Page 129 of Even Beneath the Stars

I nod. Just the once—but still, it's the admission he's looking for. Doubly humiliating because it's the truth.

"Right. Well, I suggest you think long and hard about this conversation—during the longest stretch of time in the day when your brain remains un-addled by copious amounts of liquor—and decide how you want to proceed." He flicks his hand towards the door—presumably his way of letting me know I'm dismissed—then lifts a file folder from a tray along the corner of his desk and proceeds to scan its contents, as if I'm not even in the room anymore.

I get to my feet. Run my tongue along my teeth, nodding slowly; barely keeping it together. “You're unbelievable," I bite.

The asshole leans back in his pompous-ass chair, still holding the open folder in his wrinkled hands. Then arches a bushy grey eyebrow at me. "And you're a vapid narcissist. Get out of my office."

Chapter Fifty-One

Maggie

Ikeep telling myself I’m imagining it. The way his arms stay loose around me instead of pulling me close. The way his kisses don’t linger as long as they used to. The way he’s always the first to let go.

But I’m not imagining it. It’s real. And it's not just occasionally.

I confronted him about it one time. “You’re pulling away.”

He scoffed, shook his head. “I’m not.”

Another time, I asked again, and his expression softened, his long fingers brushing my jaw. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Another time, he snapped. “Jesus, Maggie. Why do you always have to over-analyze everything?”

But most of the time, I don’t ask at all.

It’s like watching the tide pull back before the storm. Like knowing the swell is coming and still standing there enthralled by the beauty of the rolling wave, knowing it has the ability to drown you.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Maggie

"What do you mean Xavier's on the other side of the swamp?" I yell. "What the hell evenis'the swamp'?"

The bass vibrates through my ribcage as I stand just in front of the arched entry to the Smoking Room. It’s loud. The kind of loud that makes the air feel charged, like static before a storm. And the smell—weed, expensive perfume, and something sickly sweet—permeates the air.

The noise and the sea of unfamiliar faces draped across velvet couches, spilling out into the hallways send me straight back to my first few weeks in this house. Back when walking into one of Xavier Rockwell’s parties made me feel like an intruder. Like a side character in someone else’s wild, chaotic, too-rich-for-reality life. But this one is worse—becausethis party means Xavier lied to me.It exposes the fact that I was right, and he’s been slowly slipping through my fingers. That he’s done with me. Withus.

Earlier this week, I asked if he would come to my place and watch movies tonight, just the two of us, since I had a couple of extra days off banked. And it feels like forever since we've had real time together.

But Xave gave me some vague excuse, insinuating he had band stuff going on. When clearly, what he really had going on was a swamp-themed rager. Which he wanted to enjoy without me. Even though he knows I’d understand if he just wanted some time to hang out with his friends. But then, why lie to me and not just say that? Also, most of these people aren't his friends. They're the people he used to surround himself with to help fill in the cracks.

"Xave's on the far side of the swamp with Beck," a girl with glitter-streaked cheeks shouts over the music.

Her friend, swaying in sparkly platforms, points toward the hallway in the direction of the Drawing Room and the spiral staircase that leads up to the opposite side of the second floor where the boys' rooms are. "They filled the alcove with, like, actual pond stuff."

"Pond stuff?" My voice cracks.

These parties areridiculous.And I thought we were done with them. Or at least, these out-of-control ones where the house gets crammed with strangers, practically trashed, only to be cleaned in the wee hours of the morning by staff.

"Yeah, like plants and moss and molasses and stuff. And socks and—" Platform Girl stumbles, grabbing her friend's arm. "Anyway, they're doing readings. Like, of your future."

I press my fingers to my temples. "Molasses and…socks?What the—" I shake my head. "Never mind. Thanks, I'll go find him."

"Hope your future looks bright!" one of them calls to me as I head down the hall in the opposite direction.

My future doesnotlook bright.

I head upstairs to relieve Rita of her shift after my day off. God knows she's probably beyond ready to leave.

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