Page 80 of The Headmaster’s Rule

Exhaling heavily, I look at my daughter. “Fine. Where are the costumes?”

She glances from my phone to me, eyes dancing with mirth. “You have to provide your own.”

I grind my jaw. “Where the hell am I going to find a costume this last minute?”

Juliana leans against the counter, considering this. “Good point.” She taps a manicured finger to her lips in thought. “Okay, how about this. You go as a werewolf, mid-transformation. I’m thinking ripped jeans, boots, black Henley, fake fangs, maybe a little eyeliner…”

I stare at my daughter. “No way in hell am I doing that.”

Her gaze falls to my phone, still clutched in my hand, and she smirks. “You sure about that?”

I grumble, stuffing my phone away. “I don’t even own ripped jeans.”

“Yeah, you do. I saw them once. They’re in your bottom drawer, behind your running shorts. Go home at lunch and get them.”

My mouth opens in protest. I really don’t want to do this.

But when I think of Eleanor’s message, my stomach twitches. I don’t have any better ideas, and I don’t want to disappoint her. Though I’m not sure how jeans and a Henley make a costume.

“Are you sure about this costume?” I ask my daughter, and she softens, sensing the vulnerability bubbling under my surface that even I wasn’t aware of.

“Trust me. I’ll make it work.”

CHAPTER 27

Theo

Juliana corners me in my office in the early evening before the event starts, arms full of bags. She’s a Greek Goddess, in a flowing white toga dress with a gold belt at the waist, gold arm cuff, and a delicate laurel crown.

For a moment, the dread about this evening slips away, and all I see is my daughter; beautiful, confident, self-assured. She looks like her mom, and the reminder is bittersweet. It’s easy to forget Juliana is grown up now, living her own life. A life that pulls further and further away from mine. My heart clenches at the thought, wishing I could go back to the days when she trusted me with her deepest secrets, and I was her best friend.

“Hey, Bug,” I murmur, voice rusty as she closes the door. “You look lovely.”

“Thanks, Dad.” She sets her bags down, eyes widening as they sweep over me. “Woah. Alright. I can work with this.”

I look at the clothes she insisted I wear; black Henley, scuffed boots, and faded jeans with a rip across the knees, fraying at the hem. I haven’t worn these jeans in years—I’d forgotten I even owned them—and can’t say I feel comfortable standing in my office in something so… unkempt.

Juliana steers me into a chair and pulls a pencil from her bag. “Okay. I’m going to line your eyes a little, and add some shading under your cheekbones.”

My jaw tightens. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes. It’s what makes this whole look come together.” She works for a moment, assessing my face. “The beard works in your favor.”

“It’s not a beard,” I grumble, and she snorts.

“Yeah, Dad, it is.” She finishes with the pencil, pulling something else from her bag. “I’ve never seen you with a beard. It suits you.” A beat passes while she works. “Where has it come from, all of a sudden?”

“I’ve always been capable of growing a beard, Juliana,” I deflect, deadpan.

“And yet you never have… until now.”

I stare at the carpet, refusing to meet my daughter’s gaze, so close. “It’s for her,” I admit at last, not feeling right saying Eleanor’s name aloud, like that, in my office. I brace for Juliana’s smirk, but it doesn’t come.

“Aww. You big softy.” Her smile is unexpectedly genuine, and any sharp response I might have had dies on my tongue. She pulls another pencil from her bag, moving to my forehead.

“What are you doing now?”

“You’re mid-transformation, Dad. You need to look like you just tore through a forest.” Then she sets the pencil aside, pulling out hair spray, as she tousles my hair.