Page 31 of Swallow Your Sorries

“I’m serious,” Mum says, grasping my arm and giving me a little shake. “For all we know that Auclair kid goes here.”

“The Auclairs are business people. Only Madame is in the ballet world and she retired from Beaulieu Academy before I ever applied for the scholarship. I’m sure her son is in some business school for money laundering as we speak. Not ballet.”

Or that’s what I keep telling myself. Jarett isn’t the only one to haunt me a few times a month in my nightmares. Gant Auclair’s eerily beautiful face visits me too. His touch always starts soft and careful like our first encounter at the studio, igniting butterflies in my belly and goosebumps on my skin. But then he’ll caress my neck and his fingers turn into vice grips, his black eyes shooting darkness straight into my soul.

“Shh,” she hisses. “He may not be here, but I’m sure he has ears all over. Half of these girls probably graduated with him from primary school.” She looks over my shoulder and then around the campus to see if anyone’s watching us. Of course, no one is. “But you’re right. Fathers like Bart Auclair want their sons to follow in their footsteps, not their mother’s, so I guess that makes sense.”

Minutes later, after a few more hugs and kisses, I watch as Mum’s beat-up wagon pulls out of the car park and through the iron gates. I follow it until it banks the curb, and a body blocks it from view. I gaze up at what must be one of the most gorgeous, ethereal boys I’ve ever seen and, unlike everyone else, he’s staring at me.

Directly at me.

His eyes are a hypnotic blue-green, with a starburst of bright yellow around the pupil. His wavy dark hair is wild and windswept in that modelesque way that seems effortless. He’s well over six four with a muscular but lean and narrow physique. Pure elegance comes to mind as I watch his long limbs glide closer to me.

He smiles, showcasing oddly sharp canines, and I think he’s going to speak, but he turns away at the last second, typing out a text as he strolls straight past me.

I turn to look back at him, but he doesn’t spare me another glance.

Hmm,it’s too good to be true anyway. I’m not the type of girlie who gets some magical meet-cute on the first day at a brand-new school. Besides, I’m not here for boys. I’m here for… for… right, ballet.

Mum and I had already gone to the head office to sort out my paperwork and get my class schedule and dorm assignment. I would be in Maple House, according to the picture map the secretary had given me. Mum asked if I needed help carrying my belongings or unpacking, but as I had one rolling suitcase and one duffel bag, I told her I’d manage. I knew the drive back home was a little over four hours, and she had the night shift.

Maple House is one of the last buildings on campus, close to the surrounding forest line. I drink in its beautiful black stonework, climbing vines full of pretty white flowers, and sharp roofline before entering the foyer.

A blonde woman in a vintage dress stands in the doorway, her shoulders leaning far back against the frame as if she’s posing, but there’s no photographer. Her attire doesn’t look like a costume or a replica though, it seems authentic, and with the massive black and white staircase behind her, for one brief moment, I swear I’ve travelled back in time.

“Does it look Vogue-esque?” she asks, barely moving her dainty red lips.

“W-what?” I follow her gaze over my shoulder and to the pathway where a handsome silver fox is rolling a massive leather trunk. Unlike most of the adults, who are accompanied by teens, he’s alone.

Is he a teacher?

“Lex,” she says, casually easing out of her dramatic pose. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I work here, Trix,” he says flatly, and she giggles unperturbed.

“I know that, silly. I just didn’t expect you to takethispathway. The boys’ dorms areall the wayon the other side of campus. You didn’t have to take the long route past my house.”

“I had to drop my daughter off at Oak House.” He points to the building a few kilometres before Maple House.

“Sure, Jan.” She smirks, as he knits his brows and continues on his way. “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” she says, smoothing her skirt. “Professor Lexington will make any excuse he can to see me. I’ll have to warn him of his unprofessionalism in front of the students next time.”

“Umm…ok?”

“Now, let’s see, dear,” she says, extending her arm towards the stack of papers in my hand expectantly.

I hand over my dorm assignment and she checks it with a little nod.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Eloisa Ginhart,” she says, skimming over my name. “I’m Ms Beatrix Healy, but you may call me Ms Trix. I’m the dorm mother of Maple House and the drama teacher.”

Suddenly, it all makes sense.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Trix.”

“You’ll be on the third floor, in room three hundred and three. Three O three…” she trails and tuts before snapping her fingers together. “Oh, yes, your roommates will be Miss Stassi Beaumont and Miss Aria Dupont.” At the girls’ names, her expression falters, putting a pit in my stomach.

“Are they friendly?”

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” She tilts her head, but her hair, the texture of cotton floss, doesn’t move at all.

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