me for the witch that I am.