Page 14 of Eternal

Her nails are an inch long and painted in splashes of color like a canvas. Everything from her nail polish to her outfit clashes, and it makes her nearly impossible to look at.

Stepping into her office, my nostrils are overwhelmed with the stench of moldy dirt. Plants hang on every wall, draping down the furniture. Gnats fly around one of them, and it’s a reminder of why I prefer paint over people and other living things.

“Thanks for meeting with me.” She smiles. “I have exciting news. Louis Petit saw your most recent piece and specifically asked for you.”

“I got into the program?”

She drops into her desk chair and looks up at me, smiling. “You got in.”

I got in.

As much as I wanted this, I didn’t think I stood a chance. I’m used to disappointment when every doctor’s treatment comes with a warning label. Every bit of praise from my mother is tainted with criticism. Every minute spent with my father is a reminder I don’t meet his expectations.

ButI got in.

“Are you okay?” The redhead’s eyebrows pinch as she focuses on my face. “You look a little pale.”

I shake my head. “Sorry, I’m just in shock.”

“It’s big news.” She laughs, digging through packets on her desk and handing me one.

The large blue folder has the Briar Academy logo embossed on the front, withLouis Petit Internshipscribbled beneath it. I flip it open, but the name on the welcome letter isn’t mine.

Declan Pierce,

Congratulations.

“Declan?” I read his name again, thinking I must be imagining things.

“Oops.” The redhead snatches the folder from my hands and offers me a different one. “This one is yours. Mixed them up.”

“Declan Pierce got in?” I look at her, barely holding my folder because I can’t get a grip on what she’s saying.

“He did. Are you two friends?” She smiles, excited at the prospect.

“Something like that,” I lie.

“That’s so exciting.”

It isn’t.

Declan doesn’t draw, or paint, or do anything remotely creative. He’s never stepped inside a studio in his life, so it doesn’t make sense that he got into this program.

And that’s when it hits me.

He’s a Pierce.

His family probably bought his spot just so he could spend the summer fucking French girls. Or worse, so he can spend it torturing me.

What is happening?

There’s always been a silent battle raging between us, but all of a sudden, he’s everywhere.

Noise fades out. The world turns to a swirl of color. A mirage of green and blue as it all swims in and out of focus.

My mouth dries as my heart races.

“Well, congratulations,” the redhead says, not noticing the panic swelling up inside me. “The envelope has your itinerary and travel cost. But it will be emailed to you as well. We recommend you read it over as soon as possible and note your acceptance because flights will be booked next week. Only two months until Paris.”