Fading Out (Living Heartwood 3)

I take her hand and bring it between us, then place a kiss to the back of it. I catch the tremble in her arm, and my gaze snaps to her face. Slowly, I pull myself up to my full height, and say, “Thank you for the dance, Arian.” Then I turn and head toward Coach and the guys.

As I walk away, the urge to glance back and measure her reaction roils in my gut.

15

Arian

The town car—which is my parents’ modest term for limousine—pulls to a stop at the front of my dorm. I requested that my father drop me off a few blocks back, but as always, he insisted. Worried about me walking a whole parking lot’s length in the dark.

Which could be looked at as simply a father’s concern—if I didn’t know better. He wants me seen. Wants the other students to know I’m not like them; I’m above them.

“If it bothers you so badly, then you shouldn’t have sent me to this school,” I say, searching through my clutch, avoiding his stare. I dig out my room key and grip it tightly before reaching for the handle.

“Markus will get the door, Arian.” He snaps his fingers and our driver hustles out. Then my father is looking at me. I can feel his glare raking over me like ice cubes tumbling down a ladder. “We’ve already discussed why here,” he adds. “But I expect while you are in attendance, you do not find yourself in another less than desirable position.” He sighs, as if it’s all too challenging to deal with me.

I almost laugh. Me, the defiant daughter. “Understood,” I say simply, and turn to accept Markus’s hand after he opens the door.

“Wait.” This from Becca.

My eyes close. I stand still, my back to her, as I wait to hear her take.

“Ari, please. You know how much your father and I adore you,” she says. An ache hitches in my throat. Adore, not love. Noted. “We so want you to make friends. And that plump girl you room with is so nice. We’re not trying to isolate you, we just want you to be conscious of your acquaintances.” She pauses for a purposeful beat before clarifying her point. “This is the time of your life in which the company you keep is of utmost importance.”

In other words, my mingling with the town’s football god/playboy is unacceptable. Again, duly noted. I’d love to turn around right now and tell them I had no intention of seeing Ryder seriously, but their forbiddance is making it all the more appealing. Only I know how childish that would come off, and it’s not at all true.

I want to be with Ryder all because of his own doing.

Ugh, but I just wish to God they’d stop critiquing my every move, word, acquaintance. With a sigh of resignation, I say, “Thanks, Becca. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before the door shuts, my father speaks up. “I’ve been given word that we’re to attend the Reilly’s dinner party next month. Please coordinate your schedule with Becca’s so that you’ll have a proper dress by then. Lucas has been asking about seeing you. You should make this happen even before the dinner.”

I swallow past the aching lump threatening to choke me. “You said…” I stutter out. Try again. “You said after graduation. You’ve already given him your consent, haven’t you?”

My father’s thick brows pull together, a haggard expression crossing his face. “Ari, listen. I’m very concerned, love. These guys you become involved with—”

“One guy,” I clarify.

“Yes, well it’s worrisome. I think it’d be best for you if you were settled with the right man sooner rather than later.” His eyes touch mine, finality in their depths. “For the sake of your health and wellbeing, it’s time to accept an offer and move forward with your life. And Lucas is a prime choice, sweetheart.”

My heart drops. Free fall.

I wrap an arm around my waist, as if I can’t stop the stirring nausea, and thank my father for tonight. What’s expected. Then I hurry into the building and practically run toward my room. A few lingering stares at the girl racing through hallways like Cinderella trying to beat the clock follow after me, but I’m not concerned with them.

I just want to get out of this ill-fitting dress and into my pajamas before I scream. Chocolate is in dire need, too.

* * *

One thing is good: I don’t feel anxious today as I leave the lecture hall and head toward my lunch hour. I don?

?t worry whether Ryder will look my way, smile, come over and talk to me. For the past two days, he hasn’t so much as proven his neck can swivel, never mind acknowledge me.

Since the charity banquet, since my father so meticulously pointed out that I’m off-limits, it’s as if Ryder doesn’t even know I exist. Which is probably the way it should’ve been from the start. But I can’t pretend his sudden avoidance doesn’t sting. Rejection—even when it’s for the best—is still rejection.

For the most part, I’ve stopped obsessing over him. The more hours that go by, the more I find something else to fixate on that’s not Ryder related. Like fitting into a size two, which will stop the endless, concerned calls from Becca, and like Vee’s mission: her new raffle idea.

“You should just call it the Get Into Gavin’s Jockstrap Project and be done with it already,” Haley says to Vee from across the small table. We’ve decided to eat lunch off campus today, at a local coffee shop a few blocks away. Which is—okay, I admit—mostly why I’m not angsting over seeing Ryder. And I’m not entirely sure they didn’t suggest eating here for that exact purpose.

Right, so I’m still obsessing. But after what my father said…and the way I reacted toward Ryder after…how can I not? I feel bad, worried that Ryder took my father’s insulting probing to heart. Or, that he thinks I’m anything like him. It’s all so dumb. Me agonizing over a guy who probably hasn’t had one singular thought of me since then. A guy that I can’t have, regardless.