“Oh.” I scrambled to orient myself to his crisp new tone. It was like he’d flipped the switch from playful to professional. “That’s good. Do you know how they found you?”
“They followed Vincent.” His features tautened. “It’s not hard to spot that ridiculous orange Lamborghini of his.”
I resisted pointing out that Asher owned his fair share of “ridiculous” sports cars; Football World did a whole feature on his multimillion-dollar collection.
“He didn’t mention them when we talked yesterday.” I’d been so distracted by our father’s accident that I hadn’t asked Vincent whether he’d run into paparazzi on his way out. “He would’ve if he’d seen them.”
“I think they were still hiding when he left but found a way to sneak in afterward.” Asher examined me, his eyes inscrutable compared to their earlier warmth. “I heard he’s going back to Paris for the summer.”
“Yes. To take care of our father.” An ache settled into my knee joints.
“So training will be just the two of us going forward.”
I shifted my weight, hoping to ease the pressure. It didn’t work. “That’s what Lavinia said. There’s no point complicating things when Blackcastle already paid for the summer.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Asher didn’t move from his spot in the doorway. His response was cooler than I’d expected, which was a good thing. I was the one who’d established our no-flirting rule; I couldn’t get mad at him for following it.
The ache shot up my thigh to my hips.
I sucked in a sharp breath and exhaled, Asher’s curious change in attitude forgotten. I’d gone months without a flare-up, but the past week had been a nightmare. Stress, hormones, weather changes—there wasn’t always a rhyme or reason to my pain.
Before I could muster a reply, he suddenly straightened and jerked his head to the left.
“Hey!” Suspicion serrated his voice. “Do you work here?”
I didn’t hear a response, but a second later, pounding footsteps echoed through the hall.
Asher took off after them, and I instinctively followed despite my body’s scream of protest. My pulse rocketed with trepidation.
Was it the paps again? That was the only reason I could think of for his reaction. If it was, how did they get inside the school when security was already on alert from the first incident?
I rushed into the corridor, but in my haste, I banged my hip against the doorframe. Most people could easily shake off the hit, but for me, in my current state, it was the equivalent of a bomb going off inside me.
A cry of pain escaped before I could stop it.
Asher halted his chase and whirled around. Worry seeped into the planes of his face.
“Scarlett?” His voice sounded far-off, like I was sinking underwater while he watched from the shore.
Blood roared in my ears. The hall tilted as every ounce of attention coalesced around my legs, and the ache throbbed with the force of an sledgehammer battering its way through a wall.
Breathe.
In, one, two, three. Out, one—
Another lightning bolt of agony ripped through me, so sharp and excruciating it felt like someone was tearing me in half from the inside out.
If my earlier ache was a hammer, this was a thousand spikes piercing the most tender points of my body.
My vision filled with static, and I maintained lucidity just long enough to see Asher sprint toward me before the ground rushed up and everything turned black.
CHAPTER 7SCARLETT
Everything hurt.
My bones, my joints, the simple act of breathing. Every drag of air resembled a steel claw raking through my lungs, making me wish for oblivion again.
I was dimly aware that I should open my eyes and take stock of my surroundings. It didn’t smell right. Instead of lemony cleaner or lavender diffuser, I detected antiseptic and…aftershave? Something spicy with a hint of citrus.
So. I wasn’t in the studio or my bedroom.
Where the hell am I? Hopefully not some random one-night stand’s house. One-night stands were never a good idea, even if they smelled delicious.
“Need anything else…”
“When she comes around…”
The faint murmur of voices dragged my mind off the mysterious aftershave and onto my current predicament again.
Strange room. Pain. Right.
At least my joints didn’t hurt quite as much as when I first regained consciousness. I still wanted to curl into a ball and pray for sleep, but I could push through it.
I always did.
I cracked my eyes open, half-afraid I’d find myself in some dingy man cave with weeks-old takeaway and topless posters plastered all over the walls.
