I sat in my seat and then pulled out my notepad as several students got out their laptops. I’d tried to take notes on my laptop when I’d first started college two and a half years ago, but I’d failed miserably. You could never go wrong with a pen and piece of paper.
My skin buzzed, aware of Ford behind me, but I didn’t turn back. I was sure people were wondering who this guy was watching us all, but I didn’t want the attention. With attention came questions, and I refused to answer any. Here, I was just Belle. I didn’t need to be Belle, daughter of DEA agent. That had followed me throughout my entire school life, and I’d come here to get away from it, not to be haunted by it.
“You okay?” a voice asked, and I turned to the left, blinking at the girl sitting next to me. Her name was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember it.
“I…yeah, are you?” I whispered back.
“I am. But I’m not the one trying to snap a pen with my bare hand.”
I flicked my gaze down to my hand and spotted my white knuckles, then slowly let my pen roll out of my palm and onto the desk. I laughed, trying to play it off as nothing, but I knew better than that.
My entire life was being uprooted, and as much as it was nice to have Ford here—especially after not seeing him for so long—this wasn’t the way I wanted it to be. I didn’t want to have him be my shadow. I didn’t want to feel on edge all the time. I just wanted to hang out with my friends at the bar or get a burger between classes, but even that had become almost impossible. Ford had to scope out each place we went to when we weren’t in my apartment, and he had to be with me at all times.
I turned a little in my seat to stare at Ford and wondered if he was frustrated too. He was at the height of his career, and yet he’d been lumped with babysitting me. Maybe he hated it just as much as I did?
“Miss Easton? I hate to draw your attention away from the handsome man standing at the back of my lecture hall, but I’m going to have to insist you stop drooling over him and look to the front of the class,” Professor Heartland said.
My face burned so hot I swore you could have fried an egg on it. Ford’s lips quirked on one side, and I narrowed my eyes on him, then spun in my seat to give the seventy-year-old professor my attention. Her gaze was fixed on Ford, and her brows rose as she got to his face.
“Now.” Professor Heartland clapped her hands. “If I could have all of your attention.” She looked at me again, but this time she winked and took a quick glance back at Ford. I had no idea what that wink meant. “I know it’s hard to concentrate when we have an Adonis standing at the back of the room.” I snorted, the sound echoing around the now quiet room. “But we must talk about the importance of this piece of literature. The way men talked about women in their works of art in the sixteenth century needs to be assessed. I want your opinions, your facts, how you think this would have made women at the time feel.”
I shuffled in my seat and tried to write down what she was saying, not really understanding what it was I had to do.
“Miss Easton.” I snapped my head up, my wide-eyed gaze meeting Professor Heartland. “What differences do you think there are between a man and a woman in the modern day compared to back in the sixteenth century?”
I shrugged. “As in romantically?” Professor Heartland nodded, waiting for me to say more. It was just my luck she picked me out of all of the students when Ford was listening to every word I was saying. Could I not catch a break? “I…erm, I don’t really know.” I bit down on my bottom lip. “Women are more forward than they were back then.” I paused, waiting to see what she’d say, but when she was silent, I continued, “A woman would never have been able to tell a man her true feelings. Women have more choice now. They can marry for love and not because their father said so.”
“So, if your father told you that you had to marry a certain man, would you?”
It felt like the entire student body’s eyes were on me, and I could feel the burn of a blush making its way over my face. “It’d depend.”
“On…”
“If I loved him.” I tilted my head to the side. “The thing is, my dad is protective—too protective—so if he had it his way, I’d stay unmarried for the rest of my life.” A round of chuckles sounded out, but I wasn’t joking in the slightest. If only they really knew. “But he knows better than anyone that love knows no bounds. He followed his heart with my mom, and if they had met back in the sixteenth century, it would never have been allowed to happen.”
“I see…” Professor Heartland stared at me. “And although your father and mother followed their heart, do you feel like you can too?”
I looked down at my hands on the desk and could feel my pulse racing. It didn’t really matter what my heart felt because I didn’t have a choice. For way too many years I’d been obsessed with Ford, determined to marry him when I was older, but as soon as I’d turned into a teenager, my hormones took over, and I realized how stupid the notion of being with someone twice my age was. But right then, sitting in a classroom full of college students who were waiting for my answer, I knew it wasn’t stupid.
“I think I can,” I croaked out. “In America, we have rights, we have free speech, but there are still places in the modern world where women don’t have the choices we have. They have to marry who they’re told to. They don’t get to follow their hearts. So…yes, I think I owe it to everyone who doesn’t get a choice to follow my heart.”
“Are we actually going to talk about the work we’re meant to be doing, or just listen to Tinker Bell’s feelings all day long?” a guy toward the back shouted. The heat from my blush increased tenfold, and I realized what I’d just said. I’d spilled my guts to a room full of people who I didn’t really know, and Ford. Fuck. Ford had heard all of that.
“Well, Mr. Reed, aren’t you the perfect male subject to talk about. What was it about Miss Easton’s words that made you uncomfortable?”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” he growled out. “I just don’t want to hear all this froufrou bullshit. I’m here to pass this class, not be part of a fuckin’ girl cult where we’re talking about hearts and flowers. Jesus Christ.”
Every bone in my body wanted to snap back, tell him it was men like him who were the problem, but I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut, and my gaze focused on Professor Heartland.
“I see,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “And in your opinion, Mr. Reed, what do you think I should be teaching in my literature class?”
“I don’t know,” I heard him answer. “Books? Anything but Tinker Bell’s feelings.”
“How about we talk about the respect men had for women in the sixteenth century?” Professor Heartland took a couple of steps forward. “Do you think men would have spoken about women the way you just spoke about Miss Easton?” I turned in my seat to look at the guy and realized several students were watching him. As soon as I glanced at Ford, I could see he was fuming.
His eyes were narrowed on the guy, his hands clenched by his sides. Part of me wanted Ford to step forward and teach the guy a lesson. Mr. Reed—otherwise known as Elijah—had been a thorn in my side since he’d asked me on a date freshman year. Apparently, he didn’t like the word no, and he’d made me aware of that almost every day since.
“I don’t know, Mrs. Heartland—”