Chapter 8: Chapter 8

AMY

When the door to my dorm room shuts with a soft click, I rush over to my laptop.

My fanfic is the only solace I can have right now.

It seems like such a blur—his hard arms wrapped around me, his warm breath against my cheek.

~Amelia.~

After grabbing my laptop, I kick off my shoes and curl up on my bed. It takes only a moment to immerse myself in Rosings Park, and before I know it, my fingers are flying over the keyboard.

Mr. Darcy is approaching Elizabeth in the drawing room of the parsonage with his usual stoic face, but there’s a hint of wickedness in his eyes. Dominance. He sits beside her. Close. Too close for propriety. Especially since he called on her knowing Mr. Collins and Charlotte would be out.

Elizabeth pulls back.

“Lizzy,” Mr. Darcy whispers, and Elizabeth’s face flames at the use of her Christian name. “It will not do…”

Elizabeth frowns. “Pardon?”

“My feelings will not be repressed,” he says, and a wicked smile spreads over his face. Elizabeth hardly thought him capable of smiling in such a way. He looks dangerous.

“I have struggled in vain, and I can bear it no longer,” Mr. Darcy continues, his hand edging closer to Elizabeth’s. “I love you, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth’s heart flutters. The way he looks at her sends shivers down her spine. With a sudden burst of courage, she leans in closer to Mr. Darcy. Her lips brush against his ear as she whispers, “And what do you plan to do about it, Mr. Darcy?”

Suddenly, Mr. Darcy stands and pulls Elizabeth to her feet. He presses her against the wall and kisses her fiercely on the lips.

Elizabeth moans into his mouth, her hands knotting in his hair. She feels the hard length of him pressing against her thigh.

“Oh, Lizzy. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

My fingers halt on the keyboard.

~Oh holy shit.~

~No.~

~No, no, no.~

Tristan is infiltrating my mind. I can’t even see Mr. Darcy anymore.

I see Tristan.

He doesn’t even look like Mr. Darcy. Not the Mr. Darcy in my mind, at least. He looks like Mr. Wickham.

The charmer.

The fraud.

I slam my laptop shut. When I press my hands against my face, heat radiates into my palms. Oh fuck this. Now I’m turned on.

Thinking about Tristan, not Darcy.

He’s taken everything from me. Even my fanfic.

Hours later, I’m tossing and turning in my bed, the dorm room dark except for a sliver of moonlight peeking through the window. It’s useless. Sleep eludes me, and my thoughts are consumed by Tristan. I need a distraction.

I pull out my phone and bring up Serena’s name.

AMY

Can you come over? I’m freaking the fuck out.

SERENA

I’ll be right there.

***

“He’s smitten,” Serena says.

I walk in another tiny circle in my cramped dorm room.

~Fuck, I need air.~

After rushing over to my desk, I lean across it to grab the window latch. This dorm is ancient, so it swings open as soon as I press on the rusty metal.

“No, he’s not,” I say, relishing the breeze as it drifts over my face. “He’s fucking with me.”

“No,” she says immediately. “I could see it all over his face. It was how Nick used to look at me.”

“He’s an actor,” I say. “You’ve seen him turn on for the cameras.”

She arches one of her dark brows. “He doesn’t turn on like that for me. Or for any of the other girls. I watched Ainsley’s recent one-on-one, and he barely even talked to her. She had to carry the whole conversation.”

Thoughts race like electricity through my mind. ~Why is he doing this? Why me? He can’t be this cruel. Why would he expend this much energy?~

“It doesn’t make any sense,” I say.

“It does if he’s smitten.”

I groan as I free fall back onto my bed. “Please don’t say that anymore. It’s confusing me. I can’t start liking Tristan. It would be dangerous. Think of what he did.”

She sighs. “You’re right. I wouldn’t trust him either if I were you.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” I say. “You’d never speak to him again. Even spineless Nick is unforgivable to you.”

“I wouldn’t say unforgivable.” There’s a wistful quality to her voice. “If Nick apologized, I might…”

I lift my head to look at her. Those big brown eyes are thoughtful.

“You’d take him back?”

“I’m not sure. I might.” She meets my gaze. “Keep an open mind with Tristan, especially if you could see yourself liking him too. It doesn’t mean you need to let your guard down. Be as aloof as ever, but…” She closes her mouth.

“But what?”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Remember that the opposite of love is indifference. And he’s obviously not indifferent toward you.”

I groan. “Cody said the same thing. I hate that quote. It’s not even true. Jane would never say that.”

Serena giggles. “Amelia Harrington, I’m disappointed in you. She wrote an entire book about it.”

I shake my head sharply. “Elizabeth didn’t love Mr. Darcy when she hated him. She really hated him.”

“But she realized she hated him too much for one little insult. It made her believe things about Mr. Darcy that weren’t true. Maybe you’re doing the same thing with Tristan.”

“No way. Tristan didn’t just call me tolerable. He ridiculed me for something that brings meaning to my life.”

“You mean Harper did.”

“She wouldn’t have been able to do it if he hadn’t told her about it.”

She purses her lips. “I wonder why he did that.”

I don’t get a chance to respond. My phone chimes, and I groan when I see the name on the screen.

TRISTAN

Prepare yourself for our date tomorrow. I have a fun surprise for you :)

I toss my phone on the bed, and it lands face up. When Serena’s eyes land on the screen, a big grin spreads over her face. “He never texts me.”

“He knows you wouldn’t give a shit.”

She scoffs. “Are you kidding me? He’s Tristan Wolfe. I’d be giddy if he showed me the kind of attention he shows you. Even given my history with Nick.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, you can have him.”

“You sure?” she asks with a teasing lilt.

I let out a long, exaggerated sigh and roll my eyes. “If he reads my fanfic live on the date, I’m blaming you.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “If he does that, I’ll take him out. He won’t know what hit him.”

***

Crisp sea air brushes over my face. My heart races with anticipation. What does Tristan have planned for this date?

We arrived at the destination early, because Tristan told me he has something to talk to me about.

My nerves have been as taut as guitar strings since he told me.

“Here we are,” Tristan says as we approach a blanket with a fancy picnic basket. “I set it all up just for you.”

I roll my eyes, straining for nonchalance. “You mean the film crew set it up for you?”

He smirks. “Yes, but I told them exactly what I wanted.”

After sitting down on the blanket, he opens up the basket. “Yes,” he says as he pulls out a dark-red bottle. “They even broke the no-alcohol policy. We have to drink it off camera, though.”

My lips pucker. “I hate wine.”

He smiles softly. “I think you should have at least one glass. It’ll help you with our performance.”

My stomach does a little turn. “Performance?”

He flashes me a wicked grin. “I have something special planned.”

A shiver of unease creeps up my spine, but I can’t deny the thrill that comes with it. Tristan’s blue eyes hold a smile, and his excitement is infectious.

“Alright, I’m intrigued.” I fold my arms across my chest. “What do you have planned?”

“Patience, beautiful.” He scoots closer to me. The warmth of his body radiates against mine, sending goosebumps across my skin. His fingers brush against my cheek, tender and possessive.

His gaze is so hot it could melt me right here. He leans forward and parts his lips.

“Save it for the camera,” the director shouts, and I jerk back.

It’s only now that I’m out of my head that I see the crew is surrounding us and setting up.

“Damn.” Tristan sighs. “I guess we’ll have to wait.” He winks before turning his attention to the director.

The director explains that we’re going to spend the next hour chatting and watching the sunset. A moment later, he calls action, and Tristan’s intense blue eyes settle on my face.

For the first half hour of our date, we make small talk, but I hardly hear it. I’m bad at small talk anyway, and I’m too in my head to make an effort. Tristan must notice my absentmindedness, because he periodically tilts his head and assesses me with those intense blue eyes.

“Amelia.” His voice is tender. “I want to tell you something important, something I’ve been holding back for far too long.”

He takes a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to continue, and I find myself unable to look away.

This must be it. This is the introduction to his performance.

“I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he says. “I never really… I never saw you in high school before Harper and I started hanging out. You were around, but we never really talked. It wasn’t until I was dating her that I really saw you. And when I did…” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t look away.”

I have to keep myself from gasping. I know what he’s saying isn’t true, but fuck…

It sounds so real.

He’s a good actor.

“You are…” He shakes his head. “You’re like no one I’ve ever met before. You’re so sincere and…the way your eyes light up when you talk about things you love.” He smiles, and his gaze grows unfocused. “You make me laugh like no one else.” His smile fades, and his eyes lock on my face. “But you don’t feel that way about me. I bore you.”

I swallow, trying to maintain my composure. My cheeks are as hot as the sun, and I hate myself for it. I don’t want him to see how much his performance is affecting me.

“Only sometimes,” I mutter.

His brow furrows for a moment, and then he laughs breathlessly. He lifts his hand and brushes his fingers along my cheek. “That’s it right there. Your honesty. I can’t even be mad at you for it. I bore myself. I’m not like you. I don’t have things that light me up. I mean, I do have things that I love, but they’re basic. Like football. I don’t have a real passion.” He takes a deep breath and looks into my eyes. “Except for you, Amelia. You light me up. You make me want things I’ve never wanted before. That’s why I signed you up for the competition. I wanted to be around you.”

His words hit me like a truck, and my heart races in my chest.

“Tristan…” I close my mouth, unable to form a coherent thought. The vulnerability in his eyes throws me off-balance. It feels so real.

Too real.

“Look, I know I don’t deserve your trust,” he admits. “Especially after…everything that happened. That day in the quad…”

“Why did you do it?” I ask, unable to help myself.

His expression grows pained. “It got out of hand. I… I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”

Why is my heart fluttering in my chest? It’s a lame excuse. Not really an excuse at all.

He ~did~ mean for it to happen. He planned it.

“You mean so much to me,” he says. “I know you don’t feel that way for me. Yet. But I feel like you’re starting to see me differently.” His voice grows hushed. “Am I right about that?”

My throat grows tight. “Yes,” I manage to whisper.

The grin that overspreads his face is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. As bright as the sun yet as soft as morning mist. “That’s all I wanted. I arranged this whole thing just for this.” His blue eyes flash. “I’m going to win you, Amelia. I’m determined.”

I search for any hint of deception in his face, but I find nothing.

Could he mean this? Is it possible that this is the truth? It seems crazy that someone like Tristan would need to go to such great lengths to hang out with a girl, but maybe…

I’ve been cold to him. I’ve been bitter since the dissolution of my friendship with Harper. Maybe I’ve been unapproachable.

He’s tried to talk to me many times over the years, and I cut him off. I shot out a snarky comment and walked away. The only time I didn’t was that day in the library. Something about his demeanor that day—his openness and vulnerability—got to me. I felt like I really saw him. The real Tristan.

Then he betrayed me. And I shut myself away once again.

My voice, when it finally comes, is barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I was scared,” he says immediately. “I never found the right time. You hated me. If I’d told you how I feel, you would have thrown it back in my face. Made fun of me for it.”

I avert my gaze, my cheeks growing hot. “Maybe you’re right.”

He chuckles softly. “I am right. I know you well.” There’s a wistful hush to his voice. “I’ve watched you over the years. Like I said, I could never look away. I never did.”

My throat grows tight, and my heart pounds like a hammer. Why does he sound like he’s in love with me? Is he really this good of an actor?

“Let me show you something. Let me prove to you that my intentions are genuine.”

I nod hesitantly, and Tristan leans forward. His scent, a mixture of cologne and sweat, is thoroughly intoxicating.

Even this man’s sweat smells good, damn it.

He grabs my hand and places my palm against his chest. The rapidly pounding rhythm matches my own.

“This is what it’s like,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. “Every time I’m with you, this is what it feels like.”

The pounding rhythm against my palm sends liquid heat into my belly. What does this mean? Is he trying to tell me that this “confession” is real?

“I don’t…” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says softly, pressing his lips to my forehead. “But I’m asking you to stay open-minded for the rest of this competition. Let me show you who I really am.”

“Cut!” the director yells, and I jerk back.

The heady, dreamy haze to the world around me vanishes in an instant. I’m sitting on a blanket on the beach with a camera crew around me. How did I manage to forget?

“Did you enjoy that?” Tristan asks, and a chill runs down my spine.

His tone is arrogant. Smug. Deceitful.

Oh fuck. It really was all a performance. A lie. How did I let myself get swept away in it?

Stupid, stupid Amy.

When I look at Tristan, his earlier vulnerability has vanished like a mirage. Did I only imagine it? He’s smirking at me the way he always does. “Should I win an Oscar?” he asks.

Ice skitters over my skin. Oh God, this is humiliating. My face must be as red as an apple. Is he going to ridicule me for it?

I swallow. “Yes. Better start your campaign soon.”

He frowns. “My campaign?”

“Your Oscar campaign.” I’m surprised how even my voice sounds.

“Oh.” He smiles, but it looks forced. “So you think…” He searches my face, and I wish I could hide away. I don’t want him to pick up on my inner turmoil. “You think I seemed sincere?”

I nod. “Harper will probably throw hands at me after that one.”

His smile fades, and ice enters his eyes. What is that look? What did I say wrong?

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I won’t break her pretty nose. We have too much history.”

His smirk returns, and I wish I could hide from it. I’m not in the state of mind to see this cruel look of his.

“Make sure you don’t,” he says.

As the camera crew packs up their equipment, I stand up, needing to get away. The gentle wind cools my face, but it’s not nearly enough. I feel like I’ll be blushing until graduation day after this epic humiliation.

Later that evening, I’m lying with my eyes fixed on the ceiling. My thoughts are a whirlwind as I replay Tristan’s confession and the look in his eyes when he spoke.

He seemed so genuine that my heart had fluttered out of control.

Because I have feelings for him.

~Fuck.~

It won’t stop me from getting my revenge. I have to use this humiliation. Harness it.

I’ll show him he can never break me.

My phone buzzes, pulling me from my unpleasant reverie. An email notification pops up from an address I don’t recognize. The subject line reads: “Tristan.”

My heart races as I open the email.

~Hey, Amy,~

~I know it’s been years. You maybe hate me because of everything that went down with Harper. I want to make amends. I’m friends with Tristan now, and I have information that I think you’d find interesting. I’ll be in one of the study rooms on the fourth floor of the library until ten p.m.~

~Nick~

Holy shit. Nick is contacting me? What the hell could this be about?

I glance at the clock. 9:53. I’d better hurry. After throwing on a hoodie and sneakers, I rush out of my dorm room and head toward the library.

I sprint across the dimly lit campus, my heart pounding. As I enter the library and make my way to the fourth floor, a strange sense of foreboding prickles over my skin.

Whatever he has to tell me can’t be good.

When I reach the fourth floor, my eyes scan the study rooms until I find one occupied by a tall guy with dark hair. Wow. He’s really grown up. I don’t think I’ve ever really looked at him since he started at Pacific Crest last year.

I take a deep breath as I enter the room, trying to calm my racing pulse. Nick’s expression is grim.

~This isn’t good.~

“Look,” he starts, not wasting any time, “I don’t know all the details, but there’s more to this whole competition than what you’ve been told.”

I frown, skepticism vibrating over my whole body. “Why would you turn on your supposed friend?”

His jaw ticks. “He hasn’t been a real friend to me. He’s a liar. He’s lying to you too.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

“He’s been lying to you since the beginning of this competition, and I have proof.”

My stomach drops, and an otherworldly aura settles over me. The world around me grows dark and fuzzy.

I knew this was coming. I knew Tristan was out to get me from the beginning.

So why does it hurt so much?

***

Dear readers, it’s up to you on how this story proceeds. What do you want to happen?

^Please leave a comment on this chapter with your choice.^~Love, Sky <3~

1. Tristan bet his frat that he’s going to sleep with Amy before the game is over.

2. Tristan entered Amy’s fanfic in a writing competition under her real name.

3. Tristan secretly has pictures of Amy on his laptop.