Chapter 7

The lights cut to black.

A clear voice lifted through the hall.

The competition had started.

I sat back down. Sebastian didn't push me for an answer.

He leaned closer. His voice low. "Why did you pull your name off the list completely?"

I didn't understand.

He seemed to see my confusion. "All you had to do was perform a little below your best. You worked so hard for this. It's a shame not to even go up there."

He was tall. When he leaned in, his heartbeat was right by my ear. Steady. Even.

I looked at his profile. Drifted for a second.

Eighth grade. I'd suddenly wanted to study voice.

My mother had been stricken. "Sophia. Sweetheart. You can't even speak smoothly. How are you going to—"

I'd tried to argue. But the tears came first. Fell into my dinner bowl.

Sebastian picked the wet rice out with his chopsticks. Said, flat, "So she stutters. So what. I'll practice with her."

Then he'd gone out and bought a bag of smooth river pebbles. He'd pressed a pink one into my hand. Kept a white one in his own mouth.

He'd tried to speak around it, the words mangled. "Sophia Harrington. Fight for it."

The singing ended.

Chloe, tears running down her face, took the trophy.

I smiled. "I'm done with the bitter stuff."

"From now on, I only want sweet."

Sebastian's smile froze. He looked suddenly panicked, without quite knowing why.

He tried to grab my hand. "Then let me take you for dessert. Please?"

But the stage lights had come back up.

Chloe's voice drifted through the microphone. Tender. Tentative.

"Sebastian. I know you have a girlfriend. But I'm just so grateful to you."

"Can we be together for one week?"

The hall exploded.

Every eye turned to Chloe. A low hum of whispers, none of it kind.

"Doesn't Sebastian have a girlfriend?"

"She really went for it publicly?"

"She's basically begging to be the other woman."

Sebastian pulled his hand back.

He stood. His gaze cut across the entire room. The noise went dead.

He didn't look at me.

His voice was flat. Final.

"Yes."

Something closed in on my lungs.

I got up and left.

Sebastian came after me.

He blocked my path. "Sophia. It's one week. That's all. It doesn't mean anything."

"You know I love you. I will always love you—"

The autumn wind cut through my jacket. I shivered.

Something in the fog of my head finally cleared.

I came back to myself. Asked, quiet, "Can you delete the photos now?"

Sebastian froze.

In the washed-out moonlight, there was a strange mist around him. "Okay… I'll do it now."

I stood right next to him.

And watched.

Watched until I was sure every piece of the past had been wiped out. Then I let out the breath I'd been holding.

Sebastian tried to say something else.

Chloe came running up. Red-eyed, nose pink. "Sebastian."

Sebastian let go of me. He murmured, soft, "Wait for me at home. I'll be back in a week."

"I'll make it up to you. I'll bring you something."

Before I boarded the plane, I blocked his number.

The plane crossed the horizon. I stared out at the orange glow along the edge of the sky. The storm inside my chest went quiet.

Sophia Harrington. Everything after this is new.

Finance was brutal. The professors expected blood.

My days were classes, deadlines, more classes, more deadlines.

I was too tired to have insomnia for the first time in my life.

Eight in the morning. Madeline called.

She sounded careful. "Sophia. Sebastian realized you're gone."

I looked at my calendar.

Counted.

Seven days. Right on schedule.

A small worry. "He didn't come after you, did he?"

Madeline's voice was soft. "He asked where you were. I said I didn't know. He just left."

I exhaled. "Good."

I hung up and couldn't shake a bad feeling. But I told myself it was nothing.

I went back to ordinary life. Class. Meals. Sleep. The occasional dinner with new friends. Dancing, sometimes.

Three months later, London got its first real snow.

A thin layer of it settled over the walk in front of my flat.

I wrapped myself up in a scarf and hat until I felt like a padded ball, then stepped outside.

The chain on the wooden gate had rusted. It creaked when I opened it, dry and warped like an old, dying accordion.

The music stopped.

Snow caught on my lashes. I looked down.

On the ground in front of me, a bouquet of red roses.

The card.

Sebastian Blackwood.