Page 27

Chapter 26

Deirdre

“Pleasure which is at once the most intense, the most elevating, and the most pure, is, I believe, found in the contemplation of the beautiful.” Edgar Allan Poe

T he late morning light trickles through the blinds of our dorm room as I stretch beneath my covers. Across the room, Claire groans dramatically, throwing an arm over her face.

“Is this what death feels like?” she grumbles, her voice thick with the weight of regret.

I smirk, propping myself up on my elbow. “You’re not making deals with a deity and vowing never to drink again. So…suck it up buttercup.”

Claire peeks at me through one half-opened eye. “Yet. The morning is still young.”

“Sweetheart, it’s noon.”

Claire sighs dramatically. “I'm dying, D. I need grease, carbs, and caffeine, or I will not survive our date tonight.”

I roll my eyes but feel the warmth creeping into my cheeks at the mention of tonight.

“Well, we can't have that, now can we?” I tease. “Come on, get up. Brunch is calling.”

After some half-hearted groaning and a lot of exaggerated suffering, Claire finally rolls out of bed. We throw on cozy sweaters and leggings, the fall chill making the usual lazy dorm attire even more tempting, and head out for brunch.

The small bistro is crowded with the smell of coffee and syrup thick in the air. Claire nurses her hangover with a plate of pancakes the size of her head while I sip on a pumpkin spice latte, relishing the crispness of the afternoon.

“You excited for tonight?” she asks through a mouthful of food.

I smile, stirring my latte. “Yeah, I think I am. I thought I would be more nervous with all of us together. I mean, technically, this is our first date.”

Claire points her fork at me. “He must really like you if he's willing to go on an actual date with other people around. I mean, we know he’s obsessed with you, but this is next-level behavior.”

My mind races back to last night and the words she mumbled, even in her drunken state.

He loves you.

We’re not there yet, are we?

I try to play it cool, but my heart does a stupid little flutter at her words. “Yeah, well, don't scare him off by being weird.”

“Me?” she gasps, placing a hand over her heart. “I am a delight.”

After brunch, we spend the afternoon lounging around, procrastinating getting ready until the last possible moment. The air has a sharper bite to it today, so I settle on a flowy wool sweater, dark skinny jeans, and ankle boots, layering with a warm coat for when the sun sets below the horizon. Claire, naturally, makes sure to look stunning, wearing a chic long-sleeved dress with thigh-high boots. The guys didn’t give us a dress code, but as per usual, I am sure she is overdressed.

By the time the guys arrive, the sky is painted in hues of orange and pink. Gabe honks from the car, and Claire practically skips down the steps to meet him. Kieran, however, is leaning against the sleek black car, watching me with an amused smirk.

“You clean up well, Miss Ravencroft,” he murmurs as I approach.

I gave him a playful nudge. “Well, I have to keep up with my professor, don’t I?”

He chuckles, opening the door for me. “Shall we?” He looks across the roof of the car at Claire, giving her a slight wink before I slide in.

What was that?

The drive out of town is peaceful, the conversation flowing easily between the four of us. Gabe and Claire bicker playfully over music choices, and every so often, I catch Kieran watching me, a small smile tugging at his lips.

As the car rolls to a stop in front of a grand stone building, my eyes widen in surprise. Cornelia University’s infamous art museum is on the outskirts of town and stands tall atop Scholar’s Landing, its regal stone columns illuminated by the warm glow of the setting sun.

We all shuffle out of the car and admire the building before us for a moment before I turn to Kieran, my heart skipping a beat.

“The art museum?” My voice is almost breathless, caught somewhere between excitement and disbelief.

He watches me with quiet amusement, his hands relaxed in his pockets. “Something wrong?”

I shook my head quickly. “No. Just...how did you know I love art?”

Art has always been my second great love after literature, a passion I don’t talk about nearly as much.

Kieran leans in, his voice low and smooth as he whispers, “I have my connections.”

He nods discreetly toward Gabe and Claire, who are already admiring a statue near the entrance, completely absorbed in their own little world.

Did they all three plan this?

I narrow my eyes playfully. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

He smirks, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from my face. “Just enjoy the evening, Miss Ravencroft. It’s for you.”

Warmth spreads through my chest at the thought of the three people who mean the most to me in this world planning something so meaningful. Before I can find the right words to respond, he dips his head and presses a soft kiss against my temple.

I swallow, my heart hammering against my ribs as he pulls back with a knowing look.

Damn him. He knows exactly what he is doing to me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Gabe peering over at us with a loving, brotherly smile on his face. I return the affection, feeling like I am quite possibly the luckiest girl in the world to have such caring people in my life after years of heartbreak and pain.

As we walk toward the entrance, I inhale, reveling in the faint scent of fallen leaves and the timeless aroma of aged canvas, faded varnish, and centuries-old paint as we enter the museum. My senses come alive as though it feels like I am stepping into a love letter written in brushstrokes.

“You have special access to this place?” I ask as Kieran unlocks the doors with a keycard.

He shrugs. “Perks of knowing the right people.”

Inside, our footsteps echo softly against the polished floors as we wander through the exhibits. The museum is dimly lit, the golden glow of individual spotlights highlighting masterpieces lining the walls. The paintings of the Romantic period surround us, passionate, dramatic, and brimming with raw emotion.

Claire and Gabe gravitate toward a particularly intense painting of lovers in an embrace. The four of us pause before a piece that I recognize instantly, The Meeting on the Turret Stairs by Frederic William Burton.

The painting is filled with deep blues and reds, capturing a frozen, heart-wrenching moment between two lovers. The knight, clad in armor, grasps the woman’s arm with a kind of desperate reverence. Her body is twisted away, her face turned as if she cannot bear to look at him, yet her hand lingers over his. The entire painting screams of longing, of a love that cannot be, of passion that has to be restrained by cruel circumstances.

I exhale softly, something twisting deep in my chest.

Kieran shifts beside me. “What do you think of this one?”

Unable to look away, I reply, “It’s heartbreaking.”

“Because they can’t have each other,” he muses, his voice barely above a whisper.

I turn my head, finding his eyes already on me. There’s something in his expression simmering just beneath the surface. A shiver dances down my spine, but I refuse to be the one to look away first.

Claire’s voice breaks the moment. “Okay, this one is gorgeous , but also…it’s giving toxic situationship energy.”

Gabe snorts. “Like yours?”

She slaps his arm playfully. “Excuse you, we’re thriving.”

I roll my eyes at their banter, but Kieran’s fingers brush my wrist, just barely, pulling my attention back to him. His touch is so light it could have been accidental, but I know better.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs, just for me, “not all forbidden love ends in tragedy.”

I swallow, heat pooling in my stomach, and quickly look back at the painting. I’m not sure if I believe him, but standing here, in this museum, under the weight of his gaze, I want to.

“Now this,” Claire says, tilting her head, “is the kind of drama I aspire to in my relationships.”

Gabe snorts. “So, you want me to fight in a war and then dramatically return to you years later, half-dead?”

Claire sighs wistfully. “Ideally, yes.”

I let out a laugh, the tension in my shoulders relaxing as I shake my head. “You really do keep his hands full, Claire.”

Kieran leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “I think she may be worse than you,” he whispers.

I nudge him as we walk along to the next painting. “You love it.”

“Perhaps,” he hums, his fingers grazing mine as we walk.

Clearing his throat, he gestures to all of us and motions toward two glass double doors, “Follow me.”

As we step out onto the terrace, the crisp autumn air wraps around me. The golden hues of the setting sun spill over Scholar’s Landing, casting a breathtaking glow over the town below. But my gaze is drawn to something even more enchanting—the elegant candlelit picnic Kieran has arranged for us.

A soft gasp escapes my lips. The small round table, draped in a deep burgundy cloth, is set with wine glasses, an assortment of cheeses, fresh bread, and a few decadent-looking desserts. The flickering candlelight dances against the polished silverware, and a bottle of his favorite expensive red wine stands at the center, waiting to be poured.

Claire lets out an exaggerated sigh, linking her arm through Gabe’s. “Okay, I don’t know who to be more jealous of, Deirdre for this insanely romantic setup, or Kieran for pulling it off without my help.”

I guess she didn’t know about this part of the evening. The thought makes me smile.

Kieran, standing beside me, tucks his hands into his coat pockets, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You could just appreciate the moment, Miss Thompson.”

Gabe chuckles, nudging Claire playfully. “Maybe he had the help of a certain bartender.”

Claire’s eyes twinkle, and I can practically see the hearts in her eyes.

She turns to me and asks, “How the hell did the broody professor turn out to be a secret romantic?”

I glance up at Kieran, warmth filling my chest, as he replies with a look back at me, “Broody professor, huh?”

“You did give off a slight asshole vibe when I first met you.”

“Duly noted, Miss Ravencroft.” He smirks as he pats my ass as I walk by.

Uh oh. I’m in trouble for that remark.

“Ugh,” Claire groans dramatically. “You two are making me sick. Someone pour me wine before I start writing poetry about the love in the air.”

Gabe snorts as he pulls out a chair for her. “More like sonnets about how much you miss your bed.”

“Rude.”

We all take our seats. The table is positioned perfectly so we can watch the sun melt into the horizon. The conversation flows effortlessly. Claire complains about her hangover but says it was so worth it, Gabe teases her about how much she flirted with him at the bar, and Kieran surprises me with little tidbits about the artists we’d seen in the museum.

“So…you’re telling me,” Claire says through a mouthful of bread, “that some duke just commissioned a painting of his mistress lounging in a dress that barely covers her, and people thought it was, like, high art?”

I stifle a laugh. Apparently, art isn’t Claire’s second love.

Kieran swirls the wine in his glass. “You could argue it was a declaration of devotion.”

Gabe raises an eyebrow. “Or just a very expensive thirst trap.”

I laugh, feeling light and happy as I lean into Kieran’s side. He doesn’t move away. Instead, his hand grazes my thigh under the table, a subtle but intimate gesture.

As the evening wears on, the atmosphere feels easy and light. It feels normal. Like a real date. And as I glance at Kieran, who looks more at ease than I have ever seen him, I realize how much I want more nights like this.

Everything about tonight feels surreal. It’s our little secret stolen from the real world, tucked away in the quiet glow of candlelight and playful conversations.

Kieran lifts his glass, his gaze locked onto mine, and I realize something undeniable.

I never want this feeling to end.