Page 22 of Spearcrest Queen

“You don’t think…” My voice cracks. “What?”

Her eyes flicker to mine, her expression tense, almost nervous. And how could she not be nervous? She’s lying naked in my arms, still flushed and gleaming from my kisses, from the sex we’ve just had, her head inches from my heart. I’d be nervous too, if I was her.

“I just…” She stops as soon as she starts; I can feel the shudder in her body as she swallows. At least this doesn’t seem easy for her: a small comfort. “I just think we need to stop seeing each other. It’s the right thing to do.”

The right thing to do. That’s how she’s always justified herself at her most cowardly. Righteously retreating when things get too raw or scary. Righteously locking herself behind her walls where I can’t reach her.The right thing to dois what she calls pushing me away, shutting me out, suffering all alone.

According to her, her pain is worth it if it’s for the right reasons—and so is mine.

“The right thing for who?” I ask, my chest so tight I feel as if my ribcage is in danger of caving in, leaving my heart crushed to pulp in the bloody wreckage. “For you? Because I promise you there’s nothing about losing you that could ever feel right tome.”

“You wouldn’t be losing me.”

She props herself up on her arms, looking down at me. Despicably, she looks more beautiful than ever: backlit with the dim lamplight, her skin still glimmering with sweat, her long brown hair hanging like a glossy veil over her back, her shoulder, framing her face, dusky nipples peeking through the strands. She looks exquisite, the kind of woman you want to get on your knees and worship.

“It’s just,” she continues, blinking slowly, licking her freshly kissed mouth, collecting herself. “I just can’t do this—this whole relationship thing—while I’m in Harvard.”

“Why? We barely see each other anyway. I’m not—this isn’t—” I interrupt myself, almost breathless with the sheer crushing injustice of it all. “We’ve barely spoken in over a month. I’m not even—I’m not askinganythingfrom you, Sophie.”

“I know that.” Her lips press into a thin line. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it?” The words come out harsher than I intend, the sharp edge of my pain cutting right into my voice like bones visible in a messy wound. I raise myself up on my elbows, erasing some of the height and distance between us, eyes pinned on hers, refusing to let her look away or escape this. If she’s going to try to get rid of me, then the least she can do is tell mewhy. “What is it, Sophie? You want to—what? Date other people?”

She flinches, and I know before she can even reply that this was the wrong thing to say. And I knew it too, I knew it even as I said it, but jealousy has always lived right inside my chest, the venom that pulses out from whichever chamber of my heart Sophie inhabits.

“Dating?” she says, coldness seeping into her voice. “Do you think dating is what I’m worried about when I have a dozen assignments due, hundreds of pages of cases to comb through, and a class full of the world’s most talented students? Dating is thefurthestfrom my mind, I can promise you that.”

The jealousy doesn’t go away, despite her blatantly telling the truth, because I’m not naive like Sophie.

I know what will happen the moment she’s single. I know how easy it is to fall for her—I was the first one to do it. Dating might not be on her mind now, but it will be. Sophie is a creature of need, of hunger. It seeps out whenever she’s had too much to drink, the edges of her hunger eroding at her self-control, until she becomes this version of herself that nobody gets to see aside from me. Sophie with her mouth fallen open and her eyes dark and ravenous and her words sharp and clawing and vicious and her body hot and wet and needing.

“Then why the fuck are you doing this?” My voice cracks, because jealousy doesn’t show its ugly head unless anger is at its side holding a knife. “Whatever we have, I know it’s not perfect, but it’s special. It’s a fallen fucking star in a field of pebbles. You know it too—I know you’re not with me out of pity. I love you like breathing, Sophie, I love you like a sick man, like it’s consuming me alive. I’d give you anything you want. I’d do anything for you. Don’t you know that? Why would you throw it all away?”

She exhales slowly, her shoulders slumping under the weight of something I can’t see. Her throat works soundlesslyfor a moment; when she finally speaks, it’s with the reluctance of someone coughing up something particularly distasteful.

“I don’t want people to think I’m with you for your money.”

For a moment, I’m too stunned to say anything. I watch her, the girl I love—sitting on our hotel bed with the dark veil of her hair and the simple ornamentation of her skin, her brown eyes, her breathtaking beauty. The dim room still smells like us—warm vanilla and fresh sweat and sex—the bedding crumpled beneath us, our clothing scattered across the polished furniture. A stark reminder that intimacy between us can only ever be achieved in bed.

“But you’re not with me for my money,” I say after a moment of stunned silence. My voice is dull with disbelief. “You don’tcareabout my money. If anything, my money is probably one of the things you hate most about me.”

“What I think doesn’t matter. IknowI don’t want you for your money—other people don’t.”

I shake my head, incredulous. “Who gives a fuck what people think?”

Her laugh is sharp, bitter. “Funnyyouof all people should ask that.”

The room goes silent again, my stomach twisting as I realise what she means.

Spearcrest.

She’s talking about Spearcrest, about the way I cared so much about appearances, about my family’s name, about avoiding scandal at all costs. She’s talking about the bleeding, festering wound at the heart of us, that one flaw in the structure that means anything we ever build, no matter how beautiful or perfect, will always run the risk of crumbling at any moment.

“This is different,” I say weakly, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re a lie.

She shakes her head, her eyes dark with hurt and defiance. “No, it’s not. It’s exactly the same, Evan. I’ve left Spearcrest behind, yes, and I moved as far away as I could, but guess what? I’m still surrounded by rich kids who know they’ll always be better than me. Still having to prove myself to everyone I meet. Still fighting for my place in a world I was never meant to enter. And it’s—”

Her voice breaks. Her eyes shine, and I realise—she’s crying.

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