Page 4 of Serpentine Valentine
The first female president of Acheroneverand one of the most acclaimed academics in the country.
“Thank you,” I said, trying to ignore the heat in my cheeks. “I take it faculty members don’t see fit to dress up.”
Her laughter was so melodious, I swayed slightly toward her.
“Not exactly professional, no. Still, it’s always fun to see the students enjoying so much. If I remember correctly, you were Cleopatra last year?”
“I can’t believe you’d remember that.”
Mina squeezed my bicep, a familiar move that made my chest light up like the Fourth of July. “Oh, I always keep an eye on our brightest students. Professor Morgan was telling me just the other day that he wants to offer you his assistantship.”
Euphoria clapped through me like lightning. “Are you serious?”
Another amused chuckle. “I never joke about academics. I’m proud of you, Alexandra. When we first met, I thought I sensed a kindred spirit, but over the past three years, you’ve proven your worth again and again. My scholarship couldn’t have gone to a more deserving woman.”
Faced with her praise, I felt momentarily sick with joy. It overloaded my system until I was dizzy, nauseated by rolling waves of happiness moving through me.
“Thank you,” I said breathlessly, feeling more like a fangirl than I ever had in my life. I’d never had anyone to make proud of me, not when my parents’ idea of a good daughter would have stayed home in the mountains of Virginia tending to their homestead. “I’m honored you think so.”
“Yes, well, keep up the good work.” She moved her hand from my bicep to elbow and down to my hand, which she held for a moment before releasing. It sent sparkles of lust and idolized worship spiraling through my bloodstream. “Have a good evening.”
“You too,” I called out after a moment of dumb muteness when she had already continued on her path.
She shot a smile over her shoulder, the weak autumn light breaking through the cloud cover to shine over her blond head. I shivered a little, standing there looking after her. The surreal nature of having a dream come true never failed to daze me, and I took a moment to let it settle around me like a mantle, heavy and warm over my shoulders.
Her name was the first thing I spoke when I practically skipped into Professor Morgan’s office, the words tumbling off my tongue as I explained how I bumped into the president. He laughed at my enthusiasm, walking around the desk to offer me a congratulatory hug.
I dropped my shield and lance to return the embrace, still chattering with enthusiasm, so happy I clung a moment longer than I would have.
“Can you believe it?” I demanded, releasing him even though hedidn’t release me fully, his hands falling to the indentation beneath my ribs above the curve of my hips. “Mina Pallas told me she didn’t know anyone more deserving of her scholarship.”
I pulled away from him to spin in a circle, skirt flaring, before falling into the chair I usually occupied. “I think I could float away on my happiness.”
Morgan chuckled, watching me with a soft smile, eyes warm and bright. “It makes me happy to see you so happy. You’re usually a rather subdued girl.”
“True,” I agreed easily. “‘Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony, and music inside me.’” I quoted Van Gogh with a smile. “I feel joy. It just takes a lot to bring it out of me.”
“What a fascinating girl you are,” he praised, reaching forward to squeeze my knee. “I find myself a bit obsessed with what might come out of your lovely mouth next.”
It was a vaguely sexualized comment, but I believed it was coming from a good place, so I beamed at him. “Well, your guess is probably as good as mine. I find I lack a filter most of the time.”
“I’ve noticed,” he said drolly, squeezing my knee once more before moving to his little station tucked between his rows and rows of books. “Tea?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
“It’s Halloween. What do you say we add a drop of whiskey for good luck and warmth?” he asked over his shoulder, his expression broken up with affection.
It felt so unaccountablygoodto have the praise of first Mina Pallas and then Dylan Morgan. It watered that fallow field in my soul where my mother and father’s affection should have germinated as a child and sprouted into rich harvests.
“Why not?” I shrugged and reached across the desk for the notepadcovered in his dark scrawl on his desk. He wasn’t shy about sharing his work with me, and I loved to read the inner workings of his brain. “You’ve made progress on your book!”
“I have,” he agreed. “Talking it out with you and some of my colleagues has broken that damned writer’s block.”
“I’m astonished I was any help.” Then giddy and unfamiliar with this level of lightness in my soul, I leveled him with a sly grin. “Though President Pallas might have mentioned you were thinking about me for your assistantship next semester?”
His laughter was rich and straight from the belly. He was more relaxed around me now. There was no more posing and posturing, or at least, not as much. He laughed easily and didn’t mind sharing his doubts and weaknesses. Seeing such a proud, powerful figure be totally human was oddly humbling and intoxicating.
When he handed me my customary mug of tea, cracked near the handle and chipped at the rim, I accepted it with a smile even though my cheeks hurt, unused to the expression.
