His face remained stoic throughout my speech but when I was finished, he stood up to look down on me. I swallowed thickly at the expression on his face because it wasn’t disgust or fury that lurked there, but fierce determination.
“Never met a woman like you. Know I won’t again. You find somethin’ worth keepin’, you find a way to fuckin’ keep it. Not gonna stop, and just so you know, I got it that this could get you fired, that this could cause you embarrassment but what I got to say to that is this: whatever pain and ugliness I bring you by bein’ with you, I promise I’ll bring you double that in sweetness and beauty. You hear me on that, because I may be a man without a normal moral compass, but I’m a man who makes a woman a promise, and I’ll die before I break it.”
I didn’t sleep well and I woke up in a foul mood. To make myself feel better, I put on beautifully sexy lingerie in a deep rose color that looked great on my pale gold skin with all my honeyed hair. The dress I wore over top was new, from a really cool vintage shop in town called Entrance Only, and it made me feel like a ballerina because it wrapped with a big bow at my little waist and was pale pink. I curled my long hair into loose waves, slicked a subtle dusky lipstick over my naturally pouty lips and nodded curtly at my reflection in the mirror. I looked like the ultimate lady, the wife of a lawyer, the daughter of a professor. I looked like myself.
I hated it.
It didn’t really feel like me, not the new Cressida who rode on the back of motorcycles, got drunk on weeknights with strangers and let teenage boys feast on her pussy in the middle of her classroom.
Which was exactly why I donned my good girl armor. I couldn’t let those things happen again. Not only because it was morally suspect but because I simply couldn’t afford to lose my job. Shamble Wood Cottage needed a ton of repairs, I had to fund my voracious book-buying habit and I was racking up law fees because William refused to sign our gosh darn divorce papers. Without a divorce settlement or alimony for him, I’d need to work at EBA for the next five years before I could even make it financially possible to go back to school.
So, armor and good behavior.
Warren picked me up for school at quarter to eight, his smile bright as I entered the car.
“You look amazing,” he complimented as I buckled up.
I smiled slightly at him. “Thanks. I had a rough night and wanted to feel pretty.”
He laughed as we pulled out of my driveway. “Fair enough, but you look pretty nice every day.”
“That’s sweet, Warren, but I’m still not going to sleep with you,” I reminded him drily.
He laughed again and shook his head. “I didn’t offer to drive you to school so you would sleep with me. I mean, that would be chill, but honestly, I live close by and I’m not crazy about the idea of you walking across Entrance by yourself.”
“I’ve been fine,” I pointed out. I’d been making the walk for the last two weeks while my car was at Hephaestus Auto. When I called them the other day, a gruff man had told me that my car was better off in the dump but that they were working on it. So, I’d been walking until yesterday when Warren had noticed and offered me a ride.
We rode in silence listening to an oldie’s station Warren let me choose and Elvis Presley’s Heartbreak Hotel came on. My gut clenched as something sour blossomed inside me. I both hated and loved that both King and I loved Elvis especially because I listened to his music all the time. It meant that even when I didn’t want to think about my too-sexy-for-his-own-good student (which was always), I did. The song reminded me that I’d have to find a way to stay unmoved by our transgressions of the day before and reaffirm my position as just his teacher.
Warren and I had just pulled into the parking lot when my phone rang. Focused on facing King in our fifth period, I didn’t look at the screen before I answered.
“Hello?”
“Cressida Irons,” my mother’s voice trilled over the line. “I’ve been calling you every day for the last week. Where in heaven’s name have you been?”
I dropped my forehead against the glove compartment with a painful thud. The one thing I didn’t need this morning was a lecture from Phoebe Irons.
“It’s my mum,” I told Warren with a wince as I covered the speaker on my phone. “Unfortunately, I have to take it. Do you mind?”