Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
My heart leaps traitorously at this information—campus encounters away from family supervision, potential moments without the weight of our parents’ watchful eyes.
“Is that so?” I ask, aiming for casual interest while trying to ignore the flush I feel spreading across my cheeks.
He turns toward me, that unfamiliar smile playing at his lips again. “Indeed. I’ll be there every Tuesday and Thursday, building my contribution to the Hayes legacy, as expected.”
There’s a bite to the last words, a bitterness Aries has never allowed himself to express in front of family. I blink in surprise, but before I can respond, my stepfather’s voice calls from the hallway.
“Aries? Is that you? Come to my office. I have the documents you’ll need for the Henderson meeting.”
And just like that, the moment shatters. Aries—or this new version of him—straightens, composure sliding back into place, though not as completely as before.
“Duty calls,” he says, with what almost sounds like sarcasm. “Always a pleasure, Patricia. Lilian...” He pauses, eyes holding mine with unexpected intensity. “See you on campus.”
The promise in those words—for it feels like a promise rather than a casual goodbye—makes me shiver with equal parts anticipation and unease.
“Of course,” I say, voice steadier than I feel. “Looking forward to it.”
He nods once, a sharp, decisive movement so different from his usual carefully deliberate gestures, then turns to follow my stepfather’s summons.
I watch him leave, unable to shake the feeling that something fundamental has changed in him, something beyond the expected evolution of four months’ separation. Either Aries has transformed significantly over the summer or I never truly knew him to begin with.
With him gone, the dining room feels emptier as the door to Father’s study closes with a definitive click. Like always, the men retreat to discuss important matters while the women remain at the table, left to conversation deemed appropriately feminine. The pattern is so familiar that I should be immune to its sting by now.
I’m not.
“Well, that was a nice surprise,” Mother says, delicately patting her lips with her napkin. “Aries looks well, doesn’t he? Your father is trying to talk him into a summer internship on top of his school duties.”
I make a noncommittal sound, taking a sip of water to hide whatever expression might betray my thoughts. Aries didn’t just look well, he looked transformed. Like someone wearing my stepbrother’s face but inhabiting it differently.
“I hope you’re packing appropriate attire for your dorm room,” Mother continues, transitioning seamlessly to her favorite topic: my appearance and its reflection on the family. “I’ve had Marissa press your fall wardrobe and organize it by occasion. The garment bags are labeled.”
“Thank you.” I had specifically asked her not to have the staff pack for me. Another boundary ignored, another decision made without consultation.
“I’ve also taken the liberty of speaking with Professor Winters about your schedule. He assures me the coursework won’t overtax you, given your condition.” She re-folds her napkin. “Though I still think you should have considered remote learning for at least the first semester.”
My condition she speaks of is the heart defect that has defined my existence since birth. The perfect excuse for overprotection, control, and keeping me forever in the role of Fragile Hayes Daughter.
“Dr. Matthews cleared me completely, Mother. My last three scans were perfect.”
“Doctors can be wrong, darling.” She waves away medical expertise with the same certainty she dismisses all opinions contrary to her own. “Remember Cousin Elizabeth? The doctors said her arrhythmia was controlled, and then that dreadful episode happened at summer camp.”
Cousin Elizabeth’s dreadful episode was a panic attack brought on by the same suffocating concern I’ve endured my entire life. Correcting Mother’s medical misconceptions is pointless after twenty years of trying.
“I’ve scheduled monthly appointments with Dr. Reinhart near campus,” she continues, signaling for the server to clear our plates despite my dinner being largely untouched. “And I’ve informed the dormitory supervisor about your medication schedule.”
Humiliation burns in my veins. I can’t even attend college without my medical history preceding me. Of house mothers and resident advisers watching for signs of weakness, monitoring my activities, just to report back to Mother.
“That wasn’t necessary,” I say, unable to entirely keep the edge from my voice. “I’m perfectly capable of managing my own health.”
“Nonsense.” She dismisses my independence with practiced ease. “What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t ensure proper care for my daughter? Especially with your history.”
The server appears with dessert, a panna cotta with fresh berries, another dish I don’t particularly enjoy but have learned to accept with a grateful smile. Mother launches into elaborate plans for the upcoming semester, which social events I should attend, which students I should befriend, and which professors might provide useful connections for future charitable committee positions.
I nod at appropriate intervals, offering the expected responses while my mind remains fixed on the study door. On Aries. On the strange electricity of our brief interaction.