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)
I learned my lesson. I almost lost my life doing so.
I enter the classroom, the last one in. Valtu looks up from his desk and his hardened expression softens with relief when he sees me. I can tell that he probably thought I wouldn’t show because I was avoiding him after everything he told me last night.
After the way he touched me.
After the way he kissed me.
Even now, with his dark gaze locked on mine, I feel my body starting to come alive again, a fire building deep inside.
There he is.
So damn beautiful.
I sit down at my desk, averting my eyes now because I think if we keep staring at each other, the other students are going to suspect something.
And Valtu swiftly turns into Professor Aminoff, a man with charm and authority that has everyone hanging on his every word as he preps us for how the exam is going to take place.
My whole life I’ve left things to the last minute. Tomorrow has always been a preferable day to do something. Though I didn’t study as much as I would have liked, I’m glad I at least got some done at the library the other night, because as I’m doing the exam, I realize I know most of the answers. I suppose I could have used a memorization spell to help me through, but honestly that astral projection completely wrecked me and I’m too afraid to use any magic now for fear of losing my grip on my glamor.
When the exam is over, class is dismissed and even though I want to approach Valtu at his desk, another teacher walks into the room to talk to him. For a moment I fear that maybe someone saw us kissing on the bridge last night and he’s about to be reprimanded, but that doesn’t seem to be the vibe since they’re joking around.
So I leave the room and decide to head out into the city for a bit, grab an early lunch somewhere. I pick a taverna across the Ponte dell’Accademia that I heard Valtu mention once, hoping that maybe he’ll show up here when he’s done.
But he doesn’t. I have some bruschetta since the food is fairly expensive and a couple of Aperol Spritzes, taking my time to linger like the locals do since my next class isn’t for a while. Then it’s time to head back into the school for my music theory class, then my composition class—I take both with a bit of a buzz going. Finally I have the chance to see Valtu again in the concert hall for my practical, last class of the day.
He is different with me this time. When he meets my eyes, he smiles, but he doesn’t let his gaze linger on me for too long. He addresses everyone else in the class more than he does me, even this British chick with the coke-bottle glasses that he normally seems to dislike.
I have to wonder if he’s doing this on purpose, maybe the teacher he was talking to earlier really was warning him. Or maybe he came on too strong last night and he spooked himself. Could easily be either one. I mean, he was coming on strong, it’s just that I happened to like it.
So I keep my expression as sweet as possible (which is a challenge when you have resting bitch face), I smile at him when I can. But when it comes time for me to play some pieces on the organ, even his compliments come up short. Instead he thinks I need some work with my ankles to play on the inside of my feet, which is the first time I’ve heard that.
But maybe it’s not that he was coming on strong. Maybe I’m the one who scared him off. I’m the one who basically told him I was a loner child with dead parents and no friends and no dates and I’m inherently unlikeable.
Yeah, that’s what it was all right.
I’m the fucking problem.
As usual.
When class ends, everyone goes and it’s just me and Professor Aminoff left.
I go up to him, feeling extremely awkward.
“Hey,” I say to him, just as new students are filling the room, dragging their instrument cases with them.
“Hey,” he says back, giving me a quick smile. As if we’re just teacher and student. And maybe that’s all we are. Maybe I’m an idiot.
“Listen,” I say. “I thought about what you said, with my ankles and all that and well, you did say I needed permission to use the concert hall after hours to practice. So…can I?”
He clears his throat and frowns, folding his arms across his chest and I do what I can not to stare at the way his biceps look under his black shirt. “When?”
“Tonight,” I say. I gesture to the students taking out their clarinets. “When they’re done.”