Page 40 of Crown of Thorns
It’s shameless. I know it. But he needs a push.
Now, that has him reacting. For the very, fucking, first time.
When I see him typing, I fistbump the air.
Grumpy Bear: No, and I’d prefer you not text me anymore
Little Devil: Liar. Come on, tell me you want to see it
Grumpy Bear: No
That’s progress, no matter how short the word. Real progress.
I look up to see Melody arriving through Monterrey’s reception hall, the door held open by that weird as hell newcleaner. A mute with a curious glare. Two of our bodyguards follow her as she makes her way inside the castle. With them is Amadou, who’s carrying the artwork I commissioned as a welcome gift for Noah's dorm. Tonight, he will spend his first night in the castle.
When she sees me, she gives me a happy little wave and walks into the canteen. She plops down across from me, colourful paper clips holding back her wild curls. Her face is smeared with something that looks like clay, and the tight, black dress that fits her like a glove has the first few guys already salivating. Like her brother, Melody is unaware of her charm as she still takes in the place with wide, green eyes.
“Oh my god, this place is huge.”
“Well, it’s a castle after all,” I deadpan.
Her eyes flick back to mine, and she lets out another laugh. “And you! Telling me you’re a friend from Paris. I believed you, you know? Turns out you’re a student. Yeah, he’s pretty cool, isn’t he? My brother?”
“Hmm. Very cool indeed.” If only she knew.
“So…this is what I made for you. You said dark green walls, right?” She takes out a series of mugs and a tray. Sparkles with clusters of golden stars shine at me. “When you mentioned it was for my brother, this was the first pattern that came to mind. We had a similar painting at home when I was a child, and I remember being fascinated by it.” She gives me a bashful smile. It’s so similar to her brother.
“It’s fucking stunning. He’ll love it.” Wrapping my arm around her, I snap a picture of us. “Let’s make a true artist of you. With my connections, you’ll be ruling the world in no time.” I make quick work of sending our selfie to Noah, then have Amadou put all my purchases up to his room. I’m elated. I've managed the finishing touch before he’ll sleep here, atMonterrey, for the first time tonight. “Now, what do you say to a drink?”
She beams. “I’d say I’m thirsty.”
“Cool.” I open a bottle of champagne I brought for the occasion. There’s a no-alcohol policy on campus, but not for everyone, of course. “So, how is it that you and your brother lived together until now? It’s awfully cute, but you’re both adults, so I can imagine you’d want some privacy.”
“We were separated for many years.”
“Yes, I heard that somewhere.”
“Noah left when he was sixteen. I was only seven, so I don’t remember much. He came back a few months ago, after Mom and Grandpa’s funeral. Mom left us the house, so he moved in with me. He’d been living in Paris, but things have gotten so expensive, this setup’s a total lifesaver.” I hum in agreement, though I wouldn’t know. My trust fund makes more money every year.
She takes a drink. “He doesn’t talk about it. My parents never did either. All I ever got was: he was a rebel. That’s it. Like that explained everything.”
“And you believed them?”
“At the time? Yes. Until I didn’t. Right now, I’m just happy that he’s back in my life. Even if it means him sleeping here. He’ll come home during the weekends and holidays.”
“Absolutely. You?—”
The air sharpens. Static prickles across my skin, tension curling at the base of my spine. It’s not sight, but instinct. I feel him before I see him.
Noah.
A storm in slow motion, wrapped in a button-down, all tension and thunderclouds. That signature static of his, charged, unreadable, dangerous, rolls in before he even enters the room.
The canteen door bursts open like it owes him something. His eyes scan, lock, and burn. Noah Montague: fury in a pressed jacket, sunlight on sharp cheekbones, and a scowl hot enough to scald. There’s no one else here to see it, but I feel the moment settle like static. Thick, charged, and only for me.
“Melo.” His voice slices through the air, sharp and urgent. He storms into the canteen like a man chasing a flame. His own, probably. Drop-dead fucking gorgeous with a jawline sharp enough to make angels weep. And yes, fuck, he’s had a haircut. Clean lines, shorter at the sides. I want to lick the skin behind his ear just to feel how close the buzz comes to bone.
“Nooms!” Melody’s eyes beam, but Noah doesn’t see it, too busy staring at our glasses in horror.
