Page 3 of Wicked Salvation

My guess?

He’s trying to brown-nose his way into Viscount & Viscountess Lockhart’s good graces so they’ll put pressure on Eden too. It’s an ingenious trap.

But he never accounted for my involvement, the haughty fool.

I slink into the courtyard, my hands in my pockets. Everyone gives me cursory glances, yet stare when they think I’m not looking. I square my shoulders with a shrug. I was never one to enjoy the public eye—even though by aristocratic standards I’m of the “best breeding” here. The world of high society isfilled with too many conditional friendships as it is, adding the religious aspect only makes it worse.

I’ve been fortunate to have parents who aren’t concerned about how I choose to live my life, because there’s nothing I can do to erase the legacy my family has created. But Eden doesn’t have that luxury.

The courtyard is thick with the murmurs of students, faculty, and other attendees. The sky is gray and unmoving, a ceiling of stone pressing down on us. The attendees have split themselves into cliques, sticking together by their rank. Even though this isVivienne’sfuneral, there’s damn near a crowd pressing against the Lockharts and the Peregrine-Ashfords.

It’s disgusting to look at.

I sneer, almost turning away until I see Eden step away from them.

She’s dressed in a structured black chiffon dress, her hair pulled away from her face, spilling around her shoulders in shiny coils. She still looks composed—the way she holds that six-figure handbag, the soft steps she takes in those kitten heels. But her face?

Her countenance has fallen.

Her eyes are far away.

And that’s when I approach her.

The moment I step into Eden’s space, my breath catches. It always does, and I’m a bit annoyed at myself that even in this solemn moment, I’m caught up in how beautiful she looks.

“Edie?”

Her brown eyes flick to mine, glassy. Her plump glossed lips twist slightly.

“Oh, hi.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper.

We’re in the shade of an old elm tree, its branches as gnarled as the web of secrets in this place. I look up briefly as a memoryof Vivienne hits me. In lower sixth, this tree was our meeting spot. First, when she went through a breakup.

Then it became the place where she and Marita would meet up as they got to know each other. I always accompanied them, to ensure that there wasn’t much scrutiny. It also meant that I got to watch their love blossom from friendship to the kind of love I know Vivienne wouldn’t abandon the way they want us to believe she did. At least if she wanted to jump, she and Marita would have done ittogether.

That’s the kind of Romeo and Juliet shit they were on. I’d never seen two people more meant for each other, more in love. And if I believed in a higher power, or fate or whatever, I’d say that their lives were meant to be entwined, forever.

“Look, I’m sorry about not responding to your text?—”

I raise a finger, trying to reassure her. “Don’t apologize. I understand that the past few days have been difficult for you. I actually just want to make sure you’re okay.”

What I say affects her—she lowers her eyes to her feet, as if there’s something interesting in the crackling stone beneath us.

Guilt.

Anxiety.

Sadness.

When her eyes meet mine again, her waterline is damp.

“I keep feeling like it’s my fault…” Her voice trails off. “If I hadn’t left for classes that afternoon, she wouldn’t have died.”

“Don’t think that way, Edie.” I’m so tempted to wipe away the budding tears from her cheeks. But I can’t touch her in public like that. Not yet, at least. “Vivienne wouldn’t want you to think that way. She probably thought she was solving everyone else’s problems.”

Saying it out loud makes me nauseous.

Vivienne would sooner burn this place to the ground.