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What is going on????

He wanted to make sure I got back safe.

Safe? Fucking hell, Ellise. We live right round the corner from the academy. You aren’t going to get mugged by a rogue cellist.

This is a very valid point. I stare at the screen.

There was absolutely no logical reason for Julian Thorne to play the part of a protective shadow.

I don’t have time for him.

Make time. Girl, that boy is fine—even though he has been a monumental dick to you in the past. But you are totally melting over him. Just admit you like him.

Nope.

Keep lying to yourself girl.

Now, that is a good idea, I think, tossing my phone onto the bed. Lying to myself has been a tactic that I have practically mastered.

My research paper on the Baroque era is becoming a bit of a joke. I’ve been staring at the exact same half-finished first sentence about Handel for twenty minutes, but I can’t focus. I can’t seem to get last night out of my head no matter how hard I try.

Frustrated, I push back from the desk and stare out of the window at the grey, overcast morning sky, trying to force my brain to cooperate.

Handel. Think about Handel.

Instead I think about Julian’s hand wrapped around mine.

Handel.

I think about the deliberate way his thumb brushed over my skin, stroking my pulse point before he just turned and walked away. He left me standing there, lingering like an idiot in the dark, waiting for answers he wasn’t willing to give.

Now I’m so confused I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore.

I need to get a grip. I’m telling myself that a lot lately.

I need to pull myself together before I completely ruin everything I have spent my life working for.

The terrifying truth that Maddie just slammed in my face is realising that I don’t simply tolerate him anymore.

I do actually like him.

God help me. It is a total disaster.

I can’t think like this. It goes against every rule I laid out for myself, but as I stand in the quiet of my room, my denial finally runs dry.

I like the way he listens. Not just to me specifically but to everything—the rare gravity he brings to the music, the way his whole body changes at the piano when his arrogance stops and the playing starts.

He has spent the last year trying to show me a specific side of him, yet underneath all that well constructed armour, there is something else entirely. Something fiercely protective, observant, and painfully human. I didn’t expect to find it. I didn’t look for it.

This is the worst possible time to be feeling any of this. It is my final year at Belrose, and it was supposed to be the year I proved myself as a soloist. But as I picture the dark intensity in his eyes, I am becoming painfully aware that keeping him at a distance is becoming increasingly difficult.

With a miserable sigh, I drag myself back to the desk and drop into the chair. I look down at the half-finished Handel sentence, but my mind keeps wandering back to the bitter night air with Julian Thorne.

I drop my face into my hands and let out a loud groan.

A sudden, aggressive pounding on my door makes me physically jump out of my seat.

“Christ.” I shout out loud, turning to face the commotion.