Page 28 of Sinful Storms

“The details will stay between me and Roman. But hey, you know what? Tristan likes you, too, and I think he’s just as unhappy about it as you are.”

I took my hands away from my face, shaking my head firmly. “There is no possible way. No. Way. Never, ever. What happened was just sex because he was bored, and I was there or whatever. Plus, he was trying to goad me into admitting what I knew about the box. It meant nothing to him and nothing to me.”

Quinn and Elena exchanged glances again, but before they could say anything else, I was saved by Quinn’s phone vibrating across the table. She tapped on the screen, her eyes widening as she took in whatever was written there.

“Aria…listen to this. Roman contacted his cousin—you know, the hacker—to see if he had any information on those other names we didn’t recognise. Four of them were dead ends—they’ve either passed away or don’t live around here anymore. But the other one…he’s your politics professor.”

What? Professor Watkins? “How? It can’t be him. He has a different name.”

“According to Roman, he reverted to his mother’s maiden name when he came of age. Something to do with inheritance and disowning, Roman isn’t sure. He said his cousin couldn’t find out the exact circumstances, but he found the record of the name change.”

“Does Tristan know?” As soon as I asked the question, the bell rang, notifying us that it was time to get to our next classes.

My politics lesson happened to be next.

“You know,” Tristan said when I slipped into the seat next to him. I nodded briefly before turning away, pulling my books and laptop from my bag. He remained silent as I got everything set up, and I was grateful for it. It gave me a moment to gather myself, to compartmentalise everything, until only two goalsremained in my mind. My politics class, and what had happened to my great-uncle.

The thing currently tying those two goals together was my professor. From what I knew, he was past the average retirement age, but he was passionate about teaching, and I had the feeling he’d stay until he was either forcibly removed or was no longer able to teach. I studied him, taking in the thinning, receding white hair, the lined face and sunken eyes, and I tried to imagine him as a younger man. As a student here.

Tristan’s gaze slid to my throat. I’d been careful to cover the marks he’d given me with make-up after Quinn had immediately spotted them on my return to school, and I’d left my hair down as extra insurance, but he knew exactly where he’d left them.

His thumb stroked across my skin, and I suppressed a shiver. ‘Don’t touch me,” I hissed.

Lowering his hand, he studied the pad of his thumb, his brows pulling together. “Make-up?”

“Obviously. I don’t want anyone to see the evidence of our mistake. Do you?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. Eventually, he shook his head. “No.”

“Good.” I returned my gaze to my professor, concentrating on taking deep, even breaths to calm myself as I re-compartmentalised everything in my brain.

A thought hit me, and I leaned into Tristan, ignoring the warmth of his body.“Are there any photos of the previous students anywhere in the school?”

He shot me a lazy grin. “Good thinking. I dunno about year group photos, but there’s the gallery with the head students…and we have photos of the winning teams in the sports facilities. I’ll check it out.”

That grin… I shook my head.Focus, Aria. “Your dad said my great-uncle wanted to be on the rowing team but never made it.But if we can find photos of the other students, put names to faces?—”

“Miss Harper. Have you finished?”

My eyes rose slowly to see Professor Watkins standing in front of my desk, his arms folded across his chest. When did he get here?

“Sorry. I was just wondering…um…you went to school here, didn’t you, sir?”

“How is this relevant to our group project discussion?”

“I’m sorry. I was just curious. I don’t know much about my family history, and I wondered if you knew my great-uncle at all?”

“I have a question about rumours of a secret society during that time, too,” Tristan cut in. I could have happily throttled him at that moment.

I’d heard the term “ghostly pallor” before but had never really thought about what it meant until that moment. Visibly shaken, our professor took a step back, shaking his head firmly. “You should know better than to listen to rumours, Mr. Smith-Chamberlain.” He completely ignored my question, turning on his heel and striding back up to the front of the classroom.

Tristan nudged my foot beneath the table, and I kicked him back. I saw him glare out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t dare to look at him. Whether it had been my question or Tristan’s that had set our professor on edge, I wasn’t sure. What I did know was that he was watching us both very, very carefully.

I felt my professor’s eyes on us for the rest of the class.

15

TRISTAN

---