Page 100 of Swallow Your Sorries

“What do you want to be?”

“A toned ten? I don’t know. I’ve been curvy my whole life. I like being curvy.”

“But your mum doesn’t approve?”

“If she had it her way, I’d be a double zero like Aria.”

“Did she pressure you into having the surgery?”

Stassi shakes her head. “It was actually my idea, although she was thrilled with my decision. She wants me to be a runway model since I’m five foot eight, though that’s on the shorter end. And not a plus-sized one. I think she’d keel over and croak.”

“Just remember, it’s your decision.” I try to assure her.

“I wish it were that simple. You don’t know my mother.”

True.

“I don’t. But it doesn’t change the fact that your life is yours.”

She gazes back at her reflection in seeming contemplation before she eyes the empty mop bucket. “You know. Your life is yours too. You don’t have to let Gant ruin it all year just because you chose to stayafterhe lured you here.”

I chose to stay.

I can also choose my next move even if I couldn’t choose Gant’s.

But you can predict his moves.

“This year doesn’t have to be so hard if you learn how to play back.”

Play back.

Aria’s earlier words resurge in my mind for the hundredth time that week.

The interlude.

The distraction.

The desolation of Gant’s army.

If I just give him what he wants…

Still, I may not believe in fairytales, and I may be bursting with lust over his handsome face, but I at least want to be in love with the person I let into the deepest parts of me. Even if it’s fleeting.

And I don’t love Gant.

I hate him.

That’s the hard part to contend with, even knowing it may ultimately get me what I want. Peace, a dethroned Gant, and a smoother ride to graduation.

“I wish it were that simple.” I copy her words and a sad but tiny smile cracks her lips, then mine because we both know nothing’s fair.

But knowing it doesn’t change anything.

Gant

It’s been one week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours since Madame Benoit advised Elle to become my protégé.

It’s been exactly twenty-four hours since I’ve had Sylo tied up in the old greenhouse, hidden in the surrounding forest and guarded by Zoi. And it’s been exactly twelve minutes since I made Sylo call Elle and ask her to meet him at the theatre’s small studio room instead. The theatre is just a kilometre from where we’re waiting. And I’ve been waiting patiently. Productively, even.

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