Chapter 24 CHAPTER 24

Chapter 24 CHAPTER 24
Bronte's POV

"Voices?" I repeat, keeping my hand on the door so he can't see past me into the room. "I don't know what you mean."

"I was walking past and I heard you talking to someone."

"Oh, that." I force a small laugh. "I was on the phone with Irina. She wanted to check on me."

"At this hour?"

"She couldn't sleep either."

He looks at me carefully, his eyes searching my face. "Can I come in?"

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

"I was about to go to bed."

"Then I'll only stay a moment." He's already moving forward and I have no choice but to step back and let him in.

He walks into my room and looks around slowly, taking in every detail. The wet footprints on the floor near the window. The slight disarray of my bed where I was sitting earlier. The closed bathroom door.

"It's messy in here," I say, trying to draw his attention away from the bathroom.

"It's fine." He moves toward the window. "Why is the floor wet?"

"I opened the window earlier. The rain came in."

"And you didn't close it?"

"I did, but not before the floor got wet."

He runs his finger along the windowsill. "It's not wet here."

"I dried it."

"But not the floor?"

"I was going to, I just got distracted."

He turns to look at me. "Distracted by what?"

"My phone call with Irina."

"Right." He moves away from the window and walks slowly around my room, his eyes taking in everything. "Where's your phone?"

"What?"

"Your phone. If you were just on a call with Irina, where is it?"

I gesture to my nightstand. "There."

He picks it up and looks at the screen. "No recent calls."

My heart pounds but I keep my voice steady. "We were messaging, not calling. I said phone call but I meant messaging."

"You said you heard me talking."

"I meant typing. You must have heard me typing."

He sets the phone down and looks at me. "Typing doesn't sound like voices, Bronte."

"Then maybe you heard something else."

"Maybe." He moves closer to me. "Or maybe you're lying."

"Why would I lie?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out." He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "You've been acting strange all day. Distant. Like your mind is somewhere else."

"I'm just tired."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

He studies my face for another moment, then his eyes move past me to the bathroom door.

"Is someone in there?" he asks.

"What? No."

"Then you won't mind if I check."

He moves toward the bathroom and I step in front of him.

"Alexander, this is ridiculous."

"Is it?" He looks down at me. "Then why are you blocking me?"

"Because I don't appreciate you coming into my room in the middle of the night and accusing me of lying."

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm just checking."

"Checking for what?"

"For whoever you were talking to."

"I told you, I was messaging Irina."

"Then there's nothing in the bathroom."

"Of course there's nothing in the bathroom."

"Then move."

We stare at each other and I know if I keep refusing it will only make him more suspicious. So I step aside.

He walks to the bathroom door and puts his hand on the handle.

My heart stops.

"Alexander, wait," I say.

He pauses and looks back at me. "Why?"

"Because I—" I scramble for a reason, any reason. "Because I was sick earlier. In there. It's a mess and I'm embarrassed."

"You were sick?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Before you came. That's why I wasn't at dinner, remember? I told you I wasn't feeling well."

He looks at the door, then back at me. "You said you were tired."

"I was tired because I was sick."

"What kind of sick?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Stomach. I ate something that didn't agree with me."

He watches me for another long moment, his hand still on the bathroom door handle.

Then his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He pulls it out and looks at the screen, his expression changing. "I need to take this."

"Okay."

He glances at the bathroom door one more time, then back at me. "We'll talk more about this tomorrow."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"We'll see." He kisses my forehead. "Get some rest. You look exhausted."

He leaves, closing the door behind him, and I stand there frozen until I hear his footsteps fade down the corridor.

Then I move quickly to the bathroom and open the door.

Sebastian is standing in the corner, his face pale, his whole body tense.

"He's gone," I whisper.

Sebastian doesn't move. "That was too close."

"I know."

"If he'd opened this door—"

"But he didn't."

"He almost did." Sebastian runs his hand through his hair. "This is insane. We're insane."

"I know."

He moves past me out of the bathroom and toward my door. "I need to leave."

"How? He might still be in the corridor."

"I'll go through the window."

"Sebastian, we're on the second floor."

"I've jumped from higher." He opens my window and looks down. "There's a trellis. I can use that."

"You'll break your neck."

"Better than Alexander finding me in here." He turns to look at me. "This can't happen again."

"I know."

"I mean it, Bronte. We can't keep doing this. Tonight was—" He stops. "We almost kissed."

"I know."

"And then Alexander showed up and we almost got caught."

"I know."

"So we agree. This stops here."

I nod even though everything in me wants to argue.

He climbs out onto the window ledge and I hold my breath as he reaches for the trellis.

"Sebastian," I say.

He pauses and looks back at me.

"Be careful."

He gives me a look that says careful is the last thing either of us has been, and then he's climbing down and disappearing into the darkness and rain.

I close the window and lean against it, my heart still racing.

That was too close.

Way too close.

And the worst part is I know it's not going to stop.

No matter what we say, no matter what we promise, we're going to keep doing this until something breaks.

I just don't know what will break first.