Page 2

She plopped her bag down on the floor, intending to sit, but the student beside her chair was still staring. She snapped her head up, intending to ask if the dark-haired lad would rather take a picture instead, only the words didn’t come out quite like that.

Instead, they were a sharp utterance that conveyed the dread, memories, disgust, rising inside her: ‘You’ve got to be shitting me.’

Again, the room fell silent. Again, Juniper had trouble noticing, too busy wondering why the hell the seat beside her was currently occupied by somebody she’d assumed she’d never, ever see again.

Aiden Twatface Whittaker, the definition of wealthy white male privilege, and Juniper’s greatest enemy.

He’d made her adolescence miserable, mainly because he’d tried half as hard as her in art class and still had their teacher wrapped around his finger,along with everyone else in that miserable little high school. It wasn’t even the way he’d patronised her that had pissed her off, or the silly nicknames he and his mates had thought up to get under her skin. No, it was the way he’d walked around like he was owed something just by existing. Sure, he’d been a talented painter, but wouldn’t anyone who had a father that worked as a renowned dealer in the industry be? Not to mention, he’d always bragged about having a private studio decked out at home. Juniper might have rivalled him if she’d had the same money, the same connections, but her parents were working-class, her school uniform and supplies all second-hand.

She wasn’t surprised to find that he hadn’t changed much, though his once-short hair had grown out to be a floppy, brushed back assortment of chestnut waves that ended in curls around his jawline. Of course, his pretty hazel eyes and chiselled features had done him favours, too, now made rugged by a hint of stubble. He’d grown into his square jaw, and his face and brawny body had filled out in a way that was both hard and soft, muscular and not, as though his scrawny arrogant arse hadn’t already taken up enough space.

That obnoxious little smirk, always reserved just for Juniper, made its appearance, smarmier now thanks to the deepened dimple in his cheek and the asymmetry of his plump bottom lip versus his thin top one. He might have been one of those sculptures outside, carved by deft ancient hands. How Juniper would love to smash him up into pieces.

‘Nice to see you again, too, Juni.’ His gravelly voice – had it been that deep before? – sent a zap of goosebumps down Juniper’s arms,just like it used to. It didn’t take much to make her skin crawl, but he’d always commanded a physical reaction with only a few words, an abject disgust she felt now more than ever.

What was he doinghere? This washerdream. Her moment. Nothis!

‘Oh, my apologies. I thought we were done with this little performance,’ Christopher said behind her, dragging her back to the present. For a moment, she’d been in Mrs. Park’s classroom again, sent to the corner for being ‘disruptive’ while Aiden mimicked disappointed tuts, oozing cocky immaturity.

She wouldnotlet history repeat itself. He’d taken enough from her already.

With an unwavering glare at Aiden, she took her seat, willing the twist in her gut to ease. It didn’t. His presence seared a hole through her layers of clothes, and she could still feel his scrutiny as Christopher began to speak.

‘Well, now that we’re allfinallyhere andfinallyquiet, shall we begin?’

Christopher had only gotten two slides into his presentation when Aiden leaned towards her, a pen jiggling between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Aren’t you going to say hello to me properly, Juni?’

‘Per,’ she hissed out.

His dark brows dipped in confusion. ‘Eh?’

‘Juniper.Only my friends call me Juni.’ Not that she had many of those lately. She’d been too busy working her arse off at a fast-food chain, trying to earn enough money to get here.Even with the bursary, and even living in dorms, London wasn’t cheap.

‘Ouch. Here I thought we were old chums.’ His hot breath tickled her ear and she squirmed away, too aware that she’d yet to register a single thing Christopher had said about the course.

She at least pretended to engage, dragging her notebook from her backpack along with her pen. She’d hoped for prettier stationary, but settled on plain Poundland stuff after discovering textbooks were the biggest form of daylight robbery she’d ever seen.

‘Last I heard, you were off to Elmington for a degree in snooty-prick-ology. If you ask me, you wouldn’t have needed it. You’re already excelling in your field.’ Elmington School of Fine Arts was one of the leading art universities in Europe. Only one artist from each county was selected per course, their attempt to make things fair – only it wasn’t. It hadn’t surprised her one bit when, after receiving her own rejection letter, she’d opened Instagram to find old friends celebrating Aiden’s acceptance. She’d unfollowed all of them, then spent the following two years trying to convince herself that she just had to be patient. That her time would come. That she didn’t want to attend some elite school that favoured the rich anyway. And then, when she’d decided to give education a second chance with RACA, that everything would be different.

Only it wasn’t, becausehewas here. A walking, smirking symbol of all the ways she fell short.

He snorted. ‘You haven’t changed a bit. Always so testy.’

Yes, I have. I wouldn’t have gotten here otherwise,she wanted to reply, but rage had wired her jaw shut.

This was supposed to be her new life, and that meant no more of the things she’d struggled through in the past.

If Aiden Whittaker was anything, it was one big, neon-red reminder of everything she’d like to forget.

She shrank in her seat and ignored him until, finally, he returned his focus to Christopher’s presentation. Meanwhile, hers remained on him.

Just like old times.

2

To at leasttryto convince her new professor that she wasn’t a completely insolent loudmouth about to cause him a year’s worth of problems, Juniper stayed behind after the class finished up and hoped she didn’t appear too much like she had her tail between her legs. She stood by her statement, after all. Hehadbeen an arsehole to her, and she wasn’t in the habit of letting people walk all over her.

Still, she didn’t want the person who would be grading her work to hate her, either. She’d done that all through school, teachers mistaking her blunt nature and difficulty concentrating for disrespect and an unwillingness to learn. Just once, it would have been nice not to have those big rainclouds following her.