Content

Title

About this book

Dedication

Playlist

Quote

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Epilogue

Thanksgiving

The Author

The novels of Mona Kasten at LYX

Imprint

MONA BOX

SAVE US

Novel

About this book

Ruby is in shock: she has been suspended from Maxton Hall College because she is said to be having an affair with her history teacher. From one second to the next, her dream of studying at Oxford vanished into thin air. But that's not all: James, of all people, seems to be responsible for the photos circulating of her and Mr. Sutton. Ruby can't believe it. She and James have been through so much together, overcome so many obstacles together—would he really do that to her? However, it quickly turns out that there is more to it than meets the eye. And while Ruby fights to be able to graduate despite everything, James is once again in danger of breaking under the obligations to his family. Are the worlds in which they live too different after all? Or can they save each other, even if all signs seem to be against them?

For Anna

Playlist

A Day to be Certain – Gersey

You – Keaton Henson

Surrender – Natalie Taylor

The Tide – Niall Horan

Dream In A Dream – TEN

In My Blood – Shawn Mendes

Fallin' All In You – Shawn Mendes

The Shortchange – Thomston

Bill Murray – Phantogram

Critical – Jonas Brothers

Doesn't today feel like a day to be certain?

Certain, yet to decide.

GERSEY, A DAY TO BE CERTAIN

1

Graham

My grandfather used to ask me: When the day comes when you lose everything – what will you do? I never seriously thought about the answer to this question, but always said what came to my mind first at that moment.

When I was six years old and my brother deliberately broke my toy excavator, it was: Then I'll repair the excavator.

When we were ten, when we moved from Manchester to near London, I said defiantly: I'll just look for new friends.

And when my mum died and I tried to be strong for my dad and my brother as a seventeen-year-old: We will make it.

Even then, giving up was not an option for me.

But now, at almost twenty-four years old, in this office where I suddenly feel like a criminal, I have no answer. My situation seems hopeless at this moment, my future uncertain. I don't know how to go on now.

I pull open the squeaky drawer of the heavy cherry wood desk and dig out the pens and notepads that have found their place there last year. My movements are slow, my arms leaden. I have to hurry: I am supposed to leave the building before the lunch break is over.

They are suspended with immediate effect. I forbid you any contact with students of Maxton Hall. If you violate this prohibition, charges will be filed against you.

The pens fall out of my hand and land clattering on the floor.

Damn crap.

I bend down, collect them and throw them carelessly with the rest of the belongings that I have stowed in a cardboard box. It's a wild jumble of notes, textbooks, my grandfather's old globe and teaching materials that I copied for tomorrow and should actually throw away now, but can't bring myself to do it.

I look around the office. The shelves are emptied, only a few scraps of paper on the desk and the soiled underlay suggest that I was correcting work here until a few hours ago.

It's your own fault, a spiteful voice sounds in my head.

I rub my throbbing temple and then check all the drawers and compartments in the desk one last time. I shouldn't delay my farewell longer than necessary, but it takes me more strength to break away from this space than I would have thought. I made the decision weeks ago to look for a job at another school so that I could be with Lydia. But there is still a huge difference between leaving the employment relationship on your own terms and being escorted outside by the security service.

I swallow hard and take the coat from the wooden coat rack. Mechanically I put it on, then I grab the box and go to the door. Without looking around again, I leave the office.

Questions roll over in my head: Does Lydia already know? How is she? When will I see them next? What should I do now? Will a school ever hire me as a teacher again? What if not?

But there is no way I can fathom the answers to that now. Instead, I push back the panic rising in me and walk through the hallway towards the secretariat to hand in my bunch of keys. Students walk past me, some of them greet me friendly. A painful stinging fills my abdomen. It is only with difficulty that I manage to return her smile. I really enjoyed teaching here.

I turn into the hallway of the secretary's office, and all of a sudden it feels as if someone has poured a bucket of ice water over my head. I stop so abruptly that someone bumps into me from behind and mumbles and apologizes. But I hardly listen – my gaze is directed at the tall, reddish-blond young man to whom I owe this whole situation.

James Beaufort doesn't pull a face when he sees me. On the contrary, he looks completely uninvolved – as if he hadn't just destroyed my life.

I knew what he was capable of. And it was clear to me that it was not a good idea to turn him against me. "He and his friends are unpredictable," Lexington warned me on my first day at school. "Take care." I hardly paid attention to his words, because I already knew the other side of the story at that time. Lydia had told me how much this boy suffers from his family's inheritance, how closed he is to his twin sister.

In hindsight, I feel so stupid that I wasn't more careful. I should have known that James would do anything for Lydia. Probably my professional ruin in his daily routine is nothing more than a trifle.

Next to James is Cyril Vega, whom I fortunately never had to teach. I don't know if I would have been able to maintain a professional façade. Every time I see him, a picture of him and Lydia appears before my eyes. How they leave school together and get into a Rolls-Royce. How they laugh together. How he takes her in his arms and comforts her, while I never could after her mother's death.

After a short moment, I clench my teeth tightly and continue on my way, the box tucked under my arm. I close my hand tighter around the key in my coat pocket the closer I get to the two of them. They have interrupted the conversation they were having and are watching me, their faces two hard, impenetrable masks.

I stop in front of the door to the secretariat and turn to James. "Are you satisfied now?"

He doesn't give any reaction, which makes the anger inside me boil up further.

"What were you thinking?" I ask, looking at him invitingly. Again, he doesn't answer. "Do you realize that you are destroying livelihoods with your childish pranks?"

James exchanges a look with Cyril, and his cheeks take on a light shade of red – just like his sister's when she gets angry. The two look so damn similar, but in my opinion they could hardly be more different.

"You're the one who should have thought about it before," Cyril spits out.

His eyes sparkle even angrier than James's, and it occurs to me that they probably came up with a plan together to have me kicked out of school.

Cyril's gaze leaves no doubt that he is the one who has the power of the two of us. He can do anything with me, no matter if I'm older than him. He won, and he knows it. The victory is written all over his face and is reflected in his proud attitude.

I let out a resigned laugh.

"I'm surprised you can still laugh," he continues. "It's over. You've been exposed—do you realize that?"

I close my hand around the keychain, so tightly that the small metal teeth cut into my skin. Does this rich rascal really think I don't know that? I don't know that no one will be interested in when and where Lydia and I met? That no one will believe us if we claim to have known and loved each other before my time at Maxton Hall? And we ended our relationship the moment we knew I was going to be her teacher? Of course I know that. From now on and for all time, I will be the disgusting guy who had an affair with a student during his early days as a teacher.

The thought makes me sick.

Without giving them another look, I go to the secretary's office. I take the key out of my jacket pocket, slam it on the counter and turn around on my heel. As I walk past the boys again, I see out of the corner of my eye how Cyril hands James a cell phone. "Thank you for that, man," I hear him say, then I avert my gaze and walk as fast as I can towards the exit. Only in passing do I notice that James is getting loud behind me.

Every step hurts, every breath seems like an unsolvable task. A noise enters my ears that drowns out almost all sounds. The laughter of the students, their echoing footsteps, the creaking of the double-winged door through which I leave Maxton Hall and step into the unknown.

Ruby

I feel numb.

When the bus driver tells me that we have arrived at the terminus, I don't know what that means for a moment – until I realize that I have to get off if I don't want to drive all the way back to Pemwick. I have no memory of the last three-quarters of an hour, I was so lost in thought.

My limbs feel heavy and tingling at the same time as I walk down the steps and step outside. I cling to the straps of my backpack with both hands as if they could give me support. Unfortunately, that doesn't help me get rid of this feeling. As if I were caught in a whirlwind from which there is no escape, and no longer knew where up or down was.

None of this can really have happened. I can't have been kicked out of school. My mother can't really believe I'm having an affair with a teacher. My dream of Oxford can't have vanished into thin air right now.

I think I'm losing my mind. My breathing goes faster and faster, and my fingers cramp. I feel sweat running down my back, and at the same time I have goosebumps all over my body. I'm dizzy. I close my eyes and try to get my breathing back under control.

When I open it, I no longer have the feeling that I have to vomit at any moment. For the first time since I got off the bus, I perceive my surroundings. I drove three stops too far and am at the other end of Gormsey. Under normal circumstances, I would be terribly angry with myself. But instead I feel almost relieved, because there is no way I can go home now. Not after Mum looked at me like that.

There's only one person I want to talk to right now. A person I trust unconditionally and who knows exactly that I would never do something like that.

Ember.

I start walking towards the local high school. It can't be long until the end of school, because a few younger students are already coming towards me. A group of boys tries to push each other off the narrow sidewalk into the bushes. When they see me, they pause for a moment and then walk past me with their heads down, as if they were afraid that I might reprimand them for their behavior at any moment.

The closer I get to Gormsey High School, the stranger I feel. Two and a half years ago, I went to this school myself. I don't miss the time, but standing here again now feels like a trip into the past. Except that at that time no one turned in my direction and stared at me because I was wearing the school uniform of a private school.

I go up the last steps to the front door. The walls of the building, which were probably once plastered white, are yellowed, and the paint on the windows is peeling off. It cannot be overlooked that no money has flowed into this school in recent years.

I push past the students who stream towards me from inside and try to find a familiar one among the many faces. It doesn't take long for me to discover a girl with two braids braided close to her head who is leaving school with a boy.

"Maisie!" I call to her.

Maisie stops and looks around searchingly. When she recognizes me, she raises her eyebrows questioningly. She motions for her boyfriend to wait for a moment, and then winds her way through to me. "Ruby," she greets me. "Hey. What's the matter?"

"Do you know where Ember is?" I ask. My voice sounds perfectly normal, and I wonder how that can be when everything inside me is broken right now.

"I thought Ember was sick," Maisie replies, frowning. "She hasn't been to school today."

"What?"

This can't be. Ember and I left the house at the same time this morning. If she wasn't in school, where the hell did she go?

"She wrote to me that she's in bed with a sore throat." Maisie shrugs her shoulders and glances over her shoulder at her boyfriend. "She's probably just at home, and you've missed each other. Listen, I have an appointment now. Would it be okay if I...?"

I nod quickly. "Sure. Thank you."

She waves to me again, then goes down the stairs and hooks herself under her companion. I watch the two of them while my thoughts are overturning. If Ember had had a sore throat this morning, I would have noticed. She didn't look sick and didn't behave strangely. At breakfast everything was as usual.

I dig my cell phone out of my pocket. Three missed calls from James are shown on the display. I delete the notification with hot cheeks.

I'm the one who took the photos, his voice sounds in my head, but I try to ignore the heavy feeling in my chest. I go into my favorites and click on Ember's name. It rings, so her cell phone is not switched off. However, she doesn't answer even after the tenth ring. I hang up and then open a new message.

Please get in touch. I need to talk to you urgently.

I send them off and stuff the phone back into the pocket of my blazer, then I go downstairs and turn to school one last time. I feel incredibly out of place. There is no doubt that I don't belong here anymore. But the same is now true of Maxton Hall.

I don't belong anywhere anymore, it shoots through my head.

With this thought, I leave the school grounds. Without thinking about it, I turn left and walk down the main street in the direction of our neighborhood, even though our home is the last place I want to be now. I wouldn't stand it if Mum looked at me again as disappointed as she did in Lexington's office.

What happened plays out in a continuous loop in my head. Again and again I hear the voice of the headmaster. How he took away my entire future in a few words, everything I've been working towards for years.

As I pass a series of cafes and small shops, snippets of conversation from the students who are on their way home before and after me reach my ear. They talk about homework, get upset about teachers or laugh about something that happened during the first break. How numb I realize that I no longer have anyone with whom I can have such conversations. I have no choice but to walk along here, let the sun mock me with the deep certainty that there is nothing left in my life. No school, no family, no friend.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I tried in vain to blink them away. I need my sister. I need someone to tell me that everything will be okay, even if I can't believe it myself.

Just as I'm about to take out my cell phone again, a car comes to a halt next to me on the street. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that it is a dark green, rickety frame with rusty rims and dirty windows. I don't know anyone who drives such a car, so I keep walking without paying attention to him.

But the car follows me. I turn to the side to take a closer look at him when the window is rolled down on the driver's side.

I definitely didn't expect the face that appears behind it. Surprised, I pause.

"Ruby?" asks Wren. Apparently, I look just as horrible as I feel, because Wren squints his eyes and leans out of the window a bit to take a closer look at me. "Are you okay?"

I press my lips tightly together. Wren Fitzgerald is pretty much the last person I want to talk to now. Especially not when I think more carefully about why he looks at me like that. For sure, my expulsion from Maxton Hall has already made the rounds. A wave of unpleasant heat comes over me, and I walk on without answering him.

A car door is slammed shut behind me, and shortly afterwards I can hear quick footsteps. "Ruby, wait!"

I stop and close my eyes. Then I take one, two, three deep breaths. I try not to let it show how confused I am right now and what's going on inside me before I turn to Wren.

"You look like you're going to topple over at any moment," he says with a furrowed brow. "Do you need help?"

I snort softly. "Help?" I croak. "From you?"

Wren then presses his lips tightly together. He looks briefly at the ground, then up again. "Alistair told me what happened. That really sucks."

I stiffen and avert my gaze. So it's exactly as I thought. Word of the matter has already spread at school. Just great. I look at the façade of a fitness center across the street. Some people train on treadmills, others lift weights. Maybe I should hide in it. I'm sure no one will find me there.

"Great," I murmur.

I want to turn away from him again and move on, but something makes me hesitate. Maybe it's the fact that Wren didn't drive along here in a limousine, but in a car that looks like it's going to fall apart at any moment. Maybe it's the look in his eyes that seems serious and sincere and not like he's having fun with me. Or maybe it's the fact that we're facing each other here in Gormsey – the last place I would have expected someone like Wren Fitzgerald.

"What are you doing here?"

Wren shrugs his shoulders. "I happened to be in the neighbourhood."

I raise an eyebrow. "In Gormsey. By chance."

"Listen," Wren changes the subject. "I refuse to believe that James has anything to do with it."

"Did he send you to talk me into that?" I ask in a trembling voice.

Wren shakes his head. "No. But I know James. He's my best friend. He wouldn't do such a thing."

"They're pictures that look like I'm making out with a teacher, Wren. And James admitted to having made them."

"Perhaps he made them. But that doesn't mean he sent it to Lexington."

I press my lips together.

"James wouldn't do that," Wren says insistently.

"Why are you so sure about that?" I ask.

"Because I know how James feels about you. He would never do anything that harms you."

He says this with such certainty that my thoughts and feelings are stirred up anew. Would it change things if James didn't submit the photos? But why did he make them in the first place?

"I want to know for myself what the whole thing is all about," says Wren. "I'm going to see him now. Come with me, Ruby. Then you can see for yourself."

I stare at Wren. It is on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he has lost his mind. But I hesitate.

This day has already reached its absolute lowest point. It can't get any worse, because I have nothing left to lose.

I ignore the alarm bells that start ringing in my head at this moment. Without thinking any further, I walk over to Wren's rusty car and get in.

2

Lydia

The news that Graham has been suspended has spread like wildfire throughout Maxton Hall. It was unbearable to stand in front of the school and wait for Percy to finally pick me up, especially since I didn't reach James or Ruby – not to mention Graham. The thought of how he must be feeling right now makes me sick, and it drives me crazy not knowing how he feels.

When I finally get home, I go straight to my room and try to reach him again. This time he answers, and I gasp for breath in relief.

"Graham?"

"Yes." His voice is toneless.

"I'm so sorry," I blurt out as I paced up and down my room. My whole body is charged with adrenaline, and my heart is pounding fast and violently against my chest. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want that."

I can hear Graham breathing in sharply. "It's not your fault, Lydia."

Yes, it is. It's my fault that Graham and Ruby were kicked out of school. "I'm going to Principal Lexington's this afternoon and clear it up. Everything will be fine again, believe me. I'll take the blame and—"

"Lydia," he interrupts me gently.

"Ruby has also been suspended. She absolutely does not deserve this. I can't let her be punished for something she didn't do."

"Lydia, I—" Before he can finish the sentence, the cell phone is snatched out of my hand. In shock, I let out a little scream and drive around.

Dad stands across from me and looks at me with cold eyes. He lowers his gaze to the glowing display of my cell phone. Then he raises a finger and ends the call.

"Hey! What...?", I begin.

"You'll never speak to that teacher again," my father interrupts me in an icy voice. "Do you understand that?"

I open my mouth, but the coldness in Dad's voice and the angry look in his eyes keep me from saying a word.

He knows.

Dad knows about Graham and me.

Oh God.

"Dad," I whisper desperately.

At the word, he grimaces into an almost painful grimace. "If your mother were still alive, she would be ashamed of you."

He says this so calmly that it takes a second for the words to get through to me in their full meaning. They hit me like a blow, and I retreat a bit from him and his anger. "Let me explain, please, Dad, it's really not what you think. Graham and I knew each other before, we—"

Suddenly, my father pulls up his arm and slams the cell phone against the wall with full force. It splinters into its individual parts and ends up scattered on the floor in black shards and plastic pieces. Stunned, I stare at him.

"I'll tell you one last time: you'll never speak to this man again. Did you understand that?" Meanwhile, his voice trembles with anger.

"I'm trying to explain to you that it's—"

"I don't want to hear your explanations, Lydia," he interrupts.

I hate it when he is like that. That he doesn't want to listen to me, even though he knows full well that I have something to say.

"I have not maintained your good reputation by all means, just so that you will make the next reckless decision right away. That will stop immediately, understood?"

It feels like someone poured ice water in my face. It takes me a moment to find my voice again. "What do you mean by that—my good reputation preserved?"

Dad's expression hardens. "I have made sure that the name of this family is not damaged even more. You should be glad of it instead of looking at me like that."

My throat is as if constricted. "That was you?" I croak hoarsely. "You gave the pictures to Principal Lexington?"

Dad's cold eyes are fixed on my face. "Yes."

I feel like I don't have the air to breathe. Nausea rises in me, and the room begins to spin. With one hand, I reach for the chair in front of me to support myself.

My own father is to blame for Graham losing his job and James' girlfriend being suspended.

"Why did you do that?" I whisper.

The need to explain my situation to him has crumbled to dust. There is only room in me for incredulity – and for unspeakable anger, which spreads faster in my veins from second to second.

"Because you could destroy this family – do you not care what you have put at risk with your reckless behavior? Does this family mean nothing to you?" my father asks.

"Family? You don't give a shit about this family!" I hiss, clenching my hands into fists. My arms are shaking, and I feel like I'm going to explode at any moment. "The only thing you care about is money. You don't give a how James and I have been doing since Mum's death. And now you're standing in front of me and asking me to be glad that you had my friend kicked out of school?"

Dad's nostrils puff up briefly at the word "friend," but otherwise there is no emotion to be seen on his face. I would do more to save the name of this family."

His calm voice drives me crazy. My breath comes faster and faster, and I claw the nails so hard into the palms of my hands that I'm sure I'll be bleeding soon.

"You should be grateful to me, Lydia," he adds.

My anger is at its peak. I can no longer hold back the words, they bubble out of me uncontrollably. "You may have kicked him out of school, but you can't cut him out of my life!" I scream with all my might.

"And if I can." Dad turns around and wants to leave the room.

But I'm not done yet.

"No, you can't. I am pregnant."

He stops on his heel. As if in slow motion, he turns back to me. "What?"

I stretch my chin forward defiantly. "I'm pregnant. From Graham."

It's strange to watch his reaction. For a moment, he just looks at me and blinks several times in a row – like the strange-looking man in this GIF that has been circulating for months. Then his shoulders begin to twitch, as if he is having a hard time maintaining steady breathing, and red spots form on his cheeks, forehead, and neck.

I actually thought I had already experienced all forms of Dad's anger. James and I learned early on to correctly interpret the smallest movements in his facial expressions and posture and to get out of the way in time.

But I've never seen him like this moment.

His gaze is on me, a second, another one, and I slowly take a step back, because I can't assess what will happen. But to my surprise, Dad turns around and leaves my room without another word.

He slams the door so hard that I involuntarily flinch. I press a hand on my chest and take a deep breath. My pulse is racing, I can feel my heart pounding under my hand.

Less than ten seconds later, the door suddenly opens again – so sweeping that the knob slams against the wall and is sure to leave a dent there. My father comes back into the room and builds up in front of me.

"Does he know?" he asks so quietly that I hardly understand him.

The question catches me completely off guard, and it takes me several seconds to shake my head. "No, I—"

"Good," Dad interrupts. Without giving me another look, he strides through my room with great strides. He tears open the door to my walk-in closet and enters the small room. I hear a loud rumble.

I dive to the door and stare at my father, who has obviously just pulled one of my large suitcases down from the top shelf of the cupboard. He is just reaching for a travel bag, which he fires noisily at the floor next to it. He kicks the lid of the suitcase open with his foot and then begins to randomly tear clothes from the shelves and from the hangers and throw them in.

"What are you doing?"

Dad doesn't react. As if in a frenzy, he reaches for T-shirts, blouses, pants, underwear, bags and shoes. His hair stands out in all directions due to the jerky movements, the spots on his face and neck are getting darker and darker. Even when the suitcase is full, it doesn't stop, and the things end up in a messy pile on the bag and the floor next to it.

"Dad, what are you doing?" I yell, taking a step forward to get him to stop. I grab his arm, but he breaks free. The force of his movement makes me stagger back, and only in this way do I barely manage to hold on to the door frame with one hand.

At that moment, James bursts into the room.

"What's going on here?" he asks. His gaze is worried as he looks me up and down to see if everything is okay. Then he spots Dad in my closet, and his eyes widen.

"What are you doing, Dad?" he asks.

Dad moves around on his heel and points to James. "You knew about it?" he asks.

James frowns. "Of what?"

"What am I asking? Of course he knew about it," Dad murmurs to himself. For a moment he looks at the chaos he has caused around him, then he bends down and begins without further ado to stuff the clothes that have landed next to the suitcase into the travel bag with violent movements.

"What are you packing my things for, Dad?" I ask hoarsely.

"You move out at once."

A wave of nausea overwhelms me. "What?" I gasp.

James puts a hand on my back as if to show me he's with me.

"We've already had enough headlines to deal with this year. I won't let the well-being of my company be jeopardized just because you're so stupid and let yourself be impregnated by a teacher!" Dad yells the last words in my direction.

I move closer to James, and his hand clenches against my back. I can literally feel how much willpower it costs him right now to hold back.

His voice sounds calm as he tries to respond to our father. "You can't just pretend that it didn't happen."

Dad tugs at the zipper of the travel bag. A piece of fabric has become wedged in it, and an unsightly ratchet sounds. I flinch.

"And if I can do that," he groans and closes the bag with a violent jerk. Then he turns to the suitcase. He puts one knee on the lid while he pulls the zipper closed. "You're going to your aunt's. And immediately. No one is allowed to talk about your ... of your circumstances."

I gasp for air. "W-what?"

"You can't do that," says James.

Dad pauses and looks at us. It's an almost grotesque picture of him kneeling on my silver suitcase, breathing heavily, with disheveled hair and a sweaty shirt. "I'm the only one in his right mind in this house. Do you really think I'm going to see you like that—" He points to my stomach. »… continue to have this family represented? Do you have any idea what light this throws on us? On Beaufort?"

"That's what you're talking about?" James' voice trembles. "Only for that?"

"Of course. What else?"

"You should be concerned about your daughter, damn it!"

Dad snorts. "Don't be so naïve, James." His ice-cold gaze lands on me. "You should have thought about where your priorities lie beforehand, Lydia. You're not tolerable for this family like that."

The walls of my room are moving towards me. I stagger against James and cling to him.

"You can't exile Lydia and pretend she doesn't exist," James says angrily. I feel his hand shaking on my back.

Dad stands up and pulls up the suitcase. With a bright red head, he takes him by the handle, grabs the travel bag and then comes towards us with brisk steps.

James stands in his way.

"Step aside, James."

"Even if you send Lydia away, the public will get wind of it in a few months at the latest. It won't change anything, you're just destroying our family!"

A second passes. Then Dad drops the travel bag, raises his hand and...

My reaction is instinctive.

I throw myself in front of James when Dad strikes. It hits me on the cheek and ear, so hard that my head is torn around and black dots appear in front of my eyes. There is a noise in my ears that gets louder and louder, and suddenly I don't know where up and down is. I lose my balance and try to reach for something that can hold me upright. The moment James' arms catch me, my eyes go black.

I don't know how much time has passed when I regain consciousness. Seconds or minutes? I think I'm lying on the floor. Loud voices reach my ears and increase the pain in my head. The throbbing in my temple becomes more violent with every second. I try to open my eyes.

Someone kneels next to me and gently shakes my shoulder. James. He says my name several times in a row and sounds a little more desperate each time.

I blink, and gradually my surroundings take on solid outlines again. I'm lying in front of the door of my walk-in closet. James has me on his lap and caresses my arms. His eyes are wide open, but when he sees that I am conscious again, he lets out a sigh of relief. Dad stands next to us and looks down at us, still the suitcase in one hand. Maybe I'm imagining it, but I think I can see relief flashing in his gaze as well. But only for a fraction of a second, because the next moment he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, presses a button and raises the receiver to his ear.

He looks me in the eye as he says, without any intonation, "Percival? Please come to the first floor and carry the bags from my daughter's room into the car. Lydia will move out to-day."

Then he averts his gaze from James and me, climbs over the bags and walks out of the room.

It feels like someone is putting their hands around my neck and squeezing it. I run my fingers carefully over the spot where he hit me, and I can't hold back the tears any longer.

"It's going to be alright," James whispers, holding me tight. "Don't worry. We can do it."

However, I believe that for the first time in our lives, my brother cannot protect me from what is coming my way.

3

Ruby

"What's the deal with this car?" I ask Wren after we've driven in silence for a few minutes on the country road towards Pemwick. The only noise is the music crackling from the speakers. A few minutes ago it started to rain out of nowhere, and I expect the thin windshield wipers to stop working at any moment. Or fall off. With every movement, they squeak louder. Wren, however, seems to have already gotten used to it.

"There have been a few in the Fitzgerald house... financial changes," he replies after a short pause. And they gave me George."

I look around the inside of the car for the second time. He doesn't look like a George. Honestly, it doesn't look like something you baptize with a name at all. The seats are covered with brown corduroy, which has faded in some places and into which the smell of cigars and old grandpa has eaten its way. "You really named your car George?"

"Not I. That was... a friend." Wren turns left and then fiddles with the radio, which seems to be the only thing in here that is younger than twenty years old. However, it has a loose contact, because Wren has to nudge it after every turn so that the music continues.

"Ah," I say, whereupon silence spreads between us again. I don't dare to ask what exactly he means by "financial changes". Wren and I are almost strangers. We have nothing in common, except for this one event in our past and our friendship with James. Restlessly, I slide back and forth on the seat. Why did I get into his car right away?

Wren gives me a sideways glance, but quickly looks back at the road.

"I've been wanting to talk to you for a long time, Ruby," he says suddenly.

I look at him uncertainly. "Why?"

"Because I behaved like a total asshole towards you. Back then at the party. I should have apologized for that long ago." Wren clears his throat and shakes the radio again, although we haven't turned a corner and the music still comes out of the speakers tinny. "I shouldn't have behaved like that. I was inexperienced and stupid. Now in retrospect, I'm ashamed of it. And I'm sorry."

That's the last thing I expected, and it takes a moment for the meaning of his words to really sink in. I swallow hard. They sound like he's serious about them, but at the same time I'm skeptical. People don't change from one day to the next.

"You totally offended me at Cyril's party by talking to me about it like that. It didn't seem to me that you were sorry for what happened back then," I say.

"I know. I... was skeptical because you showed up at that party with James, and wanted to find out why. Somehow I made a total fool of myself. I would never do something like the party two years ago. I have changed. I hope to prove that to you when I get the chance."

Frowning, I look out of the window. Green trees pass us by, in between isolated houses and smaller fields.

"I would have kissed you back then without alcohol," I finally say, looking at Wren. He returns my gaze briefly before looking ahead again. "What you did was really not right. You should have told me that it's not just fruit punch."

"I regret how I behaved. Real. I know how much James cares about you, and that's why you're important to me. I hope you can forgive me for my behavior someday."

I don't know Wren like that at all. Whatever is going on with him at the moment – it seems to have made him think about a few things.

"Thank you for the apology," I say after a while.

He nods curtly and concentrates on the road again.

In the silence that follows, my thoughts automatically wander to the photos and the curved B on the envelope addressed to Principal Lexington. I remember James' look when he admitted to taking the photos.

I trusted him. I thought I knew the true self. Can I really have been so mistaken about him? But why would he want to do that to me? After everything we've been through together in the last few months?

The more I think about it, the less the different pieces of the puzzle fit together. This whole situation is so unreal. When I got up this morning, the plan was to discuss the next event with the team and study with James in the library. And now? Now I'm sitting in Wren Fitzgerald's car because he offered me his help.

"Why do you even care if James and I get along?" I ask him. My tone is more suspicious than I intended, and I see Wren's shoulders stiffen. "That came out the wrong way," I quickly add. "I just thought it annoyed you more that James was spending time with me."

Wren turns on the indicator, and we turn onto another country road. Now it's ten minutes at most until we get to James. When the music falls silent this time, Wren leaves it off.

"It has nothing to do with you," he says after a moment. "I just couldn't understand how we suddenly couldn't be important to James after more than fifteen years of friendship."

"That's not true. Your friendship means more to him than anything else."

Wren smiles. "For a brief moment I doubted it. Probably because I had so much on my plate."

I nod thoughtfully.

"And I—" For a moment, Wren searches for the right words. "I've never seen James like I have in the last few weeks. Most people don't know this, but he was really unhappy for a long time. His father is an asshole, and although James has never said it to me, if he had a choice, he would never work at Beaufort. He can't do anything about that, but since he knows you, he's somehow ... looser. Quieter."

I feel my face getting warm.

"I wish he was happy." He glances at me. "And you make him happy."

I'm looking for the right words, but Wren isn't done yet.

"When Alistair told me about your suspension and I saw you in Gormsey, I just wanted to help you. I have no ulterior motive here. word of honor."

"Okay," I say.

"Besides..." Wren clears his throat. »… I can now understand James much better. Maybe it has something to do with it."

I want to ask him what he means by that, but at this moment we are driving onto the Beauforts' property. Wren rolls down his window, and I expect him to press the bell on the side of the gate, next to which there is a small display on which you can see the respective visitor via camera. To my surprise, however, he takes a key card out of the small compartment above his sun visor and places it next to the display on a glossy black surface. The gate opens slowly, and we drive up the driveway.

My stomach jumps as I recognize the limousine parked in front of the entrance to the mansion from afar.

"What's going on?" I hear Wren mutter.

Only then do I notice that the trunk is open and Percy is just stowing large bags in it.

I swallow hard. Something is wrong here.

Wren parks the car, and we get out. At this moment, Lydia appears in the entrance to the house. She has both hands in front of her face, and her shoulders tremble. James stands next to her with an ashen face and has an arm around her shoulders. He whispers something in her ear, which makes Lydia nod. The sight reminds me of the pictures of the funeral, and I feel cold overflowing.

Wren and I exchange an anxious look, then we start moving. Just as we arrive at the stairs leading up to the entrance, Mortimer Beaufort appears in the front door. His steely gaze hits me with full force, but it can't stop me from going up the stairs to Lydia.

James' eyes widen when he sees me. "Ruby," he whispers. "What—"

I just shake my head and gently touch Lydia's arm. "Lydia," I whisper.

She lowers her hands. Her cheeks are flooded with tears, but that's not the worst of it: red and slightly bluish spots stain half of her face. My heart makes a painful leap, and as if by itself I raise my eyes to Mr. Beaufort.

He doesn't pull a face. I didn't think I could hate this man more than I already do, but at this moment I would like to go after him and let him feel the suffering he is inflicting on James and Lydia on his own body.

"What happened?" asks Wren next to me, looking back and forth between James and Lydia. "What are the trunks for?"

The two look as if they are in shock.

"Lydia, it's about time," Mr. Beaufort's lofty voice sounds. He walks past us and down the steps to the car. Then he demonstratively opens the door.

"Dad knows about the pregnancy. I... I'm supposed to get out of here," Lydia says. To my aunt."

"Pregnancy?" asks Wren, frowning.

James' grip on Lydia's shoulder intensifies.

"I'm pregnant," Lydia whispers. "By Graham Sutton."

Wren stares at Lydia and opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. Obviously, he was speechless.

"Lydia!" thunders Mr. Beaufort.

Panic wells up in me, and I look over my shoulder back to the car. "Is there anything I can do?" I ask. The feeling of farewell is in the air – something I can't handle at all. Especially not when it comes over me so suddenly.

"Is there nothing I can do?" I ask in panic.

She just shakes her head and wipes her cheeks. "No. I... I'll get back to you as soon as I have a cell phone again."

"Okay," I croak.

She slowly breaks away from James and goes down the steps of the stairs. Never in my life have I felt so powerless.

"Ruby," James says quietly, and our eyes meet. He hesitantly grabs my hand and runs his thumb over the back of my hand.

"I swear to you that I didn't send these photos to Lexington."

All kinds of thoughts are swirling around in my head, and I don't know what to focus on first. James seems to feel the same way.

"I'd love to explain everything to you, but I can't let Lydia go to Beckdale alone with Dad." He squeezes my cold hand. "Please trust me."

I think about what James and I have built up over the past few months. That we promised each other that we would always talk openly with each other, be there for each other and no longer allow anything to come between us.

Now is not the time for a debate. And even though I thought just a few hours ago that I would never be able to look James in the eye again, I now know that I am ready to listen to his explanation.

"I can't wait forever," I say. "You really hurt me today."

"I know. I'm so sorry. But I beg you – this one last time," he says quietly.

I nod and then let go of his hand.

James turns to Wren. "The others don't know anything about the pregnancy. Please keep that to yourself."

Wren nods curtly.

Then James goes down the stairs and gets into the car with Lydia. Percy closes the door and goes to the driver's side. For a fraction of a second, our eyes meet over the Rolls-Royce. Percy looks just as sad as I feel.

Then he also gets in, and immediately afterwards the car starts. I look at the red taillights until they have disappeared through the gate, my pulse racing like crazy.

"Damn," says Wren.

I can't help but nod silently.

For a few minutes we stand next to each other and stare in the direction in which the Rolls-Royce has disappeared. Then Wren sighs.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get our minds off things."

Alistair

The training today is really bad. James, Wren and Cyril don't show up, and neither of them has let the coach know, which puts him in a bad mood. He barks orders at us and chases us across the square like a madman, and when it is finally over after an hour and a half, I make three crosses inwardly. Completely sweaty, I want to go to the bank to get my bottle, but I don't get far.

One of the youngsters bumps into me violently from the side. It hits me so unprepared that I stumble and can only just catch myself again. When I look at him admonishingly, he gives me a challenging look. That's really the last thing I need right now. I take a threatening step towards him. "Do you have a problem, Kenton?" I ask.

"The coach tormented us today because of your shitty clique," he hisses and spits on the floor next to me.

"And that's my fault, because—?"

"You can make sure that this doesn't happen again. There are still people who take this seriously."

With these words, he trudges away in the direction of the locker room. It takes me all my effort not to run after him and to show what I think of his rebelliousness. I clench my teeth tightly and tear open the fasteners of the gloves. I pull them off my hands and stuff them into the side of my tracksuit pants.

Against my will, my eyes wander to the goal, where Kesh is just about to collect the balls and stow them in one of the boxes.

Normally I would have been upset about the newbie with him. Kesh has the gift of being able to calm me down in such situations, simply by listening.

When Kesh listens to you, you feel like you're being taken seriously. He is calm and level-headed, and his advice is well thought out. That's always been one of the qualities I've appreciated most about him, especially since I'm the exact opposite of him – short-tempered and impulsive. We complement each other perfectly, which is also the reason why Kesh has been my best friend for as long as I can remember.

Was, I correct myself in my thoughts.

Kesh was my best friend.

Sometimes I wonder if I should never have gotten involved with him. Maybe we could have saved our friendship that way. But then I think back to our moments together and feel an echo of the tingling and the feelings it triggered in me.

But the thing with us is over, and I don't see any way to undo our mistakes. When Kesh hit my brother a few weeks ago, the argument between us escalated. I told Kesh that I can't go on like this anymore and that I can't stand it a day longer to have to pretend that we are just friends at school, while we were always something like a couple when we were alone. That I also want to kiss him in public and hold his hand when we're out with our friends. And if he can't give me all that, I want to go back to where we were a year ago. I wanted us to be best friends again. Only best friends. Nothing more.

Kesh's answer was a calm "It's okay", which on the one hand felt like a slap in the face, but on the other hand also gave me hope that there can at least be a second chance for our friendship because we have finally clarified the things between us.

But no matter how hard we try to be unbiased with each other, it doesn't feel at all like everything is the same since then. There's something between us that I can't ignore, and it gets stronger the longer I'm in Kesh's presence.

Or the longer I stare at him, which I should definitely stop doing now.

I avert my gaze from him and walk to the edge of the training ground, where my sports bag is lying on the bench. With one hand I take out the water bottle, with the other my cell phone. Wren wrote to me.

SOS. Can I come to you with Ruby? Some shit has happened with the Beauforts, and we could use some distraction.

"Fuck," I murmur. That was just what was missing now.

"What's going on?" Kesh's voice sounds behind me. He keeps quite a distance, and yet the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I concentrate on typing the answer to Wren, then I slide the phone back into the gym bag.

"Wren will come to me with Ruby in a moment." I turn to Kesh. His gaze is on me, and it takes me quite a bit of effort to suppress the reaction my body has to him every damn time.

"Ruby must feel terrible," says Kesh. He takes his things from the bench, and together we walk towards the locker room. "Supposedly she had something with Sutton and was suspended from school because of it." His skeptical tone tells me that he doesn't believe the rumors at all.

"She definitely didn't make out with Sutton."

Kesh looks at me questioningly from the side.

"You were there when James took the photos, weren't you?" I ask. Kesh is a good observer. That can't have escaped him.

"Yes, but I can't imagine that he sent her on. I think there's more to it."

I grumble indecisively. James has done far worse things than forwarding a few photos, but at the same time, I can't imagine that he would do anything that would harm Ruby so much.

I clear my throat. "Will you come with me?"

Kesh stops in the middle of the hallway. He looks at me questioningly. A few strands have come loose from the messy knot he always makes for training. I would like to reach out and push it behind his ear. I suppress the impulse and instead grip the water bottle so tightly with my fingers that the plastic cracks.

"Would you like me with you?" he replies.

Since our argument, Kesh and I have rarely spent time together. I can't even remember the last time we had a real conversation without the others being there. Once we're in the same room, the air between us is charged, and I have to back off, afraid of making the mistake again and getting involved in the only thing Kesh can give me: stolen kisses in the dark and eternal secrecy.

But I have the hope that soon everything will be back to the way it used to be and that we will manage to be good friends. Nothing more and nothing less. So I nod, even though I know that it's probably not very healthy for my heart to spend the evening with him.

"The more people, the better." I return his gaze. I'm sure he can see in my eyes what's going on inside me. That's what you learn when you've been friends for a long time, and Keshav is one of the most empathetic people I know anyway.

I sometimes wish he had used that gift before he broke my heart.

"Then I'll be happy to come with you," he says quietly.

"Okay." I clear my throat. "Cool."

"I'm going to take a shower," says Kesh, pointing to the cubicles at the end of the hallway.

I feel myself getting warm again, although my pulse has actually calmed down halfway from training.

I quickly walk past him to the changing rooms. "I'll wait for you in front of the hall," I call over my shoulder.

I feel Kesh's calm, knowing look on the back of my neck the whole way.

Ruby looks like she's had a very long, exhausting day. When she arrived at my place, she dropped onto my couch with a pale face and hasn't moved since. While we all wear everyday clothes, she is still in the school uniform. It makes a really sad sight. You can't help but want to take care of them.

Kesh turns on music on the system with his cell phone while I go into the kitchen and check what we have in the fridge. Since Elaine and Fred no longer live at home, Mum and Dad have laid off some of the kitchen staff and cancelled our daily family dinners. I'm not sad about the latter. Most of the time I just sat next to them with cramped limbs anyway, while my parents talked to Fred – and especially about Fred.

Now I sometimes don't see my family for days, but I don't mind. I like to be alone. At least I don't have to pretend and pretend to my parents that their behavior doesn't hurt me.

I take a pre-cooked lasagna out of the fridge and warm it up in the microwave. Then I lift four large pieces onto plates and balance them back to my room. I put two on the coffee table for me and Ruby, I hand one to Wren, and the fourth I hold out to Kesh, who sits at my desk and clicks around in his cell phone. Then I go back again and get cutlery and a few glasses, which I also put on the table.

"Here," I say, holding out a fork to Ruby.

"Thank you." Ruby's voice rings hollow.

I sit down next to her on the sofa and start shoveling the lasagna into me. As always after training, I feel like I'm starving.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Ruby lifts her fork and tentatively takes a bite, but then lets the plate sink back onto her lap. "Are we talking about what happened?" I ask cautiously. "Or do we ignore it and talk about something else?"

Wren, who is sitting on the chair opposite the couch, raises his head and looks at Ruby. She just shrugs her shoulders, as if she doesn't care about anything by now.

"Mortimer kicked Lydia out," says Wren.

Kesh raises his head in surprise. "What?"

"I wanted to drive Ruby to James," Wren explains. "But when we got there, the trunk was full to the top, and Lydia was crying. Then everyone got in and drove away."

"Fuck," I exclaim. "What has Lydia done?"

Ruby and Wren glance at each other and then both stare at their plates. Obviously, they know something that no one else is supposed to know.

"I've already let James know we're here," Wren finally dodges my question. "He'll come here as soon as he's back."

"Okay." I eat the rest of my lasagna, even though I have actually lost my appetite at the idea of how Lydia must be doing right now. As I set the plate down on the low glass table in front of me, I give Ruby a sideways glance. She has still hardly touched her food and instead absently pokes around in it.

"I heard what happened at school," I say quietly.

Ruby raises her eyes. It is impossible to overlook how difficult it is for her to keep her composure right now.

"I was there when these pictures were taken, Ruby," I confess. Anger flashes in her eyes, but I continue before she can say anything. "James didn't know you then. All he wanted with these pictures was to protect himself. But over time he has grown totally fond of you. I don't think he's responsible for what happened today."

"I have to hear that from him himself."

I nod. "I can understand that."

Silence spreads between us. At some point, Ruby puts her plate away and then looks around my room. Her gaze lingers on a framed picture of James, Cyril, Wren, Kesh and me. We wear our lacrosse uniforms and are covered in mud from top to bottom. Nevertheless, we are beaming, and James, who is standing in the middle, holds up the championship trophy, which we had won for the first time shortly before. I can still remember how it felt today. How euphoric we were.

My gaze twitches to my desk and finds Keshavs, as if he had just been waiting for me to look at him.

Abruptly, I get up from the couch.

"I need a drink," I announce and walk over to the dresser where I keep my alcohol supply. I take out a half-full whiskey bottle and pour three glasses. I put one in front of Wren, with the other I go to Kesh, who shakes his head and points to the water bottle that stands next to him on the desk.

Indecisively, I look at the two glasses in my hand. Then I go back to the couch with it and hold one out to Ruby without further ado.

Ruby eyes the glass in my hand. I assume that she will refuse, but to my great surprise, she reaches for it. Before I can toast with her, she puts her head back and drinks it in a few gulps.

I whistle appreciatively. Ruby holds out the glass to me again and looks up at me expectantly.

I only hesitate for a second, then I fill it a second time.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" asks Wren, looking back and forth between me and Ruby.

Kesh turns on a song on his phone at that moment, the beat of which is fast and rhythmic.

"No," Ruby and I say at the same time.

I drop onto the couch and then bump my glass against hers. "For bad ideas."

For the first time this afternoon, a slight smile spreads across Ruby's lips.

4

Ruby

The music flows through my veins. It fulfills me from head to toe and makes me want to move. I dance without thinking. I just let myself go.

The feeling is fantastic.

I know that today will have dire consequences, but I don't care at all right now. I just want to enjoy this moment while it lasts.

I turn around myself for once. Alistair rejoices.

"Whiskey is great!" I announce, turning to Alistair, who is also dancing across the room. He toasts me with the bottle. I have no idea where his glass has gone.

"Truer words have never been spoken," he agrees. "When you're drunk, you're really wise, Ruby."

"Excuse me," I say. "I am always wise."

Alistair grins. "True again."

I don't know how that happened, but in my eyes, Alistair is the dearest person in the world right now. All of a sudden, I feel so connected to him. It seems to me that we have things in common for which I was far too blind in my sober state.

"Wren," I say, pulling my phone out of my blazer pocket. "Take a picture of me and Alistair."

I hold out the cell phone to him. With a smile, he seizes it.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Wait," Alistair calls and wraps an arm around me. Together we beam into the camera. "Now."

"One, two... three."

I release myself from Alistair's embrace to go to Wren and look at the picture. It turned out great, even if we didn't seem to have really kept still and it was a bit shaky.

"Thank you," I say to Wren and want to slide the phone back into my pocket.

"You have about two hundred messages and missed calls, by the way," Wren says quietly. "Maybe you should take a look at them before people go crazy with concern for you."

The seriousness of his words gets through to me despite the alcohol, and I pause. Hesitantly, I pick up the phone again. The display blurs before my eyes, and I have to blink a few times to see what's on it: five missed calls from Ember and Lin, three from Mum and Dad. A total of seven messages.

"Damn," I murmur. I sway slightly on the spot as I try to select and open the first message with my finger.

I heard what happened. Want to talk? Should I come over?

I swallow hard when I read Lin's words. I know that I would have to answer her, but I can't do that right now. For the first time since this morning, I don't feel like I'm going to burst into tears at any moment. The alcohol helped me to suppress this terrible day, and when I talk to Lin now, I am sure she will want to analyze everything that happened in detail. Just like Ember, who also wrote to me.

Sorry, I was on my way! What happened? And where are you?

I don't want to deal with the problems that await me at home. I don't know what's going to happen next. And I don't want to know at the moment.

I shake my head, and without reading the rest of the messages, I slide the phone back into my blazer. I avoid Wren's thoughtful look as I take off the blazer and throw it on the sofa. Then I roll up the sleeves of my blouse.

Alistair walks up to me, grabs my hand, and guides me into a spin as if he's sensed my change of mood. Against my will, I have to grin. He turns me in again and returns my smile. He seems to understand exactly what I need right now. Maybe he has to suppress something, I think, as I follow his gaze, which is directed at Keshav's back for the second time this afternoon.

For the first time in an eternity – or maybe even the first time ever – I let go of everything. I close my eyes and move to the music. I no longer hold on to what happened today and let Alistair help me forget everything. At some point, I don't even think about it anymore – my movements happen by themselves. I only perceive snippets of conversation from Wren and Keshav in passing, but otherwise it's just the melody of the music and the weightlessness that alcohol gives me.

I don't know how long Alistair and I dance together. I lost all sense of time – and also of how much whiskey I drank in total.

"Another sip?" asks Alistair, lifting the bottle. I'm about to hold out my empty glass to him when a voice interrupts us.

"What's going on here?"

I whirl around. In the doorway to Alistair's room is James. Wren must have let him into the house, because he appears behind him a short moment later. "I have nothing to do with it, just to be clear," he murmurs and walks past him to the chair in which he was sitting earlier.

James' gaze lands on me, and for a heartbeat we just look at each other. I can see a wide variety of emotions in his eyes.

Debt. Remorse. Fury. Mourning. Fear.

My heart contracts painfully. I would love to bridge the distance between us and take him in my arms. At the same time, I want to yell at him to finally find out who edited these pictures of me and Mr. Sutton and sent them to Lexington.

"Come in, man," says Alistair, and James steps over the threshold. As he walks, he opens his coat and then hangs it loosely over his arm. I remember that gray coat. He wore it when I introduced it to my parents. The memory makes a lump grow in my throat.

James stops briefly in front of us. He looks at me, his gaze uncertain. "Hey."

"Hey," I reply.

His nose curls slightly, and he eyes the glass in my hand. "You smell of whiskey."

"Your sense of smell is impressive, my friend," Alistair replies. "Ruby and I have drunk away our sorrows."

James says nothing more about this statement. Instead, he tilts his head towards the couch, his eyebrows raised questioningly. I hesitate only for a moment.

The euphoria from just now has evaporated, the whiskey in my body no longer feels like a stimulating elixir, but hot and almost unbearable in my stomach.

Kesh turns down the music as we sit down. James puts his coat down on the floor next to the couch, leans back and then runs both hands over his face. He looks unspeakably tired as he turns his head to me and looks at me with dark eyes.

"I took the pictures of you and Sutton," he begins. We didn't know each other then."

I nod.

"I don't know what you're going to do with your knowledge of Lydia. I thought I needed something against you in my hand."

"What knowledge about Lydia?" asks Kesh, frowning.

James lets out a long breath. "Ruby is not the one who had the affair with Sutton."

Alistair lowers the whiskey bottle. "Lydia and Sutton?" he asks incredulously. Although he must have at least twice as much alcohol in his blood as I do, he put one and one together surprisingly quickly. "Really?"

"Is that why your father is so freaked out?" asks Keshav.

"Yes." A short pause. "And because Lydia is pregnant."

"James!" I blurt out, because he just spills Lydia's secret. But almost at the same moment I realize that James would never have said that if Lydia hadn't allowed him to. She must have known that he was coming here and talking to us about it.

James puts his hand on mine and holds it tightly. His thumb gently caresses my skin. "Lydia asked me to tell you," he says to Alistair and Kesh. "My father threw her out and sent her to my aunt in Beckdale." I feel his body tense.

"Fuck," says Alistair. He holds out the bottle to James, but he just shakes his head.

"How did he even find out about it?" asks Wren, frowning.

"Cyril." James literally spits out the name.

Surprised, I look up from our crossed fingers. This information is also new to me. "What? When?"

"He saw Lydia with Sutton on Saturday. You can imagine how he reacted to that, as long as he has been mourning Lydia. I was with him afterwards to talk to him about the matter. That's when he stole my cell phone." James shakes his head as if he can't believe it himself. "I wanted to be there for him. And he shamelessly took advantage of that. He passed the pictures on to my father to make sure Sutton disappeared from Lydia's life." He looks at me. "And you from mine."

So that was what the curved B on the cover meant.

Mortimer Beaufort had Sutton and I edit the pictures and sent them to Lexington to get rid of me and Mr. Sutton.

"Two birds with one stone," I say hoarsely.

"I don't think so," Wren murmurs. "Cyril cannot have sunk so low."

"People are capable of a lot when they are unhappily in love," Keshav replies with a frown.

"What are we going to do now?" asks Alistair. "We can't just let Lydia be banished and Ruby kicked out of school!"

My affection for Alistair grows with every second.

"I have to get Cyril to tell the truth," says James.

Then he turns to me. "You're going to Oxford." His voice is firm, as if he had no doubt about the truth of his words. "No matter what I have to do for it."

Before I can reply, Wren adds, "We'll help you," to which Keshav and Alistair growl in agreement.

I look at James, who in turn looks at his friends. His gaze is grateful, and I can clearly feel the bond that has developed over the many years that they have known each other. The four radiate confidence and unconditional cohesion – and all of a sudden, my situation no longer seems as hopeless to me as it did a few hours ago.

James

The throbbing in my temples has become more and more unbearable as the hours go by. Even the pill Alistair found for me in his mother's medicine cabinet doesn't help. On the contrary, I have the feeling that the headaches become more and more severe the longer I am on my feet.

I don't want to leave, Lydia's sobs sound in my ears. An echo that has been haunting me for hours. Don't let him send me away, James.

I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose to relieve the pressure behind my eyes. Unfortunately, that doesn't work either.

I failed all along the line. As a brother and as a friend. If I could, I would go to Beckdale instead of Lydia. And if I could, I'd let Ruby take my place at Maxton Hall so she could graduate. However, wishful thinking will not help me in this situation.

"James," Ruby whispers.

"Yes?"

"I was expelled from school."

I lower my gaze to see Ruby's face. The light of the street lamps is just bright enough to realize how huge their pupils are and how red their cheeks are. I asked Percy to let us out at the entrance to Gormsey, hoping that a walk would at least partially sober Ruby. If I had delivered her home as I found her at Alistair's, I would certainly have been down with her parents for good.

A slight tremor runs through her body. I don't think twice, slip out of my coat and put it around her shoulders. I'm at a loss for words. I can only rub over her arms and try to warm her.

She lets out a sound that was probably intended as a giggle, but mutates into a sob halfway through. "I. Expelled from school. Can you believe that?"

My chest contracts painfully. No. I can't believe it. I don't want to believe it. Just as I don't want to believe that it's all my fault. Will Ruby even be able to look me in the eye once she has slept off her intoxication and realized that it was me who plunged her into misfortune?

"I have no idea what to do now," she whispers choked. "No school will admit me with this note in my file. And I can't study without a degree. Then I'll have to take some job so as not to be a burden on my parents." She blinks several times, but it doesn't help. Tears run down her cheeks. Ruby takes a breath, and her pain spreads directly to me.

"I'm sorry I disappointed you again," I murmur urgently. I brush a strand of hair out of her eye and tuck it behind her ear, then I run my thumb gently over her cheeks and wipe away the tears there. "What I said at Alistair's was meant seriously. I will do everything I can to get you to go to Oxford. I promise you that."

Never in my life have I meant a promise so seriously as I did at this moment.

My feelings for Ruby developed slowly until they finally rose over me like a storm. Masks and facades do not exist with her, she is the only person to whom I give everything of myself. And that's so scary. I couldn't bear to lose her again. Not after we have already overcome such major hurdles. Not when I know she's the best thing that ever happened to me.

"Ever since I've known you, my life has been so damn messed up," she says roughly. "I don't know how to believe it."

My hand trembles on her cheek. "I understand that. Until you can do that, I just believe in it for both of us."

Ruby swallows hard. And then, as if in slow motion, she lets her head sink forward onto my collarbone. She takes a deep breath, her hands slide to my hips in the same stroke. She holds on to me as if I were the only thing that can give her support at this moment. I don't know if she really believes in my words or if the alcohol has made her tired. Nevertheless, I raise my hand and stroke the back of her head.

When Ruby is so close to me, it no longer feels like the weight of the world rests on my shoulders. Rather, it feels like the world is in my arms.

5

Ruby

I wake up from a soft snoring. With heavy limbs, I turn to the side and see Ember lying next to me. She has one arm stretched out above her head, and her mouth is slightly open.

How did she get into my bed?

I can't remember the last time we slept together in the same bed. In the past, we often had pyjama parties on the weekends and fell asleep half-lying on top of each other without brushing our teeth, surrounded by chip crumbs.

For about half a minute I am in this blissful state in which you are awake but not yet fully conscious and therefore reality has not yet caught up with you. But then I suddenly notice the stale taste in my mouth, and all of a sudden the memory of yesterday rains down on me with all its might.

A cold shiver runs over me, and my heart begins to pound against my chest. That really all happened. I was suspended, and Lydia was kicked out of home. I drank whiskey with Alistair Ellington. Then James took me home and promised me that he would fix everything.

As if by itself, my gaze glides to the bulletin board above my desk. I can't read what's written on the paper with the wavy corners from here, but I know the exact wording by heart by now.

A wave of nausea overcomes me.

"You're awake," Ember's sleep-raspy voice sounds next to me.

I only manage a hum.

Ember straightens up on one arm. "Where were you yesterday? Mum and Dad almost went crazy."

"I could ask you that too," I reply and turn my head to her. "I was going to pick you up from school, but Maisie said you weren't there."

Ember opens his mouth and closes it again. Her cheeks turn red, but she holds my gaze. In the end, she sighs. "I skipped school, okay? I'm struggling with math at the moment and just needed a break."

Frowning, I look at her. I've known Ember all her life and notice exactly when she's hiding something from me. I don't want to push her, after all, it's her right to have secrets. But I can't do anything about the restlessness that is spreading in me at this moment. I straighten up a bit, but before I can reply, she quickly adds, "Please don't tell Mum and Dad."

I return her gaze and think for a moment.

"Come on, Ruby."

"I'm not going to reveal anything," I finally say quietly. "But if you need help—whether it's math or whatever—you let me know, okay?"

She nods. "Agreed."

After that, an uncomfortable silence fills the room.

"Is it true?" Ember finally asks hesitantly. "Have you really been suspended from school?"

Now I sit up completely. Black dots appear in front of my eyes, and I rub my face before finally nodding.

At the same moment, there is a soft knock on the door, and Mum sticks his head into the room shortly afterwards. I try to interpret her facial expression, but she seems to be trying hard not to show any emotions.

"Mum...", I begin, but she silences me with a shake of the head.

"Your father and I want you to come downstairs," she says tonelessly. "We will now have a serious conversation with each other."

She pulls her head back, and a little later I can hear her going downstairs. I rub my eyes yawning. Ember sits down next to me. I feel her gaze on me and that she is waiting for an answer.

Without another word, I get up and go to the bathroom. I brush my teeth meticulously so that the bad taste disappears and wash my face. Then I tie a ponytail and straighten my bangs as best I can. When I return to my room, Ember goes to the bathroom. This morning routine is so familiar to me that my hand moves to my school uniform as if by itself as I stand in front of my wardrobe. I pull it back as quickly as if I had burned myself on the dark blue. It takes me several deep breaths to suppress the panic that wants to rise in me, then I push aside the hanger with the uniform and reach for a black midi skirt and a loose beige top.

Mum and Dad are already sitting at the dining table when Ember and I enter the kitchen. If this were a normal morning, they would greet us with a smile. They would ask us about what we were up to that day and inform us of their plans while we had breakfast together. Now they look at us expressionlessly as we take a seat opposite them at the table. The only noise in the kitchen is the soft hum of the coffee machine.

Mum and Dad exchange a glance and seem to communicate silently for a moment. Then Dad looks at me.

"What happened yesterday, Ruby?" he asks.

Irritated, I look back and forth between the two. "Mum must have told you everything."

"I still want to hear it from you again."

Dad's gaze is neutral, without the judgment and disappointment with which Mum looked at me yesterday. He makes me want to stare at a dent in the dining table instead of his face.

"I would ... I've been suspended from school," I manage with difficulty.

"Why?"

I clench my teeth tightly. An unpleasant goosebumps appear on my arms, and my hands feel cold and sticky. Never before have I felt so uncomfortable in the presence of my family. I would like to get up and go back to my room.

"I don't know what you want to hear from me, Dad," I blurt out. "Shall I tell you it's true? That I wanted to improve my Oxford grades a little bit and that's why I kissed my history teacher?"

Next to me, Ember shifts restlessly back and forth in her chair. I can't look at her or my parents and instead let my gaze wander randomly through the kitchen. He gets stuck on the clock hanging on the wall opposite.

The school bus will arrive in five minutes. Normally, I would have to be standing at the bus stop long ago, my backpack on my back. Instead, I'm sitting here in the kitchen and have to face this questioning.

"No, I don't want to hear that from you," Dad says calmly. "I want to know what these pictures are all about, yes. But I wish to hear your side of the story."

I look at him in surprise.

"I didn't give you the opportunity to do that yesterday. And I'm very sorry about that," Mum adds. I was overwhelmed by the situation. Sitting in this office and seeing these photos... I believed what Mr. Lexington told me, and I didn't let you speak at all."

I hold my breath.

"I'm sorry, Ruby."

All of a sudden, my eyes start to burn. A lump forms in my throat, which I try to swallow several times in a row. It doesn't work.

"But you can't just disappear like that." Her voice becomes a haunting whisper. "We were so worried."

"It wasn't okay that we weren't there for you yesterday," Dad continues.

"And it would mean a lot to us if you explained to us what happened," Mum adds.

No matter how many times I blink, the tears don't go away. To my left, Ember raises his hand and strokes my back briefly. I am incredibly happy that she is with me at this moment.

Mum pours me a cup of tea and pushes it across the table. I wipe my cheeks and then put my hands around the warm porcelain. It gradually displaces the cold in my bones. My parents give me time to sort out my thoughts. I briefly consider what I can tell them. Whether it is an abuse of trust if I let my family in on the secrets of my friends. But now this matter does not only affect Lydia and James – it also affects me. And no matter how important they are to me, I can't continue to jeopardize my relationship with my parents.

"It started the day I had to pick up my letter of recommendation from Mr. Sutton," I begin after some hesitation.

Mum and Dad listen to me attentively. Now the situation doesn't seem scary to me anymore. On the contrary, I feel as if I am in a protected space where the truth can finally be spoken. So I keep talking. "I thought we had made an appointment with each other. But when I went in, he wasn't alone."

The beginning is difficult for me, but over time the words come easier and easier from my lips. When I tell them that Cyril and James' father are behind the pictures, Mum reaches for my dad's hand.

"Mortimer Beaufort is ruthless," I explain in a hoarse voice. "He would go over dead bodies for the reputation of his family."

"And he doesn't care if he destroys another family in the process," says Mum, shaking his head. "What a horrible person."

"Terrible person? I could think of a few completely different names," says Dad, whose brows have formed a steep crease.

"I wonder how such a monster could raise a kind-hearted person like Lydia," Ember agrees.

I've talked for so long at a time that I'm completely out of breath. I take a sip of my tea and hope that the lump that is still sitting in my throat will soon disappear.

Silence spreads in the kitchen. In contrast to before, however, she is not uncomfortable, but rather thoughtful.

"I can't believe you carried all this around with you without confiding in someone," Dad finally says. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.

The tea has become cold in the meantime, and I put the cup down again. "I just couldn't abuse Lydia and James' trust."

"But now it's not just about the two of them," Ember gently expresses what I also realized yesterday.

"The thing has outgrown us. I have no idea how to convince Principal Lexington of the truth. Mr. Beaufort is a member of the parents' board, he donates tons of money every year, just like Cyril's parents. If her word is against mine, it is clear whom he is more likely to believe."

"But there must still be the original pictures, right?" asks Mum.

"Cyril deleted it. If they still exist, it's only with him or Mr. Beaufort."

"Even if it were, how was Ruby supposed to prove that it wasn't these images that were edited?"

"It's no use," Dad says, shaking his head. "We must talk to your principal and tell him the truth."

"No!" I shout. "That won't do. I can't betray Lydia. Her father has already banished her to nowhere. What do you think he will do when all this becomes public?"

I remember the things James told me about his father. Of the coldness in Mr. Beaufort's eyes, James' cracked lip and the red spots on Lydia's face.

"This man is unpredictable, Dad."

My mother grabs my hands over the table and embraces them tightly. "I love that you want to protect your friends, Ruby, but this is about your future."

"I really can't do that to Lydia, Mum," I say roughly. "I have to trust that James will get Cyril to come out to Lexington with the truth about the pictures."

Mum exhales heavily and then looks at Dad, whose expression has hardened.

"We still have to talk to this rector." I open my mouth to contradict him, but he raises his hand. "We don't have to tell him anything about Lydia, but I want him to have the authenticity of these photos checked."

I press my lips tightly together. While it feels good to have told my parents the truth, it also makes me uneasy that we disagree on this matter.

"Please, let James try to talk to Cyril before we do anything," I beg her.

Mum and Dad exchange a look.

"Can you really trust James?" asks Mum softly. "After all, he was the one who took the pictures."

Against my will, I stiffen. Of course, Mum is right. Objectively speaking, there is no reason why I should put my fate in James' hands of all people.

"It's not what you think, Mum," Ember jumps to my aid unexpectedly. "James is really in love with Ruby. He would never hurt her on purpose."

Heat shoots into my cheeks. When I look at Ember, she just shrugs her shoulders. "You only have to spend a minute in your company to notice it."

Mum looks at Dad, whose expression is still anything but happy.

I hold my breath.

"We'll give him a week," Dad says resolutely. "Then we'll go to Lexington's. You've worked too hard in the last few years to let your work be ruined because of a few lies." Dad's voice trembles with suppressed anger, but before either of us can say anything about his decision, he puts his hands on the wheels of his wheelchair and drives out of the kitchen.

Mum squeezes my hands tightly. "Thank you for telling us everything."

I swallow hard and nod.

"I hope you can forgive me for how I reacted yesterday. I didn't know how to deal with this situation."

"I know," I whisper, returning the pressure of Mum's hands. "It's okay, Mum."

She stands up and leans over me to press a kiss on my head. Then she follows my father.

The liberated feeling I felt just now slowly disappears. Instead, the tiredness creeps back into my limbs, and I let my head sink onto Ember's shoulder. She raises a hand and runs it over my hair.

"At least they didn't notice that I wasn't at school yesterday because of you," she murmurs.

I just have the strength to punch my sister in the side.

6

James

I lift my finger to the bell, but I can't manage to press the small button. It feels like someone has an invisible iron chain wrapped around my wrist and is now holding me back with all their might.

It's not the first time I've been on Ruby's doorstep. It's not even the first time I've been excited about meeting her and her parents. But after everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours, I have no idea what awaits me behind this door. How to get under Ruby's parents' eyes and what to say to them. I feel the same way about Ruby. What if she is not willing to forgive me after all and sends me away again?

At the thought, my stomach contracts painfully. I don't think I've ever been as nervous as I was at that moment.

But it's also not an option to leave again. I made a promise to Ruby – and besides, Lin would probably kill me if I didn't hand over her notes as agreed.

I take a deep breath. Then I gather my courage and press the Bells' bell. It takes half a minute for the door to be slowly pulled open. Ruby's father looks up at me, his gaze hard and challenging, and the determination in it instantly reminds me of Ruby. I have to clear my throat.

"Hello, Mr. Bell," I say.

"James," he replies tonelessly. It is obvious that he is not happy about my visit.

"I wanted to give Ruby her homework. I also have the notes of the lessons she missed today," I say, holding up the small pile of sheets I've put together as if to prove it.

Several seconds pass in which Mr. Bell looks at me wordlessly. I hold his gaze, as I always try to do with Ruby.

"Come in," he finally says and moves his wheelchair to the side so that I can go into the house. I enter the narrow hallway, and just like last time, the first thing that catches my eye are the family photos on the walls.

If I ever have a house, I would like to hang up such photos, it flashes through my head, and the thought hits me so unprepared that I have to avert my gaze.

"Ruby!" shouts Mr. Bell so loudly that I flinch. "You have a visitor!"

Footsteps sound upstairs, followed by a creak as Ruby slowly descends the stairs. When she sees me, her eyes widen in surprise. "Hey," I say softly as she comes to a stop in front of me.

I know that this greeting is not good enough. I'd love to give Ruby more than that, but I can't. Not as long as Mr. Bell watches me with his argus eyes.

"James is here to give you your homework," he explains. "Why don't you go into the living room. Helen and I were just going to make tea, anyway."

I look after him as he disappears into the kitchen. Then Ruby attracts my gaze again. She seems tired and depressed, and I would like to take her in my arms and not let go. But I know that won't help her, let alone solve her problems, so I resist the urge and tilt my head questioningly towards the living room door.

Ruby nods and leads the way, I follow her at a distance.

"Lin and I thought that you would certainly want to have the notes of the class so that we wouldn't miss any material," I say after we sit down next to each other on the sofa. I place the stack of leaves on the table.

"You talked to Lin?" Ruby asks. She leans forward to read what is written on the top piece of paper.

"Yes. We sat down during the lunch break and discussed who would take notes for you in which subject."

The corners of Ruby's mouth move upwards – barely noticeable, but they move.

"She was worried about you," I continue. "She said she hadn't reached you since yesterday."

"I didn't want to talk to anyone," she says quietly.

"I can understand that."

We are silent for a moment, then Ruby picks up the first sheet of paper and looks at me questioningly.

I clear my throat. "Each compartment has a different color," I explain. "So that you can find your way around more quickly. Lin gave me an introduction to your color codes. So that's math."

Ruby looks from the notes to me and back again, and some of the desolation disappears from her eyes. It is replaced by something else, warmer, until finally even a slight smile spreads across her face. She pulls the entire stack off the table and onto her lap and begins to take a closer look at the individual notes.

"I thought it's best to take a look at everything, and if you have any questions, we'll go over it together. Except for English – there you are with Anna Karenina, which we haven't started with yet. But Lin can help you with that."

Ruby nods absently and continues leafing through the notes.

"I hope you can decipher everything. I've really tried, but—"

I can't get any further. Ruby makes a small leap towards me and hugs me.

"That's so great, thank you," she says.

A few of the pieces of paper have fallen to the floor, but at this moment I don't care. As best I can, I return Ruby's hug.

"I don't want to give up Maxton Hall," she says. Her voice is muffled by my blazer.

"I know," I reply.

She nestles even closer to me, and I hold her as tightly as I can.

"Hi, James," a voice suddenly sounds behind us. Letting go of Ruby is the last thing I want right now, but Ember's teasing tone leaves me with no choice. I turn around. Ruby's sister and her mother are standing in the doorway to the living room. I shoot up from the couch.

"Hello, Helen," I say, straightening my jacket. "Hey, Ember."

For a moment it is uncomfortably quiet between us. Then Helen takes a few steps towards me. For a moment I fear that she wants to slap me in the face. I'm already clenching my teeth tightly – but then Ruby's mother surprises me.

She pulls me into her arms.

For a moment, I don't know what is happening to me at all.

Helen Bell hugs me.

"I'm very sorry about your family, James," she says quietly.

Her words choke my breath.

She leans back, but continues to grasp my upper arms with her hands. My body feels stiff like a board. I can't move, I can't get a single word out. I remember the last time my mum hugged me. It was on my last birthday, right at breakfast. She first approached Lydia with outstretched arms and then embraced me.

"If there's anything we can do for you and your sister, don't be afraid to tell us," Helen continues, and I suppress the memory of my mum.

I expected to be yelled at. I expected aversion and hatred. With having the door slammed in your face. And now Ruby's mum hugs me and offers me help. Although I am the one who made sure that Ruby was kicked out of school.

I swallow with difficulty. At this second, I don't know anything at all. I only notice that it costs me more and more strength to withstand her gaze and not let it be known how close her words are to me. Perhaps this is Helen's very personal weapon – gentleness.

"James brought me the notes from school so I wouldn't miss anything," Ruby says at some point, tearing me out of my rigidity. If she hadn't said anything, I probably wouldn't have moved at all and would have stayed like a pillar of salt in the Bells' living room for the rest of the day.

Only when Helen turns to Ruby and goes to the sofa do I manage to catch my breath. It takes me a moment to collect myself and go back to Ruby, who is in the process of picking up the notes from the floor with Ember.

Ember looks at one of the leaves intensively and then holds it so that Ruby can see it. "They look like you made them," she says, almost amused.

Ruby gives me a small smile that shoots through me like an arrow. "Yes, isn't it?"

I go back to the sofa and sit down again. My heart is still racing like crazy, but Ruby's closeness makes my nerves slowly calm down.

"Ember, I need your help in the kitchen," says Helen.

Ember rolls her eyes in a playful annoyance, but follows her mother without contradicting her.

Then Ruby and I are alone again.

I turn in the direction in which the two have disappeared.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Ruby says with amusement.

"Your mum is—" I don't know how to describe what has just happened to me. Shaking my head, I lean back in the sofa and smile at Ruby.

"I hope it's okay that I told them."

"Of course," I reply immediately. "Your parents should know the truth."

She exhales audibly. "I wasn't sure you would see it that way."

I nod. I don't know what connects Ruby with her family. But I know how valuable it is. "I think it's great how you treat each other. The fact that you can talk to them about something like this is not a matter of course. I never wanted to pressure you. I'm sorry."

"You didn't pressure me. I deliberately wanted to keep her out of everything – that's what I've been doing for over two years," she replies quietly but insistently.

I look at my fingers.

I have to think of the sound when my father's hand hit Lydia's cheek. Last night I only dreamed about it and woke up from it over and over again.

"James?" whispers Ruby.

I look at the skin that stretches over my knuckles. "Sometimes I wish it were the same with us. That I had parents – a family – with whom I could talk as you talk to yours. I—" I can't get more out of it.

"I know," says Ruby. She slides a little closer to me until our knees gently bump into each other.

"I can't believe my dad sent Lydia away." My breathing suddenly goes faster. My chest is pounding hard, but at the same time my body seems to feel too tight for what's going on inside me. "I couldn't do anything to prevent it. I just couldn't do anything, Ruby."

Ruby rests her hands on my clenched fists. Her touch is soft and warm, just like her voice as she speaks. "No one could have prevented it. You've done everything you could do."

I swallow hard. A million thumbtacks seem to be stuck in my throat. "It wasn't enough, though. And... I'm so sorry for what happened yesterday."

"I know that," Ruby replies quietly. She squeezes my hands, and I raise my head to look at her. There is sadness in her eyes, but also something else. Something I cling to because it feels familiar and good.

"Being there for you and Lydia is the most important thing for me at the moment. You are the most important thing to me."

I loosen my hand until I can turn it and use it to grasp Rubys. I carefully lift her to my mouth and press my lips to the back of her hand.

Ruby's gaze gets warmer and warmer. More and more alive. "I doubted it for a moment," she admits quietly. "In front of Lexington's office."

I nod. Yes, I saw that. Her incredulous look and the disappointment in it hit me to the core. I know that I have made big mistakes in the past. But taking these photos – something like that is no longer a part of my life. Such intrigues no longer belong to the man I am now. Or wants to be.

"I didn't even know that I still had the pictures on my cell phone."

Ruby nods briefly. Then she exhales audibly. "It will be difficult to convince Lexington of the truth."

"Probably."

For a moment we both dwell on our thoughts.

"What about Lydia?" Ruby finally asks. "What happens now?"

I clear my throat. "She lives with Ophelia and gets private lessons so that she can graduate. Dad threatened to report Sutton if she refused."

Ruby stiffens, and I can see the same anger flash in her eyes that I feel.

"I'd like to pack my things too."

"Why don't you do it?" Ruby asks cautiously. "Maybe then he would come to his senses and realize that he made a mistake."

I shake my head. "I can't let the situation at home escalate any further. If I leave, I won't have a chance to convince my father to bring Lydia back."

Ruby frowns. "Then that means—"

»… that I first do what he wants," I say tonelessly.

"Oh, James."

I shrug my shoulders. The last thing I wanted with my visit was to burden Ruby with my family problems again. She has enough on her plate, she shouldn't have to worry about Lydia and me as well.

"Do you think he's going to change at some point?" Ruby asks, running her thumb over the back of my hand.

I listen to myself and think. I never thought about whether my father would change at some point. To me, he was always just Mortimer Beaufort – a businessman who had the highest expectations of me and put me under such pressure since I was a child that I always felt like I was suffocating at any moment.

I regularly have the dream that I am drowning in the sea and my father is standing over me and watching me die. That's exactly how it feels at the moment.

"I don't think so," I say hoarsely.

Ruby slides a little closer to me, and I lean my head against hers. "I'm here for you," she whispers.

I can't reply to that. I just wrap one arm around her side and pull her close to me.

"I thought I'd go to visit Lydia on the weekends," I say after a while. "She'll be all right with Ophelia, I know that. But she doesn't know anyone else in Beckdale, and I don't want her to feel alone."

Ruby looks at me sympathetically, but that's the last thing I wanted. She has enough worries of her own, and I shouldn't burden her with my family's problems as well.

"May I come with you?" she asks after a while.

"To Lydia?"

Ruby nods. She must feel my surprise, because before I can answer, she quickly adds: "Someday. Well, only if you want to."

"Lydia would certainly be pleased." I lean back a bit to look at Ruby and add quietly, "And so do I."

I would have done anything to spend the rest of the day with Ruby, but there's one thing I still have to do today – and it's anything but pleasant.

I park my car in front of Red Heaven and get out. It's unusual to drive yourself, but Percy called in sick on Saturday after we got back from Pemwick and hasn't shown up since. I can't blame him. To deliver Lydia to Ophelia crying and then drive back as if nothing had happened cannot have been easy for him either.

I close the car door a little tighter than necessary and then walk the few meters to the entrance of the club. The sun has now almost completely set and can only be seen in the distance as a faint reddish glow.

I push the heavy velvet curtains aside and enter. The typical powdery sweet smell spreads through my nose and immediately presses on my head. I don't think I've ever been sober in this shed. Without the influence of alcohol, the smell paired with the sight of the pole dance poles, on which dancers dance in pink and reddish light to a slow song with deep bass, seems somehow surreal to me. Like a world in which I am a stranger – and no longer an integral part.

"James!" Bear's booming voice sounds from a distance. Apart from him and the dancers, there is no one else in this part of the club, which doesn't surprise me. The main times here are much later.

I turn to him and see the owner of Red Heaven approaching me with outstretched arms. His name doesn't match his tall, slender stature, nor does it match the bespoke Beaufort suit he's wearing. "First Cyril, then you. What does the honour give me?"

"Bear," I greet him and shake his hand. His handshake is almost as firm and unyielding as my father's. I reciprocate it without batting an eyelid. "I'm here because of Cyril. Where is he?"

A serious look enters Bear's eyes, even if the smile on his lips doesn't slip a millimeter. "He's in one of the rooms at the back and is having a good time."

I swallow hard. It was clear. "I hope he's responsive."

Bear waves me backwards, once across the club. "Judging by your gravedigger's face, he's eaten something."

I look at the heavy door that leads to the VIP area without giving Bear an answer.

"You know I don't tolerate fights in my club, James," he continues in a dark voice. "If you want to solve problems with each other, this is not the place to do it."

"I don't intend to fight with anyone," I say.

"Good," Bear says before opening the door for me. "He's at the back."

I nod and walk down the aisle to the area Bear pointed to. Without hesitation, I push the curtain aside.

Cyril sits on one of the black leather sofas. He looks relaxed, has his head back and watches the dancer in front of him, who moves to the beat of the music. He watches her bury both hands in her hair and circle her hips. Slowly it moves downwards –

I clear my throat.

Cyril doesn't turn his head to me, but I can see every muscle in his body tensing.

"Linette," he says, without taking his eyes off the dancer. "Can we take a short break?" There is no intonation or emotion in his voice.

Linette pauses in surprise, but then nods when she sees me standing in the entrance. She gets off the small dance floor and throws me a smile as she passes.

Slowly I walk to the sofa. I pull one of the leather stools towards me so that I can sit opposite Cyril. He doesn't even bother to look at me. Instead, he stares at the ceiling, his gaze is cloudy, as if he had something much harder in addition to alcohol.

I remember his words from yesterday. Of the provocation that lay in his voice: Ask him, Ruby. Ask him who took these pictures. Of how he gave me back the cell phone and mocked me by thanking me for it. It took me all the strength in the world not to pounce on him and instead turn around and leave him standing in front of Lexington's office.

I know Cyril. Attacking him would have been exactly what he wanted me to do. Just as he is probably hoping for it at this second. But I won't do him that favor. I will not help him with my anger to compensate for his pain. Because it is impossible to overlook the fact that Cyril is suffering. At least if you've known him all his life, as I have.

"Dad kicked Lydia out," I finally begin.

My words have the expected effect: Cyril flinches and looks at me with a veiled gaze.

Lydia is the only thing that interests him. I knew that I could get through to him in this way.

"He yelled at her, beat her, and sent her to our aunt's house in Beckdale, Cy," I go on in a calm voice. I swore to myself to keep a cool head, but the moment the memory haunts me, I have to clench my hands into fists. It happens quite instinctively.

Something dark flickers in Cyril's eyes. "He said he'd make sure Sutton disappeared from her life," he says hoarsely. "That we could get rid of them both in one fell swoop."

My nails dig into the palms of my hands. "What the hell did Ruby do to you?" I growl.

Cy lets out a laugh, but it sounds anything but amused. He rubs his face with both hands and then buries it in his dark hair. "Before the two of them showed up, everything was perfect, man."

"Nothing at all was perfect. Before Lydia met Sutton, she was in a shitty situation."

Cyril's shoulders cramp. He also clenches his hands into fists. "That's not true."

"Maybe you just didn't know her as well as you'd like."

"Fuck," Cyril exclaims and hits the cushion of the sofa with a fist. "I just wanted everything to go back to the way it used to be!"

"You're acting as if everything was so incredibly great in the past, Cy. But that's just not true."

"We had the best time together," he says in a trembling voice. "We weren't interested in what others thought of us. We were invincible, James. And now there's nothing left of it."

His cheeks are reddened, his shoulders rise and fall quickly.

Suddenly I realize where the problem lies. While in reality I never wanted the life my parents had planned for me, Cyril was different. While I have always feared the future, Cyril has been looking forward to going to Oxford and following the path that has been prepared for him. While the suppressed desire for more always burned in me, Cyril was satisfied with his life.

"You can't make me believe that what you've done has anything to do with friendship."

"Of course I did it for our friendship." Now Cyril looks like he's going to jump up at any moment.

"You did it for yourself. Out of selfishness. Because you can't cope with change."

"That's not true," he replies.

"What were you thinking? That my father is happy about the news?" I reply coldly.

"He said he'd make sure Sutton disappeared. That's all I wanted."

I snort. "You have achieved the opposite of what you wanted. Neither Lydia nor I can ever see you with the same eyes again."

Cyril flinches. He looks like I punched him in the face. "I... I didn't want that. I didn't know he was going to punish Lydia."

I lean forward on the chair and look Cyril in the eyes. "You hurt the two people who are most important to me in my life. I'll never forget that."

"I can't undo what happened." His voice sounds tortured, he literally squeezes out the words.

"Yes, you can."

He shakes his head. "Lexington won't believe a word I say when I go to him now. Besides, my reputation would be gone."

I hit the table between us with full force. Pain explodes in my fist and chases up my entire arm, but I couldn't be more indifferent to that at this second.

"I don't give a shit about your damn reputation, Cyril! You ruined Ruby's life with that vile lie."

I look at Cyril challengingly. He returns my gaze with a hard face.

"I know you still have the original photos. I'll give you a week to go to Lexington with it."

"I—"

I get up and look down on him from above. "If you don't give the pictures to Lexington, our lost friendship will be the least of your problems," I say in a deadly low voice.

Cyril swallows hard. He lowers his gaze to his hands, clenches them into fists and loosens them again. It is impossible to overlook the fact that he is currently waging a relentless battle with himself.

But I can't help him with that. I said everything I had to say.

"James," Cyril croaks again in a hoarse voice as I almost arrive at the exit of the lounge. "I really didn't want that."

The anger at Cyril coupled with the uncertainty of what will happen to Lydia and Ruby makes me almost dizzy. Maybe Cyril is not a bad person at heart, but at this moment I don't know if our friendship can still be saved. At this second, I can't even manage to look at him.

"I know."

Without another word, I leave the club.

7

Graham

BEAUFORT

I've been standing in this place for more than five minutes now, staring at the imposing sign emblazoned on the façade of the glazed building.

I used to pass by here often because my theatre group met just two streets away for their rehearsals. However, I never realized that this is the headquarters of the Beaufort Companies – probably because I was never particularly interested in fashion or the big corporations in the country.

I always wanted only one thing: to become a teacher.

When Lydia told me her last name at the time, it didn't mean anything to me at first. She had to help me out to realize that the suit my grandfather gave me for my Oxford graduation was from a brand that belonged to her family.

Once again, I straighten the collar of my dark green shirt and adjust the shoulder bag strap on my shoulder.

Then I glance at my watch: fourteen fifty-five. I take a deep breath and start moving.

Together with two businessmen in suits, I walk through the large revolving door and enter the entrance hall of the modern high-rise.

Lydia once told me that the original headquarters of Beaufort, where the main branch and the tailor's shop are located, became too small in the eighties and therefore this building was built right next to it, into which marketing, press, accounting and management gradually moved in. It has twenty floors and leaves no doubt that this is the place where the company's business is conducted.

My palms feel cold as I stop right behind the door and look around. The floor of the reception area is made of light marble, and the walls are made entirely of glass. The emblem of Beaufort is incorporated in the middle of the entrance hall, and directly above it is the name of the company in a semicircle.

"What can I do for you?" a young man asks me as I finally step up to the reception. He has gelled hair to the side and wears – just like almost everyone here – a black suit that fits so well that it must have been tailored to his body.

I intentionally left my Beaufort suit in the closet, but now I'm wondering if that might have been a mistake. With my jeans and the slightly too big checked jacket, I almost feel like a leper in here.

"My name is Graham Sutton. I have an appointment with Mr Beaufort," I explain.

The young guy raises his eyebrows, bends over his computer in the next moment and clicks a few times with his mouse. "Ah, there we have you." He types at breakneck speed on the keyboard, then rolls his chair back a bit to a small black cabinet, the drawer of which he pulls open. He comes back to the counter and holds up a rectangular white sign to me. The visitor's badge is written on it in clear letters, with the Beaufort logo printed directly above it and a black barcode further down.

"Go through the control on the right side and hold the ID card in front of the scanner. Once you are through, you will find the elevators on the left. You have to go to the top floor."

"Okay. Thank you," I say, taking the ID card and turning in the direction he was pointing.

"Good luck," he calls after me.

If only he knew how badly I could use it.

With me, a woman and a man get into the elevator. They scrutinize me closely when they see which floor I'm going to. I avert my gaze and stare at my worn brown leather shoes instead.

The ride to the twentieth floor passes as if in slow motion, while the elevator is dizzyingly fast. I can only think of Lydia all the time. I haven't heard from her for five days, and now I'm sick with worry. I had been trying to reach her all Monday evening, but her cell phone was switched off after our phone call. It wasn't until late at night that I got an e-mail from her:

I'm really just bringing you problems. Maybe it's better if you forget me. I am sorry. –Lydia

She didn't respond to my answer. I don't know where she is, nor if she's okay. When I got the call from Mr. Beaufort's secretary yesterday, it felt like the ground was giving way under my feet.

If Lydia's father wants to talk to me, it can only mean one thing: He knows. On the one hand, this makes me more nervous than on my first day of class in Maxton Hall, but on the other hand, I'm almost ... relieved? The last few days have been without question the hardest in my life so far. I lost my job and with it probably my entire professional future. But in the midst of the hopelessness, there is also the thought of Lydia. Lydia, with whom I can now perhaps have a future together without living in constant fear and with a guilty conscience. It was a high price, but Lydia is worth paying.

I'm the last one to get out of the elevator. A dark-haired woman behind a reception desk greets me with a reserved smile. "Mr. Sutton, feel free to take a seat up there. Mr. Beaufort will be here for you in a moment." She points to a row of chairs at the end of the hallway.

I walk to the chairs, but instead of sitting down, I stand at the window front, which stretches over the entire right side of the floor and through which you have an impressive view of London. I look at the city where I grew up. The Thames glistens in the spring sun and gives an almost peaceful impression that could not be more different from the tumult inside me.

"Mr. Sutton, you can go in now," says the assistant.

I clear my throat. "Thank you."

Then I take a deep breath, walk past the chairs to the door and push down the handle.

Lydia's father's office looks just like the rest of the building – clean, cool and emotionless. On the right side is a silver filing cabinet, next to it a simple gray sofa with metal feet. To the left is a desk with a large glass top.

Mr Beaufort stands at the window behind it. He has his hands clasped behind his back and only turns around when I have closed the door behind me with a quiet click. His gaze is cool as he lands on me.

"Sit down, Sutton," he urges me, pointing to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

For a moment I am irritated by the lack of greeting, but I comply with his request. "Mr. Beaufort."

He comes to the desk, sits down as well and rests both arms on the glass top in front of him. To the side is a large computer with a black screen, and on the other side are several stacks of paper, including catalogs and sketches. My gaze lingers on it for a moment, then I look at Mr. Beaufort again.

"I am sure you know why I asked you to come here," he begins, without showing a single emotion.

"I can guess," I reply.

"I assume that my daughter informed you of her move."

I calmly return his gaze and try not to let it be known that I have no idea what he is talking about.

"What has happened can no longer be undone. But I strongly advise you not to waste your Oxford degree on a relationship that has no chance."

The way he sweeps Lydia's and my relationship off the table with a few words feels like a slap in the chest. He doesn't know me at all. He doesn't know what connects Lydia and me, how much we have helped each other. And he has no idea that we need each other, now more than ever.

I didn't come here expecting to get his blessing. No father wants his daughter to start a relationship with her teacher, I know that. But the tone in which he speaks to me is disrespectful, and the fact that he is trying to intimidate me is ridiculous. I am absolutely indifferent to his power and money. He can't tell me what to do or not to do, and he certainly shouldn't threaten me.

"I'm not sure I can follow you, sir."

"Then I want to be a little clearer, Mr. Sutton," he says finally. He leans forward and puts his hands together. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his white protruding knuckles. "You will refrain from any contact with my daughter from now on. If I find out that you continue to talk to Lydia or come near her even once, I'll make sure you regret it." He says these words with the calmness and certainty of a man who always gets his way and tolerates no contradiction.

I wonder if I should feel fear after all, but instead I have to think of Lydia. Of what we have already been through together and what the future still has in store for us.

Last Saturday, at the spring ball, I realized that I can no longer defend myself against my feelings for Lydia. I chose her. I am aware that this will not be easy. Her father may be the biggest hurdle standing in our way, but it's far from the only one. But my life is colorless without Lydia. Without them, nothing makes sense. And no matter what happens, I will not give it up without a fight. I won't let Lydia be taken away from me, and certainly not by a father who has done nothing but keep her small all her life, even though she could be so big.

"With all due respect, but that's out of the question, Mr. Beaufort," I say, my voice as cool as his.

Now Mr. Beaufort is the one who blinks twice in a row. Apparently, he is not used to anyone contradicting him. The moment lasts only a fraction of a second, then he has regained his composure and leans back a bit. He exhales audibly.

"Good. Then we want to approach the whole thing differently." The next moment, he leans to the side and lifts a briefcase onto the desk. He pushes it towards me with the opening facing forward and clicks open the two closures.

When he lifts the lid, I clench my teeth so hard that they grind.

The Queen's face smiles at me in a hundredfold.

The collar of my shirt suddenly feels unbearably tight, and I have to resist the urge to loosen it. Slowly I raise my eyes and stare into Mr. Beaufort's emotionless face.

"See that as compensation for the inconvenience," he continues unperturbed.

My pulse is racing, and I try in vain to take a deep breath. "I don't want your money, Mr. Beaufort."

He raises an eyebrow. "This sum is more than generous."

"That's not the point at all!"

Damn, I'm getting loud. Actually, I don't want that, but this man leaves me no choice. "Don't you understand what you're doing to your daughter with this behavior?"

Now he is the one who grits his teeth tightly. "You should be careful what you say," he says in a deadly low voice.

I just shake my head. "You were Lydia's hero. She would have done anything to be taken seriously by you and to get involved with Beaufort – but for her there was always only one predetermined path on which your daughter did not fit. They were never interested in them. They didn't care at all what happened to her – the main thing was that this company didn't get damaged. They have always been blind to Lydia's sorrow. The fact that you are now trying to intervene in her life in this way only shows once again that you do not know your daughter at all."

Mr. Beaufort stands up so jerkily that his chair slams against the glass wall behind him. "You have no idea what you are talking about."

I also rise to stay on an equal footing with him. "You don't know anything of what she's been through."

"I would do anything for my children, regardless of whether it suits their plans or not. At the end of the day, the decisions I make for them are for their own protection. If you were a father, you would understand that."

The door is opened behind me, but I don't care if anyone notices anything about our argument and if I might be taken outside by the security service at any moment. I don't plan to ever come back anyway.

"When I'm a father, I'll listen to my children," I growl. "I will encourage them and support them in everything they want to do. And I will never, never put my goals before theirs."

Mr Beaufort presses his lips tightly together. He no longer looks at me, but at the entrance of his office. Irritated, I turn around.

James is standing in the doorway. His gaze wanders back and forth between his father and me – and finally gets stuck on the briefcase that is still open on the desk in front of me.

James

I can feel all color disappearing from my face.

It's so quiet in Dad's office that every breath I take sounds deafeningly loud. I can't describe what I'm feeling at this moment – I just know that it's something that's been growing inside me for years and is now about to burst out of me.

"You're not serious, Dad," I manage to say, taking a step into the room.

Dad continues to look at me without showing any emotion.

I nod at the suitcase. "Isn't it enough that you banished Lydia to Ophelia? Are you really doing that to her?"

Heat spreads on my cheeks. In my stomach. My veins. Simply everywhere. It feels like everything is spinning around me – everything except my father. I clench my hands into fists and can feel them tremble. The trembling penetrates my bones. There is so much concentrated anger flowing through my body that I can hardly stand.

"Do you think you can put a sum on the table and he'll disappear from Lydia's life forever? Do you really think that it still works now?"

"Stop this melodramatic performance and close the door behind you." Without taking his eyes off me, Dad closes the suitcase. He then turns to Sutton again. "Think again."

"I don't have to think about anything. If you have summoned me to blackmail me, you have chosen the wrong man." Sutton nods to my father. "Good afternoon."

He turns around and crosses the office. When he arrives at my place, he slows down, and for a moment I have the feeling that he wants to tell me something. But then he exhales audibly, shakes his head and leaves the office without another word. The door closes loudly behind him.

I can't move from the spot.

My father, on the other hand, lifts the suitcase from the desk, sets it down on the floor next to him and takes a seat in front of the computer.

As if nothing had happened.

The anger in me is getting bigger and bigger, more overwhelming. I can't stop them anymore, and after what I've just seen, I don't want to do that anymore.

Do you think he will change at some point?, Ruby's words echo in my head.

I know the answer. I've always known her. I just didn't want to admit it.

And suddenly I understand what this fire in me means.

I've worked my ass off in recent years to please my father. I simply accepted the thought of a future that belongs only to him. This is now over.

I don't want to be a man who gets his way at any price and goes through life without regard for losses. I always thought I had no choice. But the last few months have shown me how unpredictable life is. They showed me that there is something worth fighting for for me. And they awakened something in me that I had never had before: courage.

The courage to do something for myself.

The courage to take my life into my own hands.

The courage to stand up to my father.

"It's enough." I can hardly believe how calm I sound.

"What?" Dad sounds absent-minded. He's typing on the keyboard and doesn't even look at me properly.

In a few long steps I cross the office until I stand in front of his desk. Only then does Dad take his eyes off his computer screen.

I raise my hand and touch the signet ring that is on my left finger. The ring I wear to every meeting at Beaufort. As a symbol of being part of this family. The only thing he symbolizes is the cohesion that Dad and I make everyone believe. I slowly take off the ring and weigh it in my hand. It's not heavy, but at the same time it feels like I'm holding the entire burden in my hands that has threatened to crush me for the past eighteen years.

"I've tried, Dad," I say. "I really tried to be a good son. To make you and Mum proud. But—" I shake my head. The thought of Mum hurts. I don't know if she would be disappointed in me if she could see me like that now. "I can't go on like this."

I put the ring down on the desk in front of my dad, without taking my eyes off his face.

"I'm going to sell my shares in Beaufort." When I withdraw my hand, I realize that I feel lighter than I have ever felt in my life. It seems to me that a gust of wind is enough to carry me from here to another place, because I have discarded everything that has bound me to this company and this man.

My father says nothing. Only the bitter corners of his mouth twisted downwards indicate that he is not happy with this situation. After a few seconds, he turns back to his computer. I exhale audibly and turn around.

"If you're serious, you don't need to come back home," Dad says quietly when I reach the door.

I glance over his shoulder. I think of my sister, whom I am probably taking away from the last opportunity to return from Beckdale at this moment. I think of my mum's smile. Of everything that no longer exists in my life.

"What home?" I reply.

Without waiting for his reaction, I push the door open with my hand.

At this second, one thing is very clear to me: It is the last time I will go through.

8

Ember

I feel like I'm being watched all the way to Wren's house.

I know very well that my fear is unfounded. Ruby is sitting in the city library at the other end of Gormsey, going through the notes that James and Lin took turns bringing her this week. She will not even come close to this district on her way home. So I don't really have to worry.

Nevertheless, I can't shake off the queasy feeling.

Maybe it's also because I've never lied to my sister like that before. We have secrets from each other, of course, but nothing of this magnitude. I meet a boy from her school behind her back – if she finds out that I'm doing exactly what she explicitly warned me about, she'll hold it against me forever.

And they won't be interested in the fact that Wren and I are just friends – although I'm not even sure that's the right term for who we are. Because apart from the fact that we write to each other almost every day, I can count on one hand the occasions when we have met in person.

Maybe I'm just excited. What if I go to the wrong house and ring the wrong doorbell – or even worse, no one opens it for me?

But as I turn into the street Wren told me in his text message, my eyes immediately fall on a small van from which movers are carrying a sofa into a small semi-detached house. Cardboard boxes are piled up in front of the front door and on the path in front of it, so it is unmistakable which house I have to go to. It becomes even more unmistakable when Wren suddenly appears in the door and picks up one of the boxes. He wears a sleeveless gray training shirt and black jeans, plus sports shoes. When he spots me on the side of the road, he raises his hand.

I walk the last part of the road, past the small van and the narrow path through the front yard to the front door, without taking my eyes off Wren – until I remember that I'm actually about to stop time. Hastily, I look at my wristwatch.

"It's only eight minutes from my door to yours," I announce.

"Then the Maps app obviously lied," Wren replies.

"Or she underestimated my enormous speed."

"Maybe the route calculation is simply intended for old people with walkers and therefore adds another ten minutes?"

That elicits a grin from me. Wren reciprocates hesitantly and casts a glance over his shoulder. Then he turns back to me. "Come in."

I take a step towards the house, but then I remember the many boxes, and I bend down without further ado and lift one with Wren's name written on it in large black letters.

"I even know the street here," I say as Wren steps aside so I can get in. He also grabs one of the boxes and then goes upstairs without closing the door. The white-lacquered wooden staircase creaks under my feet as I follow him. The steps are very narrow, and I have to concentrate on not stepping next to them, which is anything but easy with the cardboard on my arm.

"This is it," says Wren as we enter the first room on the right. "Just put him on the floor."

The room is about the same size as mine. The walls are yellowed and bare, and in some places cracks can be seen in the plaster, which must have spread over the years. The floor consists of creaking planks that are louder than the steps. If you take a step here, you will certainly hear it in half the house.

"It's—" Wren begins, and at first I think he's pausing to find the right word, but then he gives up and ends with a shrug.

"I think it's cute. You can certainly make great things out of it. That's what I came here for, isn't it? I put on my renovation clothes especially for the occasion." I point to the gray sweatpants and loose-fitting black off-the-shoulder shirt that still has a few splashes of paint from Christmas on it when we refurbished a spice rack for Dad. I have tied my hair into a high ponytail, the end of which tickles between my shoulder blades.

"Feel free to give me some of your optimism," says Wren and looks around the room again demonstratively. A bed frame has already been set up, as has a desk on the wall opposite. He is standing under a window, and I take the three steps to take a look outside.

"From here you have a beautiful view of the neighbors' gardens." I grin at him over my shoulder. "You can spy on her wonderfully in the future. In case you're bored."

"I'd spontaneously think of a few other things I could do," Wren says dryly.

The grin slips from my face as I think about what he might mean by "other things". Suddenly I have images in front of my eyes that are completely inappropriate at this moment.

To make matters worse, I also notice how I blush.

"I brought everything I could find at home," I say quickly, sliding my bag from my shoulder to the desk. Little by little, I take out masking tape, masking foil and a painter's fleece. "Did you get the paint?"

"Yes," Wren says, pointing to the two buckets next to the door. Then he steps next to me and takes the masking tape in his hand.

I look at him inconspicuously from the side.

Although we have only known each other for a short time and he has never said it explicitly, I notice how much this move affects him. Not only at this moment, but during the entire last few weeks in which we have spoken to each other.

At first, our contact was limited to the comments under my posts. Wren kept his promise from the charity gala and took a look at my blog. Suddenly, I had at least one new comment every day, even under my very first entry, Wren posted something. Sometimes it was just a few short lines, other times he wrote entire treatises about the fact that he had never thought about the perception of fat people and that he had not realized beforehand that it is mainly the media that steer society in a certain direction with their content and representations. Some of his comments have developed into conversations, first on my blog and shortly afterwards via private messages on Instagram. When we finally exchanged mobile phone numbers, we were no longer just talking about Bellbird, but about all kinds of things. He told me about what happened at home, about his dad, who blames himself so much that he can't look Wren or his mum in the eye, and about his fear of not getting a scholarship and not being able to go to Oxford. I told him how hard it is sometimes for me to get up in the morning – not because I'm too tired, but because I don't have the strength to face a new day – and that, ironically, these are the days when I write the most inspiring, optimistic posts for my blog.

It's amazing how you just click with some people. Especially when it's night and the rest of the world is in a peaceful sleep.

"I'd say we'll start by taping off the sockets," I say after a short pause, pointing to the masking tape in Wren's hand.

He only grumbles in response.

I bump my shoulder against him. He looks at me questioningly.

"Don't be like that. It's fun."

"If you knew my old room, you'd understand why I don't like it here."

"Start taping off the socket over there," I say, not responding to his remark. I grab the painter's fleece and lay it out on the long side of the room. A few light green and gray splashes of paint from our former renovations can still be seen on it, and I remember Mum standing on a ladder, laughing, and Ruby pointing a paint-soaked brush at me like a weapon.

I risk a glance at Wren, who is in the process of covering the bottom of the socket with masking tape.

"I know how stupid it must be that you lost your home, Wren," I say. He pauses briefly in the movement, but then continues as if nothing had happened. "But you have to somehow manage to change your perspective on the whole thing. Otherwise you'll get gray hair at some point because you're so annoyed."

Now he gives me an amused look. "You get gray hair when you're angry about something?"

I nod and then get up to get the masking film from the desk. "Would you like to be the only eighteen-year-old fellow within three hundred miles who has gray hair? I don't think so."

"And I thought that was a trend right now. Didn't I read something about 'granny look' on a blog?"

I grin. He also left a comment under this entry. At that time I had been in London with Mum and Dad and had seen a young woman on the street whose style I really liked. She was wearing a floral skirt and a denim blouse tied in front of her stomach, but what I liked best of all was her hairstyle—two pinned-up braids in a silvery gray and a straight, frayed bangs. Without further ado, I asked her if she would like to get a guest appearance on my blog – and then asked her about her great hairstyle for about an hour.

"The granny look is when you dye your hair on purpose. You also have to feel the look – and not by being in a bad mood. But the room here is great," I say, making a hand gesture that encloses the entire room. We just have to put a little work into it."

Wren stands up and looks at me for a while. Finally, he nods. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. You'd better hurry up with the other sockets."

One corner of his mouth lifts slightly before nodding curtly and walking across the room to the next groin. Meanwhile, I cover the radiators, which have seen better days.

I'm just googling whether you can paint radiators with normal wall paint when the floorboards in front of Wren's room creak loudly.

I turn to the door, where a tall woman is standing, who is certainly Wren's mother. She has dark brown skin, the same eyes as Wren and short dark brown hair. She smiles warmly when she spots me.

"You must be Ember," she says and walks up to me. She seems so genuinely pleased to see me that I spread my arms and give her a quick hug.

"Glad to meet you, Mrs. Fitzgerald," I say politely.

"Joy is entirely on my side. And please, call me Christine." She breaks away from me and then looks around curiously. Her gaze lands on the masking film lying on the floor next to me. "I see you're already hard at work."

"Ember has big visions for the room," Wren says from the other end of the room, straightening up. "Do you need anything, Mum?"

She shakes her head. "I just wanted to let them know that I was going shopping for a moment. There is supposed to be a Tesco somewhere nearby. Do you need anything?"

Wren thinks for a moment. "Perhaps orange juice."

"It's noted. Anything else? Ember?"

I shake my head. "No, thank you."

Christine nods. Then she looks back and forth between Wren and me again. "If you need help with painting, just call."

"Sure, Mum."

With one last warm smile, Wren's mum disappears through the door, leaving us alone again. I turn to him.

"Your mum is beautiful," I whisper.

"Nice that you say that. She used to be a model," he replies.

"Really?"

He nods. "She walked at the fashion weeks in Paris and Milan. But that was almost twenty years ago."

"Wow. That must have been a great time for her," I say impressed.

"I don't know," Wren says, shrugging his shoulders. "She doesn't really talk much about it."

"Why not?" I ask.

Wren taps one last piece of masking tape to a power outlet, then gets up and walks back to the desk. "I think she misses her former life sometimes. In any case, she always changes the subject immediately when the subject comes up."

"Oh." I stand next to him and start to clear the remaining things out of my bag and put them on the desk. "I know that from my dad. He never talks about the time before the accident, almost as if it hadn't happened."

Wren fetches one of the paint vats and places it on the painter's fleece. Then he slowly pulls up the lid. Without looking at me, he says, "My mum is in such a weird mood at the moment."

"In what way?"

He takes the paint roller that I hold out to him and then turns it indecisively in his hand. "She acts as if she doesn't mind all this, but—" He hesitates for a moment. "Yesterday I heard her crying in the bathroom. The walls here are pretty thin."

I bite my lip from the inside. "I don't think such a change is easy for anyone," I say quietly. "I'm sure it will only take a little time for her to get used to everything."

For a moment, Wren says nothing. Then he exhales jerkily. "I hate it when my mum is sad."

He looks so dejected and so hopeless that I would like to walk up to him and hug him. But I don't budge. "Actually, it's good to cry, because then you don't eat your sorrow."

Wren nods, even if he doesn't look convinced.

"Maybe your mum should stand on the roof and cry out loud to get rid of everything that is troubling her."

Now the corner of his mouth lifts a little. "Then she would probably scare away the neighbors."

"A good objection. Then she'll have to save it for the time when you're so good friends with everyone here that you can't scare her away."

I spread out the individual brushes on the desk and pick them up one by one to decide which one to take first.

After a while, I notice that Wren is shaking my head. His smile widens.

"What?" I ask.

His gaze glides over my face, and he opens his mouth slightly. After a moment, however, he closes it again and presses his lips tightly together.

"Nothing," he finally says and then nods at the paint pot. "Shall we begin?"

"That's what I'm here for, isn't it?" I say, grabbing a brush and going to the paint bucket.

The entire time we paint the walls in Wren's new room, I secretly wonder what words he just lacked the courage to say.

Ruby

My bullet journal looks completely different than it did a week ago.

While I have always structured my everyday life on the basis of my timetable, the events committee and Oxford preparation, there is now no reason for me to get up at a certain time in the morning or finish my homework on a certain date. The first two days it threw me completely off track, but then I decided that I would refuse to sink into a swamp of gloom and without further ado created a new routine for myself.

I spend the morning in Gormsey's small local library, where I continue to work through the Oxford reading list and at the same time start preparing for the A-Levels. After school, James or Lin come to my home and provide me with the learning material of the respective teaching day, which I prepare as best I can by the evening and try to understand everything that was discussed.

It is strange not to go to school anymore. With every day that passes, it is more difficult for me to get rid of this unbearable fear that has been creeping into my veins again and again since Monday and seems to be almost strangling me. It torments me on every way to the library, on the fifteen minutes back home. It's present when I'm sitting with my family and prevents me from falling asleep, even though James is on the phone talking to me about all sorts of things to distract me.

But I won't admit defeat. And I refuse to accept this situation. James has given Cyril an ultimatum, and until it expires, I cling to the hope that Lexington will learn the truth and bring me back to Maxton Hall. At the moment, I can't worry about what will happen if this case doesn't happen. When I do that, I see my future burst in my mind's eye like a soap bubble. And I just can't stand that.

Ember, on the other hand, presents me with a new alternative every day, should Plan A (Oxford. No matter how.) do not work. Her favorites so far are Plan B (apply for an internship with Alice Campbell to work later in her cultural foundation) and Plan C (quit everything and start a fashion empire with Ember), although she is much more enthusiastic about Plan C than I am at the moment.

I lean back and stretch my arms above my head. The chairs of the library, covered with gray fabric, are the opposite of comfortable. Or stable. In the last three days I have found out that there are exactly two that do not tilt, with one of them slipping out a screw at regular intervals. I've already suffered a half heart attack twice while studying, because the seat shifted out of nowhere and I thought I was going to crash.

So far, it has always gone well. However, I'm pretty sure that William, a retiree who also visits the library every day, did the exact same research on the chairs. Because whenever he's there in front of me, he's already grabbed the no-tilt-or-crash chair and watches me with an almost mischievous sparkle in his eyes when I resignedly pull one of the other chairs to my table.

I like it anyway.

When I get to the library on Friday morning, I have to realize that it is closed for inventory and will not reopen until noon. This throws me off my game for a moment, but finally I sit down in a small café with my book and bridge the time there. When I show up in front of the door again at thirteen o'clock sharp, William is already waiting there. For the first time, he smiles at me, which I return with a wave in the evening, when I pack up my things and then move away from the small seating area. Happy about this small success, I make my way home.

"I'm back!" I shout after unlocking the door.

"In the kitchen!" comes Dad's answer immediately.

I slip out of my shoes and hang the thin jacket on the coat rack.

"Today William smiled at me for the first time," I say as I walk down the hall. "I think he—"

I pause and blink.

My dad isn't alone in the kitchen.

Next to him at the work surface is James.

The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up to his elbows. In one hand he holds a potato, in the other a peeler. My dad is sitting next to it and is in the process of cutting a potato into fine slices.

For a short moment, I'm not sure if this is reality or just a very strange dream.

"What... What are you doing there?" I manage.

"Potato gratin," Dad replies, without looking up from the cutting board.

When I take a closer look at James, I immediately notice that something is wrong.

I can see that in his eyes, his posture and the gloomy charisma that surrounds him.

"Are you okay?" I ask. I try to keep my voice calm, but there's nothing I can do about my shoulders stiffening and my fingers cramping around the straps of my backpack.

James clears his throat. He looks at his hands as if he had forgotten for a brief moment what he was actually doing. Then he looks up again. The corner of his mouth moves up a little bit. It's not a real smile, just a puny attempt that makes my stomach feel queasy.

"I wanted to visit you, but you weren't there," he replies, then nods at Dad. "So your father hired me as a kitchen helper."

Frowning, I look back and forth between Dad and James. "I'm not as bad as I feared," says James, and Dad nods. "Definitely. In the meantime we have more potatoes than skins."

Under normal circumstances, this comment would make me grin, but something tells me that there is nothing funny about this situation. How James stands there – with his sleeves rolled up and hair that looks as if he has buried his fingers in it more than once today. I've never seen him like this before. Normally he fills even the largest rooms with his presence, but now he seems insecure and hesitant. As if he didn't know where he was at the moment, let alone what to do next.

"Why don't you go upstairs and talk until the meal is ready?" asks Dad suddenly. "You've been a great help to me, James, but I'll do the rest on my own."

James hesitates for a moment, but then he nods and hands the peeler to Dad. He puts the potato on the board, then goes to the sink and washes his hands.

I give my dad a grateful smile. He reciprocates, even though I see that his gaze is worried. Whether he's worried about me or James, I don't know.

I wait until James is done, then we go upstairs to my room together. I put down my backpack and then turn to James, who has stopped indecisively in the middle of the room.

Carefully, I take two steps towards him. I look up at him. He returns my gaze, and it looks like he's trying to smile for me again.

"You don't have to smile if you don't feel like it, James," I whisper. I'm afraid that it will disappear at the slightest noise. Probably because I've never experienced it like this before. I don't know what to do. The only thing that seems sensible to me is to give him time.

"I did it," he finally says roughly. He clears his throat. "I have left Beaufort."

It takes me a moment for the meaning of his words to get through to me. "What?" I ask, barely audible.

"I overheard my father bribing Sutton to keep away from Lydia." He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know what happened, but something in me has snapped into place. I realized how wrong it all is. And that I can't go on like this under any circumstances."

Almost by itself, I raise my hands and place them on his hip.

"I told him that I didn't want to have anything to do with Beaufort anymore and that I would sell my shares."

I hold my breath.

Just a few weeks ago, James revealed to me that he fears disappointing his mother and destroying her life's work if he does not succeed in following in her footsteps and continuing Beaufort in her spirit. Breaking away from his father altogether was James' biggest dream, but never a realistic option. No matter how much I wished for him. That he did it today – with all the consequences that this decision will entail – is inconceivable to me.

"How did he react?" I whisper.

"He said I didn't need to come back home."

A painful stinging sensation is noticeable in my chest, especially when I see how difficult it is for James to keep his composure. All color has disappeared from his face, and when I take his hands in mine, they are ice cold.

"I don't have a family anymore, Ruby." His voice breaks.

I wrap my arms around him.

His shoulders tremble as he returns the hug. He clings to me, and I can't help but think of the day when I drove to his house after his mum died and held him in my arms while he cried. That's exactly how this moment feels.

I don't know how long we'll be standing like this. The only sounds in the room are those of our breaths, which come quickly and irregularly at first, then more and more calmly.

After a while, James leans back a bit and looks at me. His cheeks are reddened, as are his eyes.

"I... "Just wanted to go to you," he says roughly. I'm sorry I attacked you like that."

Immediately I shake my head. "I'm glad you came. I want to be there for you."

"When I walked through the door of Beaufort's—" James exhales audibly. "I felt so free. As if I could do anything I wanted now."

I look at him questioningly.

"But I'm slowly realizing what I've actually done." He swallows hard. "And what it means for the rest of my life."

I grab James' hand and pull him with me to the bed. After we sit down, I turn to him, my fingers tightly interlaced with his. "No matter what happens, we'll get through it together."

James looks at our hands. His hair falls into his forehead, and I would like to pull him back into my arms.

"Do you need anything?" I ask instead. "Do we have to get your stuff out of your house?"

"No," says James, clearing his throat. "I got the most important things right away. I also took my car with me. And I have an account that my father doesn't have access to – that's where my salary from Beaufort has been received, as well as everything I've saved over the last few years." He hesitates. "I've taken a hotel room for the next week. Very close to here."

I feel tears come to my eyes. "You don't have to go to a hotel," I say in a choked voice. "I'm sure it's okay if you stay here for now."

"I can't ask you to, Ruby. You've got enough on your plate."

I shake my head. "I won't let you stay in a hotel, not after all that has happened."

James sighs, but before he can say anything, I clasp his cheeks with my hands. "Stay with us. With me."

James closes his eyes and leans forward until his forehead is leaning against mine. I run my fingers gently over his skin.

"I love you, Ruby."

At his quiet words, I also close my eyes.

This moment feels special – like the end of something big and at the same time like a new beginning full of hope and possibilities. James deserves this option. He's the bravest boy I know, and I'm so proud of him.

And while we hold on to each other, I whisper exactly that in his ear over and over again.

9

Lydia

After just under a week in Beckdale, I learned the following about my aunt:

There is always something going on at home. Even if she is not there, you will meet friends or colleagues in the hallway who carry around papers and catalogues about which they would like Ophelia's opinion.

My aunt never makes you feel out of place. Since I've been here, she's lovingly taken me under her wing and always made me aware that she was wanted – even when she's on an important phone call or having a meeting with a colleague from one of Beaufort's subsidiaries. I think I could even bounce on her trampoline at night and wake her up from her deep sleep, and still she'd smile at me and give me a high five. She is such a nice person.

What I also learned about her is that she is a fan of the Jonas Brothers.

Yes. My forty-two-year-old aunt loves, as she calls it, "lively pop music" by the Jonas Brothers. Every time a new song from the boys starts, I stare at the docking station in disbelief. And then my gaze wanders to Ophelia, who is always humming along and tapping at least one foot to the beat.

"Don't look like that," she says at this second, without taking her eyes off her notepad. "S.O.S. is a classic."

She says this with such conviction that I almost have to laugh. I quickly turn back to my drawing pad.

We sit in Ophelia's office, she behind her desk, I on one of the armchairs in the sitting area at the other end of the room. In the last few days, I have watched her sketch from here or listened to her phone calls and have been surprised to find out how packed her normal working days are.

However, I admire the fact that, unlike my parents, she not only manages to work from morning to night, but also to treat herself to a little free time. If she has been in the office for a long time, she spends the rest of the day in her garden or invites her friends over for a glass of wine. Or she sits down in her conservatory and draws.

"It's important to create a balance between everything," she said when I asked her how she manages it. "Beckdale gives me the peace and quiet I need to regain creative energy."

I've thought about her words for a long time and wonder how it can be that Dad has limited contact with our aunt so much. I remember horrible family dinners that never ended well and after which Dad always made it sound like Ophelia was a crazy, dubious free spirit who shouldn't be left to make important decisions. Slowly but surely I realize that this is not true at all.

I look at the sketch I've been working on for the past hour. My private lessons don't start until next week, and Ophelia insisted that I sit with her during the day and draw. She said that it would change my mind. And she said: "I used to think your designs were great. I want to know what direction your style has taken."

At first, it took me a bit of effort to draw in her presence. I also lacked ideas. But now it almost feels normal to sit in the armchair and scribble something on the paper.

"Ruby and James are coming tomorrow," I say after a while, risking a glance at my aunt. She wears a floor-length white skirt and a denim shirt that she has tied at the waist. She has tied her hair in a high, tousled bun, from which a few strands come off. My mum would never have left the house, let alone gone to the office, and yet Ophelia looks so much like her at this moment that I catch myself staring at her a tad too long.

"I'm looking forward to meeting Ruby," she says. If she has noticed my gaze, she does not comment on it. Instead, she takes a sip from her oversized coffee cup – and immediately grimaces. "Oh no, cold." She pushes the cup away from her.

"Shall I get you a new one?" I ask, but Ophelia waves it off before I can get up.

"No, don't do it. It's already so late anyway. If I start drinking coffee again now, I'll lie awake half the night again." She stretches and then gets up from her chair to come to me.

"Show me," she says.

I push my sketch to her. She shows a sheath dress – simple and elegant. It's the kind of outfit my mum wore almost every day, and I felt strangely connected to her while drawing.

"Oh," I hear Ophelia say next to me, and her tone tells me she's noticed it too. "That's really pretty."

I stare at my drawing and avoid looking at Ophelia.

Since I've been with her, she hasn't pushed me to open up to her. She didn't ask me about Dad, nor did she talk to me about my pregnancy, and while I'm glad I don't have to talk about it, her behavior also confuses me. She treats me as if nothing had happened, and acts as if it were completely normal for me to be expecting twins at the age of eighteen and now living with her.

Maybe that's their way of dealing with problems. Or she just wants to give me time until I'm ready to talk to her.

"I'm not sure about the colors yet," I say finally. "Somehow nothing feels right."

I feel Ophelia look at me quietly from the side for a while, finally she gently strokes my shoulder. "Your mum always told me to listen to my instincts when it came to something like that."

I look at the crayons lying on the table in front of me and reach for a light gray. Indecisively, I turn the pen back and forth while thinking of Mum and wondering what she would have done in my situation.

"I didn't know you and Mum drew together," I say, finally looking up at Ophelia.

"All the time," she says and drops into the chair next to mine.

"What, for example? Only clothes or other things?"

Ophelia laughs softly. "Mainly clothes. But your mum used to draw comics too. Some of them were laughable to death."

"Really?" I can't imagine that at all with Mum. She was always so serious and focused only on the essentials.

"Before she followed in our father's footsteps, Cordelia was much more carefree and allowed herself a joke from time to time. Or two."

I try to imagine what my mum must have looked like back then: in casual clothes with tousled red hair, a sketchpad on her lap. Surprisingly, it's not as difficult as I expected. A warm feeling spreads through my stomach, and I have to clear my throat to suppress the lump that has formed in my throat.

"I wish I had seen her like this."

In the meantime, the music, which still sounds loudly from the speakers, seems completely wrong to me. It does not fit into this serious conversation.

"There are pictures from that time – both of her and of the comics. Your mum has left all the photo albums here. If you like, I can pick them out for you."

"I'd like to see her. Thank you," I say quietly.

Ophelia slowly pushes my drawing pad back and forth on the table.

"We used to imagine together what we wanted to do with Beaufort one day," she continues after a while. "The sketches you always drew as a young girl—" A cautious smile plays around the corners of her mouth. She looks at me briefly. "Your mum and I used to do the same thing. A women's collection. To take the company in a new direction."

"What has changed?" I ask.

"She has met Mortimer. And let him and our father talk us into not breaking with tradition. I hoped for a while that she would change her mind and get me back on board, but—" Ophelia shrugs her shoulders. "Apparently she didn't want to do that anymore."

For a moment, silence spreads between us, and we both listen to the guitar sounds of the current song.

Then I clear my throat. "Do you think you still have the chance to make it happen?"

"Since Cordelia... is no longer there, I don't believe in it any more, no." She swallows hard. "Did you know that my name didn't even appear in the will?"

I take a sharp breath. "No, I didn't know that."

I myself was not present when the will was read. Dad had everything handled by our lawyer after Mum's death, and I was fine with that. I didn't want to know what my mum left me. All I wanted was to have them back.

"Instead, she bequeathed everything to Mortimer. For someone for whom the tradition of the company was so incredibly important, she broke with decades of family history."

"What do you mean?" I ask, frowning.

"For generations, Beaufort has always been passed on to the next, still living relative. In our dad's case, it was Cordelia at the time. But in her case, the company should have been signed over to you or me."

"I can't believe it," I say perplexed. "Why should she do that?"

"The two of them were an unbeatable team for over twenty years. She probably wanted to make sure that things would continue exactly as they had imagined."

I'm just about to answer something, when a loud ringing of the bell makes us start. Ophelia makes a gesture with her hand, which is probably supposed to mean that our conversation is not over yet, and at the same moment jumps up and disappears towards the front door.

Less than half a minute later, I hear her calling my name through the stairwell. I listen up. "Yes?"

"You have a visitor!"

Frowning, I stand up. I take a look at my wristwatch. It is already shortly after half past seven in the evening. I wonder if it could be Cyril. James told me that he talked to him about me.

What if he is the one who came? The idea alone makes me clench my teeth and clench my hand into a fist. Slowly I go down the stairs. But when I arrive at the bottom and see who is standing at the front door, my heart skips a beat.

It's not Cyril.

It's Graham.

10

Alistair

This Friday's training is a horror.

James, Wren and Cyril don't show up again, which not only puts the team in a bad mood, but almost makes Coach Freeman go crazy. We have to run so many extra laps that in the end I can't feel my legs anymore and almost have to vomit. I would have loved to go home, fall into bed and forget about this whole shitty week.

But then Roger Cree invited us all for a beer at Black Fox, and since I didn't want to spend another evening alone, I went along.

This school year was to be the best year of our lives for the boys and me. Now I can only smile wearily at the youthful naivety we showed last summer. Everything has changed since then: Wren hardly looks us in the eye since he and his family moved. Cyril was not at school all week. James desperately tries to do justice to his father as well as Lydia and Ruby.

And I – I let my best friend break my heart and now I have to deal with it.

Kesh – like the rest of the team – has of course come to the pub. He is standing with our reserve goalkeeper at a dark wooden table on the other side of the room. I'd love to ignore him, but every time I look up from the beer in my hand, he looks at me with dark eyes. As if he hadn't looked away once that evening.

Inevitably, I have to think of our past. I feel Kesh's hands, his skin, his mouth, hear his voice in my ear, the meaningless words he mumbles as I caress him with my hands.

The fact that I've already finished my third pint doesn't exactly help me to push back my thoughts.

Whenever I think I've overcome the memory of our time together, a single look from Kesh is enough to bring everything out again in full intensity. I don't know how long this will go on. Especially not when Kesh and I continue to try to maintain our friendship.

I just can't get away from him. No matter how hard I try. And certainly not when he looks at me over the rim of his glass.

"What's going on with James and the rest of your clique?" Roger suddenly addresses me from the side, tearing me out of my thoughts.

"What?" I ask absently.

He puts his glass down on the table in front of me. "It now seems to me that you are tearing this team apart on purpose."

I look at him frowning. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Beaufort almost doesn't come to training anymore because he prefers to hang around with the event committee. I haven't seen Fitzgerald and Vega for what feels like weeks. And I don't even need to start with your performance. You know yourself how bad you have become."

I freeze with the beer in my hand. I would like to tip it over Cree's head. "What do you know?" I ask challengingly. "If James hadn't been suspended from the team in the last term, you wouldn't have come into the team at all. You have no idea what's going on with my friends, so you'd better be careful what you say."

Cree just snorts. "I would have joined the team anyway. Let's be honest – each of us has some kind of private problems. That's no reason to skip training all the time. You're all taking yourselves too seriously, but you're nothing more than spoiled bastards who have too much money and boredom."

I get up from the chair so abruptly that it tips over backwards. I take a step towards Roger and am about to grab him by the lapel when someone holds me by the shoulder from behind.

I don't need to turn around to know who it is. If I hadn't recognized him by the gentle but firm grip, Kesh would have betrayed himself by his unmistakable scent at the latest. I love Kesh's smell. So much so that I sometimes borrow his deodorant after training with the excuse that I've forgotten my own – although that's never true.

"Leave it alone, Alistair," his low voice sounds behind me.

I shake off his hand without taking Cree's angry gaze away. "Take that back."

He laughs humorlessly. "Beaufort can throw parties that last for days, but he can't make it to training. A captain doesn't let his crew down like that."

"You haven't even been here a year and you think you can take the liberty of judging James? You have no idea what the team owes him. Without him we would never be where we are now."

My voice is so loud that the people standing around us interrupt their conversations and watch us curiously. But I don't care. Cree's words made me angry. And I get even angrier when Kesh touches me on the shoulder one more time.

I drive around to him. "Don't touch me," I growl, shaking off his hand.

"I don't even need to start with you two," Cree goes on mercilessly. "Honestly, everyone knows by now that you—"

The panic that flares up in Kesh's gaze makes me act on my own: I turn around and let my fist crash into Roger Cree's face. I feel his bone crunching under my knuckles as they land somewhere between my eye and nose – or maybe both. Cree falls to the ground with a groan of pain, after which turmoil breaks out. The other crew members form a cluster around us, Kenton helps Cree up, and someone pulls me backwards. But I'm not done yet. I want to attack him again, make sure that he finally shuts up and stops making fun of the most important people in my life.

Unfortunately, I don't get far. Kesh drags me outside, around the corner of the building and into the small alley next to the bar. Only there does he let me go. With my back to him, I stand still, breathing heavily and with clenched fists.

"You didn't have to do that," he breaks the silence after a few minutes. From here you can still hear the rock music of the pub quietly. I try to focus on that alone and not on Kesh standing close behind me – or the fact that I just beat one of our teammates.

You didn't have to do that.

It seems that Kesh and I are constantly doing things that are not really necessary instead of what we actually want to do.

"I don't know what you want to hear from me, Kesh," I say. All of a sudden, I feel completely exhausted. As if I had given everything I have to give.

I can feel him taking a step closer, aware of the warmth of his body behind me. A tingling sensation chases up my spine.

"I don't want to hear anything." He puts his hand on my back. More timid this time. This touch has nothing to do with his firm grip from just now. She is familiar and tender.

I swallow dry.

"Kesh," I say warningly.

He comes even closer, pushes his hand forward over my stomach. His chest brushes my back, and I hold my breath.

"Alistair," he murmurs back. His hot breath brushes my auricle, and goosebumps spread all over my body.

"What are you doing?" I whisper.

No one but Kesh makes me feel that nervous excitement, that stream-like tingling that grips me from head to toe and makes me feel weightless.

"I don't know," he replies, slowly stroking my stomach with his hand.

"I do," I start hoarsely. Kesh makes a questioning sound. Get even closer. "If you don't stop, I'll turn to you. I'm going to push you against the wall and kiss you. And we both know what happens then."

"I think you have to help me out," Keshav murmurs. He wraps his arm tighter around me. I can feel his chest on my back, rising and falling faster and faster – and something hard pressing against my butt. My pulse is racing. "What happens then, Alistair?"

I let out a snorting laugh. "That's a pretty pathetic attempt to get a kiss, Kesh."

Then I gather all my remaining strength, grab his arm and push it off my stomach. At the same time, I turn to him on wobbly legs. Because of the adrenaline that still shoots through my body, I feel dizzy.

I would so much like to turn around and leave him standing here. I can't lose myself in him again, not when I know exactly what will follow.

But when he carefully raises his hand and puts it to my cheek, I can't move from the spot.

"Alistair," he whispers.

I longed to hear my name come out of his mouth one more time. So much. My mind tells me to turn around and leave before it's too late, but when Kesh lowers his mouth to mine, my thoughts fall silent and with them all the reasons why I'd better leave this alone.

I can't help but return the kiss.

Kesh moves his mouth on mine, hesitantly at first, then a little tighter and more confident. As if by magic, I raise my hands to his face, stroke first his jaw, then his neck, until I finally bury them in his hair.

Kesh lets out a breathless sound. "That feels good, doesn't it?" he whispers close to my mouth.

I growl in agreement.

"It could always be like that."

The impact comes very quickly and hits me completely unprepared. All of a sudden, I realize that we are in a dark alley right now and that this is pretty much the opposite of what I want from Keshav.

Hastily, I take my hands down and take a step away from him. "I don't want to be your secret affair, Kesh. I don't know how many times I'll have to tell you that."

It flashes in Kesh's eyes. "I can't understand why you want to destroy it with us."

"You are the one who destroys us!" My loud voice echoes in the alley. I almost expect Kesh to take a worried look over his shoulder to see if anyone has heard us, but he doesn't look away from me.

"The fact that you still haven't understood what it's all about just shows me how wrong it all is," I say more quietly, but no less bitterly.

"There's nothing wrong with us," he contradicts.

Shaking my head, I look at him. "Kesh. Come on."

"Is that why you broke up?" he asks. By now he sounds as frustrated as I feel. "Because you don't think this means as much to me as it does to you?"

I exhale resignedly. "If you're not even really together, you can't call it 'breaking up.'"

He closes his eyes and takes two deep breaths. Obviously, he is struggling to keep his composure.

"You're not ready for a relationship yet," I say, feeling heat creep up my neck. "And that's okay. But it's a different story for me."

Kesh takes a step towards me, a pleading look in his eyes. I have never experienced him like this before. He's always so damn closed off and doesn't show anyone – not even me – what's really going on inside him. But at this moment, his desperation is so clear, so overwhelming, that I can literally feel it.

"I know what it was like with your parents. I—" He interrupts himself and exhales jerkily. "I'm just scared."

"I know," I croak.

Coming out to my parents was the hardest thing I've ever done. But I had no other choice. I finally wanted to be able to be the person I had always been deep down. And that included introducing this person to my parents. At the time, I didn't care what the consequences would be. It was like a liberation.

Until I saw the disappointment on my father's face and the tears in my mum's eyes. Until they behaved very differently towards me than before and I preferred to spend my time with my friends because I couldn't stand it at home anymore.

I don't want to be the one who pushes Kesh to do something he's not willing to do. I'm his friend. No matter what has happened between us, my job is actually to be there for him, no matter what he decides. Even if he will never tell his parents, I should support him.

And that's exactly where the problem lies.

I want more than secret kisses and whispered promises that can't be kept anyway, but Kesh can't give me that right now. This evening made me aware of that once again. This insight is not new, but it hurts a little more every time. Because he's my friend and I notice how I'm losing him even further than I already did. And mostly because I'm in love with him and I don't know how the hell I'm going to stop.

At the thought a burning sensation comes into my eyes. I swallow hard and blink several times to make it stop.

"Alistair—" Kesh murmurs, taking a step toward me.

I shake my head and look down at the tips of my shoes.

I can't ask him to make our relationship public.

He can't ask me to hide them from the public.

The thing with us will never lead anywhere. We both know that.

I look into Kesh's face again, letting my gaze wander from his cheekbones over the slight shadow of his beard to his lips.

I look into his dark eyes. And then I do what I should have done much earlier: I nip the rest of hope in the bud.

"Maybe we'd better stay away from each other in the future."

All color fades from Kesh's face. "Alistair—"

Before I can regret my decision, I turn around and leave.

Graham

Lydia's eyes widen when she sees me.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, barely audible.

I open my mouth to answer her, but after a short moment I close it again. I can only stand there and stare at her while my fingers cramp around the bouquet in my hand.

I want to tell her so much, but at this second I can't get anything out of my mouth.

Maybe it's the excitement. Or the fact that I'm not sure if we still want the same thing. A week ago I thought we had sorted things out between us, but then her father got in the way, and now I have no idea where we stand.

I want to finally be the man Lydia deserves. The man she met that first summer. But what if she doesn't want me anymore? What if she has come to the conclusion that she is much better off without me?

"I had to see you," I manage after a while.

Lydia just keeps staring at me.

"Would you like to come in?" Ms. Beaufort chimed in, taking a step to the side.

Instead of answering, I give Lydia a questioning look.

The seconds that pass seem like half an eternity to me. Finally, Lydia nods slowly. I clear my throat and go up the last two steps into the house.

"Why don't you go to the conservatory," Ms Beaufort says to Lydia. "I'll make tea for us until then."

I follow Lydia through the hallway into a large living room and from there through two double doors into a cozy-looking conservatory. Lydia presses a switch as she passes, and the next moment countless small lamps light up in the wooden floor. Through the windows I can see the landscape that surrounds Ophelia Beaufort's estate. I knew from Lydia's stories that she lives in a remote location, but I was not aware that there is absolutely nothing within a five-mile radius except a small gas station.

"These are for you," I say awkwardly, handing her the flowers.

Lydia accepts the rose-coloured bouquet of roses, gerberas and chrysanthemums and lifts it to her face. The hint of a smile plays on her lips as she smells it. My throat goes dry, and I wonder if she interprets my gesture correctly. Whether she understands how much this moment means to me. Because it's the first time I've given her a gift without first casting a worried look over my shoulder for fear that someone might be watching us.

Lydia looks at the bouquet for another blink of an eye, then clears her throat. "Thank you."

After that, silence reigns again. I want to look around the room, but it's impossible for me to take my eyes off Lydia. She is wearing an oversized light blue shirt and shiny black leggings. She has tied her hair in a messy bun, from which some strands protrude or fall into her face. She doesn't look like the Lydia I know, and the fact that I've never seen her like this before makes me realize how little time we've actually had together so far – and what I still want to catch up on with her.

Just as the silence between us threatens to become unbearable, Lydia points to the dark brown leather seating set that stands in the middle of the room. She goes over and sits down. As she carefully places the flowers on the small coffee table in front of her, I see how much her fingers tremble.

I hate that she feels that way because of me.

Hesitantly, I go to her, but I don't take a seat on the sofa, but on an armchair that stands diagonally next to her.

"I was so worried about you," I say quietly. "You can't write me an e-mail like that and then disappear from the face of the earth."

The leather creaks under my weight. I put one arm on the backrest and turn sideways so that I can look directly at Lydia. She has both hands flat on her thighs.

"I know."

I have the feeling that there is a thick concrete wall between us, which neither of us knows how to tear down. Just a week ago, I thought we could be together if I just took the plunge and left Maxton Hall. Suddenly I'm not so sure anymore.

"Would you like to tell me what happened?" I ask.

Lydia avoids my gaze and looks at her hands. She strokes her leggings, straightens her blouse.

"Lydia," I whisper when she doesn't answer. I only say her name, but I try to put everything into it: my feelings for her and the trust I still have in both of us.

Questioningly, she raises her eyes again. I can see tears glittering in her eyes.

"You can tell me anything. No matter what it is. And no matter what your father threatened you with: I won't leave if you don't want me to. I will never again pretend that we don't know each other. What I told you at the spring ball, I meant seriously. I want to be with you."

The first tears free themselves from the corners of her eyes. Instantly, I slide off the seat of the chair and kneel in front of her.

She keeps her head down, tears running down her face and dripping onto her legs. Carefully, I reach out and run my thumb over her moist cheek.

"I'm sorry," she says in a trembling voice.

"You haven't done anything wrong," I contradict and now put my hand completely to her cheek.

"I dragged you into my mess from the beginning. From the first moment I was nothing more than a burden to you. And now you've lost your job because of me. I'm just going to ruin everything, Graham."

I shake my head energetically and put the other hand to her face as well. I wait until she looks at me again.

"You never broke anything. On the contrary, I would have looked for something else anyway. Just because it has happened now does not necessarily mean that it is bad."

Lydia just shakes her head. Seeing her like that almost kills me.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me most. If you let me, I'll always stay with you now."

"Don't say anything like that," Lydia says haltingly, looking at me with tears.

"I'm serious," I whisper insistently, wiping away her tears with my fingers. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

She swallows hard. Her whole body tenses up all at once. "Yes, there is."

"Then talk to me about it," I reply quietly.

"I should have told you a long time ago," Lydia whispers, and in her sad green-blue eyes I can see the same fear that is reflected in her whole attitude. "It will—" She clears her throat. "It will unhinge your life even more than it already does."

My mouth and throat become dry. Gradually, her panic rubs off on me, but I can't imagine that what she wants to tell me is worse than anything we've already been through together.

"What, Lydia?"

She looks at me through wet eyelashes. I can clearly see the moment when she brings herself to say the words.

"I'm pregnant."

My thumbs freeze on Lydia's cheeks.

"Excuse me?" I manage barely audibly.

"I'm pregnant," she repeats. "With twins."

I stare up at her. Pressure builds up in my chest, increasing until I feel like I'm going to burst at any moment. Lydia's words are repeated in my head, and they gradually come together to form a picture that almost takes my breath away.

"Really?" I croak.

She nods. I don't think she's breathing—just like me.

The most diverse feelings race through me. I can't control them, nor can I control the thoughts that roll over in my head. Without hesitation, I lean forward and press my lips to Lydia's forehead. A sob escapes from her throat, and I pull her to me and hold her tight. There are no questions, no boundaries or anything else that comes into question for me at this second. I gently cradle her in my arms.

"I was so afraid to tell you," she whispers choked.

I just shake my head.

At this second, I can't let her go. Even though this news should probably have thrown me off track, just the opposite happened: I felt deep inside me how everything in my life had moved into the right place from one moment to the next. The uncertainty and fear that I felt just a few minutes ago are gone, instead joy and excitement now chase through me and make me dizzy because I breathe in and out way too quickly.

I break away from Lydia. Still kneeling on the floor in front of her, my hands wrapped around her upper arms, I look up at her and say in a trembling voice, "You have just made me very happy."

Disbelief enters her shining eyes. She blinks twice.

The next moment she wraps her arms around my neck. I return her hug, pull Lydia as close to me as I can, and just hold her tight – seconds, minutes, an eternity.

I can't say how long we'll stay in this position, I just know that it's one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

"I should have told you much earlier," Lydia whispers after a while and leans back a bit, but without lifting her arms from my neck.

"How long have you known?" I ask.

"Since November."

I close my eyes for a moment. "Oh, Lydia."

"I didn't know what to do," she whispers again, but I shake my head immediately.

"Knowing that you were so afraid of my reaction—" I exhale trembling. »… Finish me off." I look her firmly in the eyes. "It's the best thing that ever happened to me."

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the corners of her mouth rise.

I gently run my hand over her back.

"I don't know what to do now, Graham."

"Neither do I. But we can find out. "Together," I say. We'll manage it."

Lydia runs her fingers over my neck. A slight shiver runs through me as her fingers move further forward over my jaw and over the stubble on my chin.

"I'm so glad you're here," she whispers. Her gaze wanders briefly to my mouth, then back to my eyes. Down again. The next moment she leans forward, very slowly. I close my eyes and meet her halfway.

When our lips meet, it's like lightning strikes my stomach.

There are an infinite number of things that we urgently need to talk about. But this kiss seems like a promise. It promises that we will leave the past behind. And that at this moment something new begins for us.

11

Ruby

On Saturday morning, I go downstairs as usual to help Dad with breakfast, but first take a careful look into the living room to see if James is awake yet. The sheet, the duvet and the pillow are neatly folded in the middle of the couch, but there is no sign of James. I turn around and go to the kitchen, where I stop in the doorway in surprise.

James is alone. He is standing at the work surface and is in the process of squeezing oranges. His hair seems to be damp from showering, and he's wearing dark jeans and a white T-shirt that accentuates his shoulders. I watch his arm tense as he presses an orange half onto the press and swallow hard. There is something intimate about how he stands in our kitchen and prepares breakfast.

I think I could get used to the sight. Just like I could get used to spending evenings with him on the couch and talking late into the night, like we did yesterday.

I cross the room as quietly as possible. I hug James from behind and wrap my arms around his belly. He tenses up briefly, probably because he is frightened, but after a short moment he relaxes again.

"Good morning," I whisper.

James turns to me and smiles crookedly. "Good morning," he says just as quietly. Then he leans over to me and gently presses his lips to mine. The kiss tastes like oranges, and I sigh, leaning against James until he bumps his back against the work surface. He embraces my hip and pulls me even closer to him.

His stomach feels hard against mine, and I'm about to slide my hand under his shirt when I hear Dad come into the kitchen.

James jumps away from me, at the same time I reach forward in search of support and bump into a carafe, from which juice immediately spills over and lands in a small orange puddle on the work surface.

"Good morning, you two," Dad says behind me. I give James a sideways glance and have to press my lips tightly together so as not to laugh. He stands there like a soldier, with stiff shoulders and reddened cheeks.

"I... I wanted to make breakfast," he says, pointing unnecessarily to the puddle of orange juice.

Dad just nods. His eyes sparkle in amusement. He knows very well that James has insane respect for him – and he shamelessly exploits what is mean, but at the same time somehow funny.

The moment stretches out for several more seconds until Dad finally feels sorry for James. "Would you like scrambled eggs?" he asks.

"Gladly," I say, and James murmurs in agreement. Then I wipe away the small puddle of juice and start setting the table.

Meanwhile, James starts squeezing the remaining orange halves.

"Did you sleep well?" Dad asks him.

"Yes. The sofa is very comfortable. Thank you again."

Dad just waves it off.

After Mum came home and we told her what happened, she didn't think about it at all, but immediately offered James to stay with us until the matter with his father was resolved. I smiled gratefully at her, but only until the moment when she took me aside for a moment and made me understand with a serious expression that she trusts us and that I should better not abuse this trust. After that, I couldn't look her in the eye for about half an hour.

"James and I are going to Lydia's house after breakfast tonight, Dad," I say.

"Do you need the car?"

I shake my head. "No, we'll take that from James."

"Very well, your mum and I were going to run some errands today." Dad opens the drawer to his right and pulls out a pan that he places on the stove in front of him.

"Your father has been looking forward to buying new knives all week," says Mum, who enters the kitchen at this moment. "Good morning, you two."

"Good morning," James and I answer at the same time.

Mum pulls out a chair from under the table and sits down. She looks around the kitchen. "Is that fresh orange juice?"

James nods and holds out a filled glass to her. "Here."

"Well," says Mum, looking at me with raised eyebrows, "I could get used to that."

Without taking my eyes off James, I say quietly, "Me too."

James

"What's your favorite color?"

I can't believe that this is the question Ruby chose for me. In the same breath, however, I wonder why she didn't ask it much earlier – she's so typical Ruby that I have to smile.

"If you have to think so long, it's not your favorite color," she remarks when I don't answer immediately.

I look through the windshield at the road in front of us. We have already driven about an hour and a half, almost half of it is still ahead of us. It's strange to drive such a long distance by car myself, but at the same time I've rarely felt as comfortable as I did at this moment, with Ruby next to me.

We started asking each other questions last night, and I love how freely we can talk to each other despite everything.

"Green," I say finally.

I take a quick look to the side and see her nose curl slightly. Apparently she is not satisfied with my answer. "There are hundreds of thousands of different shades of green. You have to be a little more specific."

I shrug my shoulders because I can't possibly answer "The green of your eyes" without throwing up on the dashboard of the car immediately afterwards. But it is the truth. Before I knew Ruby, I didn't have a favorite color.

By now.

"That beautiful puke green," I answer instead, nodding on her lap on which her backpack lies. Although Ruby couldn't possibly have packed more than me, who still got all kinds of things out of Lydia's room, the thing seems to be bursting at the seams.

"Hey! My backpack has served me well for years, leave it alone."

"Ember said this morning that you've been using it since kindergarten."

"That's not true at all," she says angrily. "He's only six."

"Maybe I misheard, and she said that the backpack was so old that it could go to kindergarten."

She then sticks her tongue out at me. At that moment, the desire to kiss her is so damn great that I have to grip the steering wheel tighter so as not to reach for her.

Although I want to restrain my thoughts, I don't succeed. Even though Ruby is sitting right next to me – I long for her. Last night almost drove me crazy. I've spent them lying awake, desperately trying not to think about the fact that my girlfriend is just a few flights of stairs away from me, wearing nothing but short, polka dot pajamas.

For the thoughts that followed, I will go to hell.

"If you like, you can have the James back," I suggest hoarsely, without taking my eyes off the road. I concentrate on the roar of the engine and the green fields and hills whizzing by.

All to distract me from the fact that my pants have become tighter at the crotch because my imagination has already moved in an indecent direction again.

"That would be great," she says, but suddenly sounds so dejected that my dirty thoughts immediately fizzle out. "However, I don't need a school bag anymore for the time being."

"The James is an all-rounder. You can take them for anything. Besides, you'll be back at Maxton Hall the week after next at the latest," I say firmly.

At least that elicits a smile from her, and I see out of the corner of my eye how her shoulders relax a little.

"You're right. Maybe it's really not a bad idea with the bag."

"My ideas are never bad, Ruby Bell."

She snorts softly, and it sounds suspiciously like laughter. Triumph floods my abdomen.

I'm so glad that we can finally have this here – to be able to spend a Saturday together and be close to each other without anyone tearing us apart, be it Cyril, my dad, Ruby's parents or anything else in the world. It feels like a dream that Ruby let me back into her life despite everything that happened.

"Do you know what I was thinking just now?" she asks suddenly.

"Huh?"

"It's so strange to see you driving yourself," she says amused. "I only know you eating or drinking in the back seat of your limousine."

Now I'm the one who snorts.

"I didn't even know you had a car."

"I got it as a gift for my driver's license," I say. "But to be honest, it was just in the garage most of the time."

"Don't you like it?" asks Ruby, looking around inside the black coupe.

"It's not," I reply a little belatedly. "Percy has been driving Lydia and me since we were kids. I can hardly remember days when I didn't see him. And now—"

"And now?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Now he doesn't drive me anymore."

"Are you in contact with him?" Ruby asks cautiously, and I shake my head.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Driving me was his job. I can imagine that he doesn't want to hear anything more from me."

"Do you really believe that?" Ruby asks skeptically. When I just shrug my shoulders, she says, "He's known you and Lydia since you were born. I'm sure it's close to him, especially after everything that's happened."

"Do you mean?"

She needs a short moment to look for the right words. "When he drove me to Pemwick a few weeks ago, we had a quick chat about your mum. It seemed to me that her death had affected him very much."

I don't want to worry about that. No – I can't worry about that. There can't be another person to worry about.

Ruby looks at me sideways for a while. I expect that she won't drop the topic so easily, but then she just puts her hand over mine on the gear stick.

"You look tired," she says. "Is the sofa really okay with you?"

"It's more than just okay," I say honestly. The fact that I hardly slept an eye was not the fault of the sofa.

"If you get back pain, I can sleep with Ember and leave my bed to you."

I swallow dry. A night in Ruby's bed, surrounded by her smell and the things she holds dear, knowing that we're only separated by a wall? I don't think so.

"I like your sofa," I say a little more energetically than it would have been necessary. "Don't worry. Isn't it my turn to ask questions?"

"Oh. That's right."

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Ruby straightening up a bit. I have to suppress a smile.

"Okay ... What is your favourite animal?"

"Penguins," Ruby says without thinking.

"Penguins?"

She nods. "Definitely, yes. They look as if they are wearing small tailcoats. Besides, they are totally romantic and live with their partner forever once they find him."

"Really?"

"Yes, isn't that interesting? To be honest, they look for a new partner if they don't find their old one after the winter time. But otherwise they live monogamously. And they give each other gifts. That's really cute."

"Gifts? What, for example?"

"Little pebbles. They are actually buried under the ice. And it's totally exhausting to shovel one free. So it's a great token of love when you, as a penguin, get one."

I give Ruby a sideways glance. "I think I understand what you like about them."

"Ember and I once watched a documentary about a pair of penguins. We both had to cry."

I shake my head laughing.

"It's my turn again," says Ruby. "Name me a place where you would like to be kissed."

My laughter has given way to a gentle smile. "There is no question about that."

She sighs. "Where would you like to be kissed?"

"From you? Everywhere."

"James," she admonishes me, but when I glance in her direction, I can see that she is smiling.

"Let me think for a moment."

There are so many places I still want to go with Ruby, so many things we haven't shared yet and what I still want to experience with her in the future.

The idea of our future together makes my heart beat faster. I see it very clearly in front of me: Ruby and I in an apartment where we live together, a kiss that is everyday and yet romantic. It is full of deep feelings and a familiarity that has grown over the years. The picture sends a pleasant shiver through my body.

I want such a kiss.

But I know that now is not the right time to tell her something so significant.

"The everywhere was meant seriously," I say after a while. "But I wouldn't mind a kiss in a library. Surrounded by books, secretly, but at the same time in public ... I think that would be something."

"Hm."

"You don't sound satisfied with my answer."

"I was just kind of expecting you to say something like 'On a yacht in a rain of stars' or something."

"On a yacht in the rain of stars? Are you in earnest?"

She punches me lightly against the upper arm. "I don't know what's going on in your head?"

"What would you answer?" I ask.

She thinks for a while. I feel the moment when she decides on an answer. The atmosphere in the car is much more charged from one second to the next.

"I want to be kissed again in Oxford," she says quietly.

At the moment I have to think of our night together in Oxford. How Ruby yelled at me and then grabbed me. How we staggered through the door and fell on the bed. The way she buried her hands in my hair.

I have to clear my throat. "A kiss at Oxford," I say roughly. "It's noted."

At this moment, I firmly resolve to fulfill her wish.

12

Ruby

"We always played tag here," says James as we get out of the car and walk along the wide gravel path from the parking lot to the front door.

"You can train for a marathon here," I say, looking around in amazement.

To the right and left of us stretches a wide meadow on which there are several cherry trees, most of which are still bare, but here and there already bear green leaves. The grounds of Ophelia's country estate are enormous, not to mention the mansion that towers in front of us. It is an eighteenth-century structure not unlike the home of the Beauforts, but with the many beds and flowering shrubs planted around the walls, it looks much friendlier and more welcoming.

"We used to be here a lot, but in recent years that has become less and less," says James. "Mum once said that Ophelia wasn't happy at all when this property was signed over to her, because it also meant that she had to stay out of Beaufort's affairs from then on. I still remember family dinners where she tried to persuade Mum and Dad to get her back on board. Once it went so far that she left the room crying because the situation had escalated. After that we hardly came here and only saw her at our house or on business meetings in London." I give James a sideways glance. "It must be terrible if you want to get involved, but are so uncompromisingly excluded."

We walk side by side in silence for a moment, then James exhales audibly. "On the one hand, I have really fond memories of this place, but on the other hand, I have to think of the moments when Dad and Ophelia beat each other up. I don't know how to feel right now."

James stares straight ahead, lost in thought. I can see that he is trying not to let it show how close this whole situation is to him. But he can't fool me, and he knows it.

As we come to a stop in front of the impressive door, I grab his hand and smile encouragingly at him.

He returns my smile, takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell.

The moment I hear the loud gong ring through the interior of the house, I suddenly realize how excited I am. I thought about James and Lydia the whole time and suppressed the fact that I don't know their aunt at all.

Hopefully she's nice, I think.

When James has talked about his aunt in the last few days, it was impossible to miss the fact that she is important to him. I don't think I would be able to stand it if another part of the Beaufort family couldn't stand me – especially one whose opinion James thinks highly of.

The door opens with a loud creak, and I hold my breath.

"James, Ruby," calls a woman in a dark green jumpsuit, beaming at us. She looks confusingly similar to Cordelia Beaufort. Only if you take a closer look can you see the differences between her and James' mother. Her face looks softer and younger, which is especially evident in the broad smile with which she greets us. "How nice that you made it."

James takes a step forward and gives Ophelia a quick hug. "That's Ruby," he says. He puts a hand on my lower back. "Ruby, that's my aunt Ophelia."

"I'm very happy to finally meet you, Ruby," Ophelia says, holding out her hand to shake my hand.

Gratefully, I take it. "I feel the same way," I reply.

Ophelia waves us into the house. "Come in, breakfast is already ready for you."

We follow her through a long hallway, and I look around curiously. Inside, the house also looks inviting and cheerful, with abstract, modern pictures and colorful wallpaper. I feel at home here right now.

"I heard you like to read manga, Ruby," Ophelia says suddenly, and I look at her in surprise.

"Yes, that's true," I answer.

"Do you also watch anime?" asks Ophelia.

I catch up with her and James and nod. "I love anime."

"I have a weakness for animated films and wanted to try my hand at anime soon. Unfortunately, that's something that has totally passed me by so far. Maybe you can recommend a few to me."

I beam at her. "I'd love to."

"You'll have to be careful when you ask Ruby for something like that, Ophelia. She'll make you a list longer than a marathon."

"Hey!" I say indignantly.

James just grins.

"Then I'd have a lot to do. So don't force yourself, Ruby," Ophelia says, throwing a smile over my shoulder.

We walk to the end of the hallway, then Ophelia opens a large dark door on the left, indicating that we should go through first. I enter the cozy dining room – and come to an abrupt stop when I see who is sitting at the lavishly laid table.

I was prepared to spend the day comforting a deeply sad Lydia. The last time I saw her, she seemed desperate and hopeless.

What I wasn't prepared for is to see Lydia sitting at the breakfast table, beaming. Not just beaming – laughing. And I wasn't prepared to see my history teacher next to her, gently stroking her back with his hand.

"Hello, you two," James says, as if he, unlike me, wasn't surprised by the sight.

Lydia and Mr Sutton drive around to us. The next moment, Lydia jumps up. She throws her arms around James' neck and squeezes him tightly. He wraps both arms around her and closes his eyes.

"Thank you for telling him where I am," Lydia whispers.

"I was hoping he'd come to you," James whispers back, so quietly that I barely understand what he's saying. In any case, they make Lydia smile. After a short moment, she breaks away from him and comes to me to hug me as well.

"It's so good to see you," I say.

"Likewise," she replies, squeezing me a little harder.

"Sit down," says Ophelia, pointing to the two place settings that still look unused. "I'll make us another pot of tea quickly."

When I don't start moving immediately, Lydia takes my hand and pulls me with her to the table. "You all know each other," she says, looking back and forth between James, Mr. Sutton and me.

"Uh, yes," I say, while James nods. We take a seat opposite Lydia and Mr. Sutton, and then it becomes strangely quiet between us. I can't help but stare at my former history teacher. No matter what I know about his and Lydia's relationship, it's absolutely weird to see him in jeans and a T-shirt.

"Good morning, you two," Mr. Sutton finally breaks the silence.

"Good morning, Mr. Sutton," I reply automatically, but immediately stiffen. I sound like I'm in school. Oh man.

Mr. Sutton grimaces slightly pained. "Maybe it's best to call me Graham from now on, Ruby. I am no longer your teacher."

I think for a moment. "I suppose I shall never be able to call you anything else. Or maybe take several years to do it," I say finally.

The corners of his mouth twitch slightly. "All right."

"What are you waiting for?" asks Ophelia as she comes back into the room with a pot of tea in her hand. She pours our cups and then sits down at the head of the table. "Help yourself."

I don't know what I expected, but not that the atmosphere at breakfast would be so relaxed and relaxed. I watch Mr. Sutton – Graham – hand Lydia a basket of toast and Ophelia James shovel a load of scrambled eggs onto the plate, thinking of the one dinner I had in the presence of James and Lydia's father. The difference to the atmosphere here could not be greater.

I think James seems to be as confused as I am, because it takes a few minutes for me to notice that his shoulders are slowly relaxing.

"I have something to tell you," he says after a while, turning to Lydia.

She pauses with the knife in the butter. "That sounds serious."

James hesitates, then nods. Finally, he tells what happened the day before.

When he is finished, Lydia's cheeks have turned red with anger, and Ophelia shakes her head in disbelief.

"Dad really lost his mind," says Lydia.

Ophelia wipes her hands on a cloth napkin, which she then places next to her plate. "That's typical Mortimer. If something doesn't fit into the picture, he gets rid of it. That's why I ended up here in Beckdale."

Silence spreads between us. No one touches his food anymore.

"Ruby," Lydia says after a moment. She looks at Graham and then at me again. "Graham and I talked last night. About Maxton Hall. And we have come to the conclusion that we will tell Principal Lexington about our relationship. Tomorrow."

I stare at her in disbelief. "What? Are you crazy? I—"

"It's the only way," she interrupts me.

"Your father sent you here to keep your condition a secret. You can't run to Maxton Hall and tell the headmaster!"

Lydia shakes her head. "I don't care what my dad wants. I can't ask you to be punished for my—our—mistake."

I look back and forth between her and Graham in disbelief. Then I turn to James.

"What about Cyril?" I ask him. "You gave him until Monday to tell Lexington the truth."

James nods. "Wait, Lydia. If Cyril gives out the original pictures, no one has to be punished." He turns to Graham. "And you won't be suspended."

Graham shakes his head. "I'm not going back to Maxton Hall anyway." His gaze slides to Lydia, and he smiles slightly. "In the near future, I would like to be there only for Lydia. And then we'll see," he adds.

"What Cyril did—" Lydia swallows. "I never thought he would be capable of something like that. And I refuse to put Ruby's fate in his hands."

Her words give me goosebumps.

"Lydia ..." James begins, but she shakes her head.

"My decision is made."

James presses his lips together and returns her gaze. After a few seconds, he exhales audibly. "It's your decision."

"That's not how I imagined it all," I say quietly.

"I appreciate what you've done for me, Ruby," Lydia says, reaching across the table for my hand. But that has to stop now. I will pay a visit to Principal Lexington to-morrow."

"How on earth do you know where he lives?" I ask, my heart beating fast. It feels like something is actually about to change. As if I would soon no longer be in limbo and see my future crumble further.

"I don't know." Lydia looks back and forth between James and me, and an almost sly smile spreads across her lips. "But luckily I know where and with whom Lexington spends his free time."

13

James

Rash actions are part of growing up. I'm ready to forget the whole thing when you show up for our board meeting at fifteen o'clock on Monday. The event is marked in your calendar. Don't disappoint me.

Best wishes

Mortimer Beaufort

I delete my father's mail without replying. My pulse jumped when I saw it in my inbox, but now I can only shake my head at it. He doesn't even have time for a greeting and uses his official signature – even in e-mails to his children. To be honest, I'm not surprised that he thinks my decision was made in the moment. After all, he ignored all signs for years that indicated that I wanted nothing to do with Beaufort.

The fact that he is now writing to me, not to bring me back home, but to save face in front of the rest of the board, only further confirms that I have done the right thing.

And at some point it won't hurt anymore. I'm quite sure of that.

I put the cell phone next to me on the bed and look around the room where Ophelia has accommodated Ruby and me. It's the guest room where Lydia and I used to sleep when we visited. Even then, we admired the motley décor, which couldn't have been more different from ours in Pemwick: from the floral wallpaper to the box spring bed to the heavy, much too long velvet curtains. It sometimes gives the impression that Ophelia has taken things from the street and then placed them in her house. Nevertheless, I have always felt comfortable.

The vibration of my cell phone tears me out of my thoughts. The receipt of a new e-mail is displayed to me, and when I see the name of the sender, every muscle in my body tenses for the second time that evening.

It is from Cyril.

Hesitantly, I unlock the display.

I am sorry.

Nothing more. I swallow hard and open the attachment. Little by little, the photos I took of Ruby and Mr. Sutton back then are loaded. They are the originals, I recognize that immediately. I exhale jerkily, even if my stomach suddenly feels queasy when I look at the pictures.

I still remember exactly what I thought and felt when I made them. I didn't know what kind of person Ruby was, and I wanted to protect Lydia and make sure she would never be hurt the way she was back then. I didn't care what the consequences would be if the pictures were made public.

With my mobile phone in my hand, I walk to the narrow door that leads to the adjoining bathroom. I knock.

"You can come in," says Ruby.

I open the door. "You won't believe what—" I begin, but the words stick in my throat.

I thought Ruby had taken a shower and was already done. But instead she sits in the large corner bathtub. She has tied her hair up in a bun, from which individual strands have fallen out and become wet and now curl on the back of her neck. I swallow hard as my gaze takes on a life of its own and wanders further down. Drops of water glisten on her bare shoulders, and although the bathtub is overflowing with foam, I can see her skin shining through in some places.

"Is everything okay?" asks Ruby, frowning, straightening up a bit.

I have to clear my throat. "Cyril sent me the originals of the pictures," I finally croak and pick up my cell phone.

"Really?" Ruby manages in disbelief and leans forward a bit to see the display better. "I had almost given up hope."

"I said we'd make it right," I say roughly.

I'm far too distracted by the sight of her wet body to be able to think even a single clear thought. I clear my throat again.

"What are we going to do now?" she asks after a while. I realize that her voice sounds just as hoarse as my own.

I'd probably better go now.

"I'll give it to Lydia. It's best to do it right away. We can talk about it later. I didn't want to disturb you. Relax." I turn around and am about to walk through the door again when Ruby's voice makes me pause.

"James?" she asks, barely audible. Nevertheless, it goes through me like a bolt of lightning.

With a questioning sound, I turn back to her. Her cheeks are reddened, and she clears her throat.

"Would you like to... won't you stay here?"

I swallow dry and open my mouth, but I was speechless.

Ruby's face gets even redder. "You don't have to. I—"

That frees me from my rigidity. "Of course I want to stay with you," I say, slowly dropping my hand from the knob. "If I may?"

She nods. Only once, a determined look in the eyes.

She doesn't need to ask me again.

I pull the door into the lock and turn the key. The moment the click sounds, everything fades into the background: my father, Cyril, Maxton Hall. Everything except Ruby, who sits naked in the bathtub less than two meters away from me and looks at me expectantly.

It's the first time in half an eternity that we're alone. Unlike this morning, no one can come into the room now and make sure that we jump apart in a hurry. Here it's just her and me.

Without taking my eyes off Ruby, I put the cell phone down on the washbasin. Then I lower my hands to the hem of my shirt and slowly pull it over my head. I drop it on the floor and then take off my socks. As I open my belt, Ruby's gaze darkens. She lets it wander down my body and follows my movements while I peel myself out of my pants and then out of my boxers.

Now I can't hide from her anymore. And at this second, I don't want to do that at all – even if the way she pulls her lower lip between her teeth causes even more blood to shoot towards my groin.

Without any longer hesitation, I climb into the bathtub with Ruby. The water is still warm, so warm that light steam rises in the places where I displace the foam with my body. Ruby watches me incessantly as I dive in completely and then slowly come to her until I can rest both arms at her sides on the edge of the tub. A slight smile plays around the corners of her mouth.

"Hey," I murmur.

"Hi," she replies just as quietly. She raises her wet hands and encloses my face with them. She strokes my cheeks with her thumbs. I close my eyes and lean forward to kiss her. Ruby sighs softly as our lips meet. Her grip tightens, and she pulls me even closer to her. Her breasts brush my skin, and a tingling sensation chases up my spine.

"Thank you for coming with me today," I say between two kisses.

Ruby slides her hands down my face and rests them on my chest. "I'll go everywhere with you, James."

My heart is beating fast, and when I open my eyes again, there is warmth and confidence in Ruby's gaze.

Every time she looks at me like that, I want nothing more than to become the person she deserves.

"And I'll go everywhere with you."

Ruby wraps her arms around my neck. I clasp her bare back and pull her tightly to me. Water spills from the bathtub onto the floor, but we don't care.

When we kiss this time, we don't stop for quite a while.

Lydia

"Are we really not supposed to come in?" asks Graham for the third time this morning.

I turn to him and reach for his hand over the center console of the car. Then I slowly shake my head.

"No. This is something I have to do alone."

He frowns, obviously unhappy with my decision.

"It feels like we're sending you to the lion's den," Ruby says from the back seat. In the mirror I can see that she is very pale with excitement.

"What's going to happen?" I ask as I unbuckle myself. "I've already been kicked out of home. I don't go back to Maxton Hall anymore. It's going to go wrong, Ruby. Trust me."

James opens his mouth, and Graham also looks like he wants to say something, but I don't give them a chance. Resolutely, I open the door of the car and get out. Without looking back, I cross the parking lot of the golf resort and walk to the entrance. I leave the sunglasses on my nose as the sliding doors separate and I enter the foyer. At the reception, I am nodded at in a friendly way. I don't know if the young man recognizes me, but his gaze wanders to my stomach and lingers there for a second. His smile doesn't slip – he's too practiced for that – but I still recognize the moment when he realizes what the bulge means.

The dark blue dress with a wide shoulder neckline, which I decided on this morning, nestles against my body like a second skin and leaves no questions unanswered as far as my belly is concerned. It's the first time I've worn something figure-hugging in months, and I still have to get used to the feeling of not hiding from the outside world.

I smile at the receptionist before I cross the hall in long strides and walk to the back of the restaurant area, where Dad and his friends usually hang out after a few rounds of golf. As a child, he often took me and James here. Not because he wanted to teach us how to play golf, but to show off to his friends when they had brought their children with them. I remember the conversations they had over our heads and how Alistair, James and I played hide and seek on the huge grounds so that we weren't quite so bored.

The heels of my shoes make a clack on the shiny marble floor as I enter the restaurant. I recognize my father from afar. He and a few other men are sitting at a round table by the large windows that offer a view of the lush green hills and the small lake of the golf course. The closer I get, the more clearly I can hear their voices. Someone makes a joke that makes my dad put his head back and laugh out loud. A sound that seems strange to me, because I haven't heard it from him for an eternity.

I take a last deep breath, then I step up to the table. Immediately, five pairs of eyes are on me, and my father's laughter dies abruptly.

"What are you doing here?" he asks. His gaze lingers on my stomach, and any color disappears from his face. He looks frantically at his friends, and I almost expect him to get up at any moment to cover my body with his.

"I'm not here for you," I answer in a firm voice.

I'm proud of how cold I sound, even though my chest tightens violently at the sight of my dad. The image of him throwing my phone against the wall and then starting to tear apart my wardrobe like a man possessed comes to mind. Fleetingly, I touch the cheek where his hand hit me.

Dad has to think about that too. I see it in his eyes, which are filled with a short, painful flicker. But it disappears just as quickly as it came.

I tear my gaze away from him and turn instead to the man sitting opposite him.

"Mr. Lexington, would you have a second?" I ask.

The headmaster's steely gaze goes from me to my dad and back. Without the rimless glasses and the suit he wears to school, he looks like a different person.

"If you want an appointment, Ms. Beaufort, please report to the office tomorrow morning," he finally says.

I shake my head. "The matter is urgent."

Apparently he hears how serious I am, because he looks at me deliberately. Then his gaze lands on my stomach. There is a long pause in which I hold my breath.

Finally, he nods. "All right."

He pushes the chair back and stands up.

I look at Dad. He sits stiff as a stick in his seat, clutching his glass of water tightly, and shows no emotion when Lexington takes the initiative and leads me towards the foyer.

Once there, he points to the seating that has been set up in the middle of the foyer. I shake my head. I have to stand still for what I have to say to him. This is not going to be a cozy conversation.

"Mr. Lexington, I need to talk to you about Ruby Bell's suspension," I begin, looking him straight in the gray eyes.

He blinks perplexed. "Ms Beaufort," he says. "I really can't talk to you about the affairs of other schoolgirls. I'm sure you understand that."

"You made a big mistake on Monday. And I want to fix it."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He still speaks in a calm tone, but I have long since noticed the throbbing vein on his temple.

"Ruby isn't the one who had an affair with Graham Sutton—it was me."

Lexington's eyes widen. "Ms Beaufort—" he begins, but I interrupt him.

"If you don't believe me—" I put my hands on my hips. "You can see the proof of that here," I say with a nod on my stomach.

Lexington looks down, then back into my face. He clears his throat energetically, takes a deep breath and repeats the whole thing again.

"Ms Bell was clearly recognizable in the pictures."

"The pictures have been edited. In reality, Ruby and Graham were just talking about the event."

I reach into my purse, take out my cell phone and call up the pictures that James sent me last night. Then I hold the display up to Lexington.

He narrows his eyes and leans forward. I can watch as his facial expression changes from skeptical to incredulous to deeply affected. Shaking his head, he rubs his finger over the bridge of his nose. "Good heavens, Mortimer, what have you done?" he murmurs so softly that I can hardly understand it.

"My father wanted to protect me. In his own quirky way," I say automatically. I don't know why I feel like I have to justify myself for my dad.

Lexington looks at me thoughtfully. A steep crease has formed between his brows. "I've been headmaster of this school for over twenty years, but something like this... I've never experienced anything like it."

"I am prepared to make a written statement. Graham too. We will do everything we can to ensure that Ruby can graduate. She shall not be punished for our mistake, sir," I say energetically.

Lexington nods. "Ms. Bell can come back to school on Monday. I will contact her mother at once."

"I'm sorry I attacked you with it over the weekend," I say. "But I couldn't keep it to myself for a second longer."

"Thank you for your honesty. That can't have been easy for you."

I just nod and hold out my hand to him.

"I wish you well, Ms. Beaufort," says Lexington, shaking her briefly.

Then I turn on my heel and cross the foyer. Once outside, I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment. The sun tickles my nose, and a feeling of immeasurable euphoria seizes me.

I walk back across the parking lot to the others. In the meantime, Ruby, James and Graham have left. Graham leans against the car with his hands buried in his pockets, Ruby stands close to James, who is whispering something in her ear. When she spots me, she pauses, her gaze questioning.

I smile at her, confident of victory.

The next moment, Ruby breaks away from my brother and comes towards me with quick steps.

"I'm the best!" I shout at her, raising my arms in the air.

She looks at me incredulously. I bridge the last distance to her at a run. I grab Ruby by the shoulders and beam at her.

"Your suspension is lifted with immediate effect," I say.

Ruby gasps. "No."

I nod. "Yes."

"No!" The next moment she falls around my neck. She squeezes me so tightly that I can hardly breathe.

"Thank you," she sobs. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

I return her hug firmly. I close my eyes for a short moment and enjoy this feeling. I have finally spoken out what I have kept secret for so long. For the first time, I was open about my pregnancy – and without being ashamed. And I helped my girlfriend. I can't imagine ever feeling better in my life than I did at this moment.

"I love you, Ruby," I say softly.

"So do I, you. And how," she replies.

I open my eyes without tearing myself away from Ruby and look at James. From his crooked smile I can tell that he is at least as touched as Ruby and I are at this second.

Then I let my gaze wander to Graham. In his eyes lie the promises of the past nights. For the first time, I have the feeling that everything will really be fine. No matter how long it takes.

14

Ruby

When I drive to school on Monday morning, it feels as if I had only imagined the chaos of the past week. On my lap lies my bullet journal, in which I trace the line of a new headline with a black pen: Monday. I am meticulously careful not to paint over the pencil line that I have already drawn at home. When I'm done, I look at the page, and a smile spreads across my face. The colors are back in my life.

For this day, the following points are entered in turquoise, pink, purple and a mint green that I have never used before:

First day of school after suspension!

Let Lin bring me up to date on the planning for the Bonfire (+ tell her several times how much I missed her)

Read about Ember's blog post and process the requests from the weekend (+ give her sisterly love and maybe find out who she secretly spends so much time with)

Cooking with James (<3)

Since last night, James has his own color in my bullet journal. The look with which he looked at me when I announced this to him still gives me goosebumps now, hours later. As well as the memory of his lips moving up and down my neck, or his hands gently slipping under my sweater and eliciting sounds from me that I tried to choke in my pillow.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to do this on the bus?" asks James, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I feel my face warm and clear my throat. "You're underestimating my abilities."

He eyes the black book on my lap. "I just don't want you to paint over. Last week you threw me off with a pen after that."

"That was an exception. The site frustrated me. In addition, last week was also ... last week," I explain, tracing the lower flourish of the G. Everything will be better this week."

At this moment, the bus stops so abruptly at a stop that I slide forward and have to support myself on the seat in front of me to avoid breaking my nose. Startled, I look at my bullet journal: A black line runs across my freshly designed page.

"Argh! No!" I look reproachfully at the bus driver. He doesn't care about my gaze, closes the door at the front and accelerates again. "That's just because you're with us, James. I've designed an infinite number of pages on the bus – nothing like this has ever happened to me."

"Now you're pretending that I insisted that we take the bus," he replies dryly. "By car, we would have been at the school in half the time."

"I wanted to take the bus to celebrate." I point the pen at James. "You would have loved to have been able to drive the car."

"In the first place, I didn't want to let you go alone. And secondly, you have a talent for making boring things like a bus ride sound totally relaxing and beautiful, even if that's not the case at all."

He watches me for a moment as I try to turn the black line into a halfway aesthetic flower tendril. Then he brushes my hair out of my face and behind my ear with one hand.

"I could get used to this," he says quietly.

I turn my head to him. "To ride the bus?"

He smiles at me. "That too. But I actually meant waking up with you in the morning."

I feel my cheeks getting warm. He makes it sound like we're sleeping in the same bed, but we haven't done that since that night in Ophelia's guest room.

"Although everyone in your house is totally crazy. Helen was awake at four o'clock today, and I really don't think it's normal how energetic Ember is at six in the morning."

"Mum has had a new boss for a few weeks, I think she wants to be extra sure that she won't be late. And Ember ...", I say and shake my head. "I don't know how she does it. She doesn't even drink coffee."

"Crazy."

It's just as crazy how normal it feels to talk to James about my family.

"I think it's nice that you're with us," I say after a while.

James looks at me from the side, his gaze warm. Then he puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close.

The journey to school passes far too quickly and slowly at the same time. Shortly before the final stop, I get up and shimmy from pole to pole, while I can hear James stumbling behind me. It takes me a lot of willpower to suppress my grin.

When I arrive at the bus stop, I notice how excited I am and how fast my heart beats. It almost feels like my first day at school. But when I get out and see who is waiting for me, I stop on the spot.

"Surprise!" exclaims Lin, spreading his arms.

My girlfriend is not alone.

The entire event committee has come with her to the bus stop and beams at me. Even Camille, even if she keeps her arms crossed in front of her chest.

Before I even realize what is happening, Lin is with me and takes me tightly in his arms.

"I'm so glad you're back," she says in a trembling voice. When she pulls away from me, it almost looks as if she has tears in her eyes. "I don't know how I would have survived the rest of the school year without you."

"And I don't know how we were supposed to survive the rest of the school year with Lin as the boss," Jessalyn interrupts and embraces me as well. "She enslaved us, Ruby. The week seemed to me like a whole term."

"She just wanted everything to be perfect for Ruby's return," says Kieran, who also gives me a quick hug. He smiles shyly at me. "It's nice to have you back, Ruby. We have all missed you."

"What he said," Doug adds.

"It was strange without you," says Camille. She brushes her hair behind her ear and then exhales theatrically. "It's good that you're back." Finally, she also comes to me and takes me in her arms.

After she broke away from me, I am completely overwhelmed. My whole team is here to greet me. It seems like they seriously missed me. A lump forms in my throat that doesn't want to disappear even after swallowing several times.

At the beginning of my school days, I would never have thought that I would find myself in such a situation at Maxton Hall. I thought it would be better to go below the radar of my classmates so as not to make myself vulnerable. All I had in mind was my goal to get a degree – and nothing else. Right now I realize how wrong that was. And that I may have missed a whole lot of beautiful moments.

"Shall we go?" asks Camille, pointing towards the main entrance. "The assembly is about to start."

I nod. While we make our way to Boyd Hall with our small group, I hook up with Lin. She leans her head to the side and on my shoulder. "But it was about time."

"I think so too," I say. "You must tell me everything."

As I enter the school between her and James, I feel the gaze of the people on me, heads turn towards me, and muffled murmurs reach my ear.

I couldn't be more indifferent to it.

"I've never tasted the lasagna so good," I announce, shoving another full fork into my mouth.

"The lasagna tastes just as bad as usual. You're just seeing everything through rose-colored glasses right now because you've been on leave for a week," Lin replies, looking at the portion on her own plate with a skeptical wrinkle of her nose.

"Your demands are simply far too high."

"And yours very, very low, if you really like it. I mean, what is that? Spinach? Overcooked broccoli? You can't see it."

I chew and sigh blissfully. Lin just looks at me shaking his head.

"I really missed you, Ruby."

"So do I, you. I missed everything here. Even the stinky locker room after gym class."

Lin wrinkles his nose again. "You put me on the same level as a changing room after gym class. I should be offended, but I'm just too happy for that today."

I can only grin at that.

After eating, we take away our trays. Before I walk out the door, I look around for James, who is sitting at his usual table by the windows with Kesh, Alistair, and Wren. The four look serious and are talking bent over the table, their heads together. I wonder if James is telling them what happened over the weekend. That he no longer lives with his father and has nothing to do with Beaufort. And that Cyril sent him the original pictures on Saturday.

When I think about what has changed for this clique since September, I get really wistful. James told me what her original plan for this year was: fun, partying, everything without worrying or worrying about the future. Instead, exactly the opposite has happened for all of them.

My gaze lingers on Cyril's seat, which has remained empty for the entire lunch break. Although I will never forgive him for what he did, the picture seems completely wrong to me.

"Did you talk to Cyril again?" I ask Lin as we finally walk out the door.

All of a sudden, her face seems tense. She brushes a strand of black hair behind her ear. "No. And after what he's done to you, I don't intend to speak to him again."

A queasy feeling spreads through my stomach. Cyril has done something unforgivable, but still, something like compassion germinates in me. It can't be easy to get your heart broken first and then lose all your friends.

"Why are you asking?" Lin wants to know.

"Oh, just like that," I reply, trying to ignore the strange feeling in my stomach.

"Did you actually come along well today?" asks Lin after we have walked side by side in silence for a while.

"Yes, thanks to your notes and James's." I smile gratefully at her. "Really, they saved my life."

"No problem."

"I want to return the favor somehow," I say. "Also for all the work you had with the event committee."

Lin waves it off. Then she grins at me from the side. "If I should ever be suspended because I am accused of having an affair with some teacher, you can stand in for me."

I hit her, but she dodges laughing.

"By the way," she says as we enter the library together. "As you totally exaggerated in history earlier. The new guy was totally overwhelmed because you contacted me so often."

By "the new guy," Lin means our new history teacher. He has returned from retirement especially for the last term as a replacement for Mr. Sutton. It was interesting, but also weird, to have lessons with someone who is not Mr. Sutton.

"Is there anything else I need to know for the meeting?"

"Oh!" exclaims Lin. She pauses between two shelves and looks at me wide-eyed. "I think Camille and Doug are together," she whispers to me.

"What?"

"I have no idea when this happened, and apparently it's not official either, but I saw them hugging each other for quite a long time in one of the back parking lots last week. They looked super familiar with each other, held hands and stuff."

"Camille and Doug," I murmur. "Who would have thought that?"

"It was sweet," Lin muses and unlocks the door to the group room with her chip card. "Do you have your key again?"

I shake my head. "Unfortunately not yet. I should have gone to Lexington this morning, but I somehow couldn't bring myself to do it."

"Shall I come with you?" asks Lin after a moment's hesitation as we move forward and put down our things.

"Would you really do that?"

"Sure. I'd be afraid to face him again after something like that."

"I'd prefer never to see him again, to be honest." I remember the disappointment I felt when he threw me out of this school without any emotion in his eyes and without listening to my side of the story.

"The main thing is that you're back here," says Lin. "If you want, I'll be happy to go with you."

I push back the anger that wells up in me at the thought of last week and smile gratefully at Lin.

One by one, the others stroll into the room, all except James, who has to attend a crisis meeting of the lacrosse team called by Coach Freeman. James said I shouldn't worry, but the thought still gives me a queasy feeling.

"Shall we start?" asks Lin, looking around the group. "I had a conversation with Lexington last week. He gave us a whole series of guidelines that we have to stick to this time with the Bonfire. A lot really went wrong last year."

"Yes," says Camille, wrinkled her nose. "There were far too many drunk."

"I heard Lexington kicked a pile of vomit," Doug adds. "Probably that's why he hesitated to give permission."

"This year, we'd actually prefer no one to throw up at all," I say. "That's why we have to assign twice as many teachers as usual so that they keep an eye on the people."

An approving hum goes through the room.

"Ruby and I were thinking earlier that we could ask the dance club if they might want to do a performance. Maybe we'll get people on the dance floor faster with it. What do you think?"

"Only if it is agreed beforehand exactly which choreography they dance. They sometimes do really funny things," Jessalyn points out. She takes the pencil that is stuck behind her ear and turns it back and forth in her hands. "Do you remember the spring performance? They tried to dance like Maddie Ziegler, but it didn't work at all. Especially not with so many people."

"Who is Maddie Ziegler?" asks Doug.

"The dancer in Sia's videos," Jessalyn answers.

"Jessa's right," Lin interjects thoughtfully. "I was really scared during the performance. We should definitely clarify beforehand what we want for the performance."

"I'm happy to do that," says Jessalyn, and a murmur of approval goes through the round.

"Great, thank you. Kieran, have you taken care of the stereo yet?" asks Lin.

"Yes," he answers. "Everything has already been sorted out with janitor Jones."

"You've come a long way," I say with a smile. I look at the list of to-dos that is on the table in front of Lin and me. "I can accept the delivery of wood on Friday. Then I can also make sure that everything is put in the right place right away and not just dumped in front of the school like last year. Do you remember?"

"Oh God, yes," Camille moans. "And then we had to haul the wood ourselves. I caught a splinter back then."

"I have about ten of them, too," says Lin.

"Who has the appointment with the fire department?" Jessalyn suddenly asks, straightening up a bit.

"Ruby and I, of course," Lin replies, brows wobbly.

"Unfair!" shouts Jessalyn, but looks like she's going to laugh at any moment.

"That's the advantage of taking over the management of the team," says Kieran. "You can just pick the tasks that are the coolest. Although I don't quite understand why you are all so keen to listen to a conversation about emergency measures."

"Have you never watched Chicago Fire? "Spicy is the keyword, Kieran," says Jessalyn.

A laugh goes through the round.

At this moment, I'm so happy to be back here that I feel like I'm dreaming.

When James and I return home, there is not a single jacket hanging on the coat rack.

"Ember?" I call through the house.

No answer.

"I think we're alone," I say, frowning at James, as we pull our shoes off our feet and then head to the kitchen.

"You almost seem as if you think it's bad to be alone with me. I don't know if I should worry about that."

I give him a small smile and step up to the sink to wash my hands. "It is not. I'm just worried about Ember. She's gone so often lately and makes a huge secret of where she's going. We always say everything to each other."

James steps next to me and holds his hands under the hot stream of water after me. A thoughtful wrinkle has formed between his brows. "She seems quite happy to me."

I pause and look for the right words to formulate my thoughts and feelings. "I can't describe it properly, but my gut feeling tells me that something is going on with her. And as a rule, I can always rely on my gut feeling."

"Have you ever tried talking to her?"

I shrug my shoulders indecisively. "We've argued more often over Maxton Hall in recent months, and that's when I noticed that she feels like I'm patronizing her. But I don't want that at all. I want us to be friends who can tell each other everything. Especially in view of the fact that I'm moving away soon."

"Why don't you give it a try? Maybe she's waiting for you to approach her."

"Mhm," I say. I open the fridge and take an indecisive look inside. "You're probably right."

James touches me on the shoulder and squeezes briefly.

"We still have a little risotto left. Is that okay with you?" I ask him, feeling his nod as he gets even closer. His hair tickles my cheek. He stands so close to me that I feel his chest in my back.

"That's even something I can do," says James, taking the bowl out of my hand. As if it were a matter of course, he goes to one of the cupboards and takes out a pan. Then he pulls open a drawer, rummages around in it briefly and then brings out a spatula. Then he fills the leftover risotto from the bowl into the pan and places it on the stove.

I watch him for a while as he stirs the risotto with the spatula every now and then, and I can't help but smile that steals onto my face. I think it's cute how comfortable he feels in our kitchen.

When I turn to the wall cabinets to get out plates for the two of us, James is standing in front of me in a flash, the turner in his hand. He keeps it pointed at me like a gun. "I'll do it."

I raise my hands disarmed and make room for him so that he can get the dishes out. Then I lean back against the work surface and watch him place the plates next to the stove and fill up the food after a few minutes.

Armed with our plates and cutlery, we make our way upstairs to my room. I put the laptop down on the bedside table and rotate it so that James and I can both see the screen clearly. We decided to continue watching The Alienist on the bus ride here, so I go to the episode we cut off from the night before and press start. Then I sit down on the floor so that I can lean against the bed next to James.

James hands me my plate, and I start eating my risotto.

"Your first day at school was a complete success, wasn't it?" asks James as the creepy theme tune of the intro begins.

"I'm so glad. You can't even imagine it," I say with my mouth full.

"You could see how happy you are. All day long. Your radiance has lit up the whole school."

I turn my head to him and grin at him from the side. You charmer."

James is merely smiling at the edge of his glass of water, his gaze glued to his laptop. We eat while watching Daniel Brühl, Dakota Fanning, and Luke Evans hunt down a bloodthirsty killer in Victorian New York, and I can't believe how normal and how right it feels to sit here with James.

After dinner, I lean my head against his shoulder and snuggle up to him. He puts a hand on my thigh and strokes it leisurely. It feels good to be so close to him. For the first time in a long time, I really come to rest – and James seems to feel the same way. When the episode is over, I would like to close my eyes and fall asleep next to him.

But I still have a whole bunch of to-dos waiting for me in my bullet journal after today's school day, and even though I've never had a hard time getting up to do my homework, I finally get up. James stretches with a sigh, and as I take my notes out of my backpack and spread them out on my desk one by one, I can hear him laughing restrainedly. I give him a look, and he grins at me.

"Lin and I can't keep up with your color system," he says, nodding at the many worksheets I worked on with highlighters and post-its during school hours.

"No, you did a great job." I also fish my pencil case and bullet journal out of my backpack and then try to get an overview of everything and decide what is best to start with.

"Shall I give you a little time?" asks James after a moment. "I can sit down in the living room."

"No, stay quiet. I want you with me."

"Do you mind if I use your laptop?"

"Don't force yourself," I reply.

"Thank you," says James, pulling the laptop onto his lap. He sits in front of my bed with his ankles crossed while I turn to my homework.

I don't know how much time has passed, but when I put the last cross in my bullet journal, it's already dark outside, and my head feels like it can't absorb a single piece of new information without bursting – a feeling I love. In the meantime, I even forgot that James was in the room with me, but then the soft click of the keyboard behind me reminded me of it again, and I had to smile.

Now I turn around and watch James gaze intently at the screen.

"I'm done," I announce.

James flinches as if he had just been torn from a deep thought. "Oh, already?"

I look at the alarm clock on my bedside table. "It took me over an hour and a half."

James looks at the clock in disbelief. "I've totally forgotten the time."

I get up and sit down next to him again. I look at the laptop, but before I can catch a glimpse of the pages it has opened, James minimizes the browser.

I nudge his leg with mine. "I just wanted to see what's so captivating that makes you forget the time."

"Oh, only stuff."

"It looked like interesting stuff," I say.

James looks at me thoughtfully. After a short hesitation, he opens the browser again. I lean forward to be able to better see which pages he has accessed.

They are blog posts, all of them revolve around the topic of "travel".

"Wow," I murmur and click through a Bali bucket list, tips for cheap travel, the most beautiful beaches in Lombok, seven special Airbnb accommodations, traveling with hand luggage, the best snacks for on the go and some instructions on Wordpress. "That's quite a lot of contributions."

"I also follow quite a few people."

I look up. James gives the impression that he has been caught doing something. "Why do you look like I've detected something indecent in your browser?"

He raises a shoulder indecisively. "I don't know either. That was never something I could pursue greatly. I only watched it to switch off."

"Just like I do my ASMR videos."

"Exactly," he says and smiles slightly. "I wish I could at least immerse myself in another world in this way – if I couldn't travel in real life." He hesitates. "But now—"

I wait, but he doesn't speak any further.

"Now?" I ask cautiously.

It takes him a moment to sort out his thoughts. Then he clears his throat. "Now I have the feeling that it might be . . . more of it." He grimaces. "I know it's totally absurd. What person would refuse a commitment in Oxford to go on a trip and write about it online?"

At that moment, it clicks. James doesn't just want to travel – he wants to keep a blog about his journey. A warm feeling spreads through my chest.

I remember the list I made with James in Oxford. At the time, he doubted that his wanderlust was actually something that could be described as a dream. However, he hadn't broken away from his father yet. Now he could take this step – no one stands in the way of his goals.

"Of course you can, James," I say softly, putting a hand on his arm.

"It's always been the plan, you know? To go to Oxford. Independent of Beaufort and my parents."

I nod.

"Now I think all the time that there is nothing that draws me to this university. Academically, I mean. Of course, I want to be as close to you as possible and be able to see my friends. But then I think about how much you wanted this place and how hard you fought for it. Wouldn't it be unfair if I stole this place from someone who wants it much more than I do?"

"If Oxford isn't what you want to do with your life," I say slowly, "... then don't take the seat."

James lowers his gaze, but I can see in his dark eyes that this is not the first time he has racked his brains over this. He seems completely torn inside.

"Every person deserves a world full of possibilities, remember? And if this is something you really want to do, then you should do it."

He looks up again, and the wrinkle between his brows smoothes out a little. "Do you mean?"

I nod resolutely.

"You could ask Ember how she started her blog. She knows her way around really well and can certainly tell you a little something." I look at the clock and frown. "But for that she would have to finally come home."

"Well," says James, and a small smile plays around the corners of his mouth. "For my sake, Ember can take a little more time."

"Why?"

"Because I would like to show my girlfriend how grateful I am for believing in me and my dreams."

Without looking away from me, James grabs the laptop and closes it. Then he leans forward and presses his mouth to my forehead. He runs his lips a trace over my temple, further down to my cheek and begins to spread more kisses on my face. I close my eyes and let my head sink back against the mattress as James continues to show me his gratitude.

15

Ember

I wait until Wren takes a spoonful of ice cream.

He shoves it into his mouth and makes an ecstatic expression, but even that makes me hesitate.

Eating in the presence of others – especially in public – is difficult for me. Especially with unhealthy things like ice cream, I often have the feeling that I am being eyed diagonally from the side. People judge me – even if they have no idea how I eat otherwise.

Slowly I push the spoon into my chocolate ice cream and look at it indecisively. Then I take a deep breath: I'm here with Wren, in whose presence I feel comfortable. We are friends. And besides, I took a much smaller portion than him, so I can't really stand out negatively.

With all my might, I push the thoughts out of my head and push the spoon into my mouth.

"I wasn't exaggerating, was I?" asks Wren, looking at me expectantly.

"You were right, the ice cream tastes heavenly." I put the spoon down briefly. "I didn't even notice that a new ice cream parlor had opened here."

I look around the terrace of the small shop. Every single chair is occupied, and around the counter there is a cluster of people who want to have their ice cream on their hands. Wren told me that there are discounts for students here, so I'm not surprised by this rush. Apart from that, the weather today is fantastically beautiful.

Apart from my fear, I was very happy about Wren's invitation. While we used to have an excuse to meet – filling out scholarship applications, Wren's move – this time he just asked me if I would like to spend time with him. The fact that he gave me the scoop of ice cream as compensation for my help with the renovation is an extra bonus.

"I think I'm going to move in here," says Wren, the spoon still half in his mouth.

"Move again? After such a short time?" I tease him. Slowly my tension decreases a bit. It gets better the more we talk to each other and the more I block out the other people around us.

Again, there's that mischievous half-smile. "I could get ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. In addition, the counter looks very nice. I'm sure you could make a great cave behind it with the upholstery of the chairs outside."

"I used to build caves with my sister. That was our favorite weekend activity." I take another spoonful of ice cream and try to just enjoy this moment.

Wren stirs his cup and mixes the two ice cream scoops together to create a mushy beige pile. "Oh yes, the boys and I did that too."

"I'm a little jealous of your friendship," I admit.

Wren looks at me questioningly.

"You've been friends with them for so long," I explain. "Sure, I have girlfriends, too, and Ruby and I are very close, but there's no one I've known since I was a kid and hang out with all the time. It has all always grown apart somehow, people have moved away, or our interests have become so far apart that we couldn't do anything with each other anymore. That's not the case with you. Whenever you talk about your boys, it gives the impression that you have grown together instead of moving away from each other."

Wren pauses with the spoon in his ice cream sundae. "That's how it's always been."

There is something in his tone that makes me prick up my ears. "Really?"

He shrugs one shoulder and finally shoves a portion of ice cream into his mouth. There was quite a lot on the spoon, and it takes less than two seconds for him to grimace painfully. I suppress a grin with all my might.

"Brain freeze?" I ask.

He moans in response and puts the spoon aside. "That's what I got from trying to avoid the answer to your question."

"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't like it," I say with a shrug.

"It's not like that at all. I just notice myself that a lot is changing in our circle of friends, and that kind of kills me. I've actually had enough changes now."

"To what extent does your relationship change?"

Wren fiddles with the napkin that lies on the table next to his cup. "We used to meet often at my place, but until now I haven't dared to invite the boys to our new house. I don't want them to see me with different eyes, so somehow I automatically closed myself off from them. I tell them less, and... Actually, it's stupid."

I hum thoughtfully. Wren looks at me. He tilts his head and smiles.

"I can see that you have an opinion on that, Supergirl. Always out with the language," he says, indicating with his hand that I should share my thoughts with him.

"I just think that's total nonsense, to be honest. You've been friends so long—what difference does it matter where you live?"

Wren presses his lips together and looks at his ice cream, which now looks more like a milkshake.

He thinks about my words for a while. "You're right."

"I know."

He lets out a laugh. Then he suddenly reaches across the table for my hand. He holds her tightly and looks deep into my eyes. I feel my heartbeat quickening and return the slight pressure of his hand as if by itself. I don't know what Wren is doing to me. One second he is serious and withdrawn, the next second he completely confuses me with a simple gesture like this.

The moment expands and lasts too long and at the same time far too short. When Wren lets go of my hand and reaches for his spoon, there's nothing I can do about the disappointment that spreads through me.

Wren clears his throat and continues as if nothing had happened. "I was planning to invite her to my house soon anyway. I'm sure everything will return to normal then."

My thoughts are still on our brief touch. I can still feel the warmth of his hand. And then I say something that I can hardly explain to myself.

"Maybe we can all do something together soon."

Wren blinks in surprise, which I can't blame him. So far, we have consistently kept our friendship secret from the others. I think we both found it liberating not to have to worry about how James or Ruby would feel about it, especially since we ourselves had no idea how our friendship would develop. But now I know that I don't want to lose Wren as a friend anymore. I feel safe in his presence, and I don't want to hide that any longer.

Apparently, he feels the same way.

"Gladly," he says after a while and smiles.

I ignore the violent tingling in my stomach with all my might.

Ruby

Since I've been going back to school, time seems to be flying. James and I take turns by bus and his car, and in the meantime Wren has joined us, who either gets on two stops after us or waits for us on the main road and then jumps into James' car.

James and I study for the final exams in every free minute, but it's getting harder and harder for me to concentrate when he's with me. More and more often I catch myself staring at him instead of the book – and sometimes my whole body tingles so much that I'm sure he can feel it next to me.

When the day of the bonfire finally arrives, it's as if my suspension never happened. Yes, some of my classmates still talk about it or look at me a bit too long in the cafeteria, but I'm focusing on the positives: I'm back at Maxton Hall and I'm going to graduate.

"Are you sure that's right?" Lin whispers in my ear as we stand in front of the huge pile and watch the firefighters throw one log after the other at it.

"I think it looked the same last year," I reply just as quietly.

It is now past seven o'clock in the evening, and the first people are arriving. They wander across the schoolyard, where we have set up a drinks stand as well as small food stalls where you can get stick bread, marshmallows on small sticks and French fries.

"Yes?" Lin continues to look skeptical. "Somehow it's like that... misshapen."

I tilt my head and look at the construct that is supposed to burn in less than an hour. "I don't know. Now that you say that, I'm unsure."

"Believe me, it doesn't matter what the pile of wood looks like," James interrupts. "Afterwards everyone will be too drunk to think about it anyway."

Lin and I look at him with narrowed eyes. "There's no alcohol," I say. And no one will be drunk."

He only lifts one shoulder. "You both know how it goes here every year."

I give him a light blow to the upper arm. "We have taken all precautions and are better prepared than last year. Stop driving us crazy."

He smiles. "I just want you not to be disappointed if things don't go as perfectly as you'd hope."

"How chivalrous of you," I say dryly.

"Yes, wow. You're probably only saying that because it was you who made sure everyone was drunk in the past few years. Don't think I've never heard of your legendary trunk." Lin raises an eyebrow.

"Your legendary trunk?" I ask, looking back and forth between the two. "What about your trunk?"

"Nothing, nothing," James says quickly.

"He and his friends were handing out alcohol to the people," Lin explains. "Out of James's trunk."

I twist the corners of my mouth in disgust. "I know exactly why I detested you so much."

James smiles and puts a hand around my neck. He runs his thumb over the sensitive skin there, up to my hairline. Then he leans close to me.

"Now you don't detest me anymore, do you?" he murmurs.

His dark voice and the gentle touch give me goosebumps. I need all my strength not to let it show how soft my knees feel at this second.

"Ms Bell?" a voice sounds behind us, causing my whole back to suddenly stiffen. James' fingers twitch on my neck, as if he wanted to pull them back, but changed his mind at the last moment.

Together we turn to Principal Lexington. When I see his serious gaze, my heart begins to race as if automatically. James' hand slips from my neck to my shoulder, and he pulls me a little closer to him.

I swallow dry. "Yes?"

Lexington clears his throat. "Would you have a moment for me?"

"Now?" I ask, looking uncertainly over my shoulder at the bonfire. "The fire will be lit every minute."

"It only takes a minute," he says.

I hesitate, but at the same time I know that I have no choice. If the principal of my school wants to talk to me, I can't refuse. I successfully avoided this for the last two weeks and only communicated with him via his secretary and a brief e-mail. I don't want to be childish, but the situation in his office is still in my bones. I just can't forget how he treated me back then.

James won't let go of my shoulder. I give him a small smile and reach for his hand to give it a quick squeeze. Then I'll take a step forward.

The headmaster points to a spot a little further to the right. I nod, and together we move away from the others.

I don't have to turn around to know that James' gaze is on me the entire time.

Lexington strokes the collar of his gray suit and looks at me intently through the lenses of his glasses.

"Thank you, sir," I reply stiffly.

He clears his throat. "And I wanted to take the opportunity to tell you personally once again how much I regret the incident of the other day."

I try not to let it show how much his apology surprises me. I didn't expect that, and for a moment I don't know how to react to it.

Lexington clears his throat again. It is a small explosive sound that frees itself from his throat. If I didn't know better, I'd think he's nervous. "I hope you understand that the burden of proof against you was overwhelming at first. My action was required. I couldn't have ignored it."

"I know that," I say. "It's only—" I hesitate and give Lexington an uncertain look.

He nods invitingly. "Feel free to talk to me frankly, Ms. Bell."

I take a deep breath. "I don't think you would have treated many of the other students at this school the way you treated me that Monday."

Lexington frowns. "I am afraid I cannot follow you."

"I wonder if you would have done the same if my parents had periodically transferred large sums of money to Maxton Hall's account."

I can't believe I just really said that. I feel my heart beating fast and hard against my chest as Lexington's eyes widen in indignation.

"Ms Bell," he says. "I must beg very much—"

I shake my head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lexington, but that's how I felt about it. They didn't even give me the opportunity to defend myself. After everything I've done for this school in recent years, I don't think I deserve it."

Lexington stares at me. He opens his mouth – and closes it again.

I wonder if I just made a big mistake, but at the same time I don't care. I stood up for myself and addressed an injustice that has been an issue at Maxton Hall for years. I don't know if I'm changing anything with it, but that's not what I'm interested in.

"Thank you for your honesty," says Principal Lexington finally. "I'm sorry how it all happened. And I hope you know that in the future I will work to ensure that something like this does not happen again." His tone is still friendly, but now a lot more formal. As if he chooses every word carefully. "If you have any problems again, of whatever kind, my office door is always open to you."

I nod, even though I know better by now. I look after Lexington as he walks back to the Bonfire and realize that I'm no longer angry with him. Rather, I am grateful to him at this moment, because he has taught me a valuable lesson. If I am ever in a high position and have to decide the fate of another person, I will not behave like him.

Because now I know that every story has at least two sides and that every one of them deserves to be heard.

James

My task this evening is to sell stick bread to classmates – and to survey the crowd as inconspicuously as possible and look out for Ruby. Every now and then I see her head of brown hair light up in the glow of the fire or she sprints across the square with her clipboard under her arm, but as quickly as she appears in my field of vision, she usually disappears again. So I concentrate on the classmates who come to the booth every now and then and push a few pounds over the counter for me.

What I would never have done in the past and would have found totally stupid with a fairly high degree of probability, gives me immense peace of mind today.

Since the beginning of the year – more precisely, since Mum's death – I've been grateful for every distraction I can find, so that I don't have to brood over the things that are all going wrong in my life right now.

When I'm on the events team, I don't have to think about the fact that I'm practically homeless and that I'm on my girlfriend's parents' pocket.

If I exhaust myself in training, I don't have to waste a thought on the fact that I have trampled on my mum's legacy.

And if I study like a madman, I don't have to look for the answer to the question of what the hell I want to do with a high school diploma when I have no idea what to do with my life.

I try not to show anything in front of Ruby, but it gets harder with each passing day. Because the more I brood, the clearer it becomes to me that there are no answers to my questions – and the more overwhelming my worries become.

"You've got flour on your trousers, man."

I flinch and look up. Wren stands in front of me and points to my legs with a grin.

"Is it already nine?" I ask in surprise and look at the clock. Wren and I have agreed that he will pick me up here after my shift and that we will continue our old tradition and spend the Bonfire together.

Wren nods, and I half-heartedly pat my jeans. After handing over the cash register to Kieran and wiping my hands on a towel, I step out from behind the booth.

I've always seen Wren during the last few weeks during the trips to school, in class and at training, but it still seems to me as if our last real conversation was an eternity ago.

"How are you?" I finally ask. On the one hand, because I can't think of anything else, and on the other hand, because I really want to know the answer to this question.

"I was just going to ask you that."

"It's a good thing I asked first."

Wren grins, and together we stroll away from the Bonfire to the edge of the site, where the smokers stand and a few people drink beer.

"I'm fine," Wren says after a while.

The music coming out of the speakers gets quieter the further we get away from the fire.

"How... Is it so?" I ask cautiously. Wren has hardly let us participate in his new life so far. He says nothing about the house he moved into, nothing about how his parents dealt with the new beginning. I know from Alistair that he has been to training just as rarely as I have, but when I ask him how he is doing, he changes the subject every time.

Wren is ashamed, you can clearly see that. And it kills me that he thinks he can't talk to me about it – after all, we're fucking in the same boat.

Even now, I firmly expect him to evade my question again, but he surprises me. "Different," he says. "But it's okay. We finally have the Internet."

He takes a hip flask out of the inside pocket of his jacket and takes a big sip. Then he holds out the small silver bottle to me. I hesitate only a moment before I accept it and drink from it as well. This moment between us almost feels like it used to.

"I'm getting used to Gormsey," he continues. "However, I think it's really creepy that the neighbors greet you all the time."

"It's the same in Ruby's street," I say, handing the hip flask back to him. "They even know my name now."

Wren grins. "It's kind of nice, too."

For a while we walk side by side in silence.

"By the way, I've found a potential buyer for my Beaufort shares," I finally say as we stop quite a bit away from the bonfire. "My financial advisor is still doing all kinds of background checks, but it looks quite good."

"That would be a big step, man," Wren says deliberately. "I'm glad for you."

"Nothing is fixed yet. And I would like to meet with her again before that. But yes, if everything goes well, it'll be over by the end of the school year."

"Wow. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for you."

"Thank you." I smile at him crookedly from the side. "Then I can finally give the Bells back their couch. No matter how many times I suggest it, they won't let me move to the hotel."

The corners of Wren's mouth twitch. "I believe you at your word."

I raise an eyebrow in surprise, but Wren continues to speak before I can ask him what he means. "I've been thinking about throwing a housewarming party soon." He turns the hip flask back and forth in his hand and runs his fingers over the engraving on the edge. "I'd like to show you my new home."

"Cool," I say immediately. "When?"

"Next weekend, perhaps? I—" Wren interrupts himself and has to clear his throat. "Would you go shopping with me? Alcohol and stuff?"

"Sure."

He nods and puts the hip flask back on. I can see the relief in his eyes, but I can't make sense of it.

"I wasn't sure you would want to do that," he says after a moment.

"Of course we do," I say perplexed.

He just shrugs his shoulders.

"Listen, I know I've been anything but a good friend for the past few months. But of course I want to know how you live now and what has changed. I just thought you didn't want to talk about it, so I didn't want to push you. If it came across as if I wasn't interested, then I'm sorry."

Wren shakes his head. "It's not," he says.

"What then?" I ask cautiously.

"Normally... oh, I don't know. We're actually going through the same thing, but it still seems like an impossible task to talk to you about all this shit."

"Is that why you have the hip flask with you?" I ask and try to grin. Wren reciprocates timidly and toasts me.

"There's so much going on at the moment. I applied for scholarships and furnished the room, and now I'm looking for jobs. Unfortunately, none of them want anyone who will soon move away to study."

"That sucks. I can also keep my eyes open if you like."

Wren just shrugs his shoulders. Nevertheless, I make a mental note to look at the classifieds from now on as soon as Mr. Bell puts the newspaper aside in the morning.

"Thank you."

"Anything else happened?" I ask. "You seem ... different."

Wren lets out a snorting laugh. "That's what you can call it, yes."

We take a few more steps across the lawn, then he suddenly stops. He tilts his head back and looks up at the sky, which has now turned deep purple. The music is so quiet here that you can hardly make out which song is playing. That's the only reason I understand Wren's next words: "I think I'm about to fall in love."

Surprised, I continue to look at him from the side, but Wren makes such a scowl that I don't dare to ask for details.

"You look as if the world will soon end because of this."

He exhales audibly and crosses his arms behind his head. "I don't know what to do with it. Why now of all times? That doesn't suit me at all."

I have to laugh about that. Wren looks at me angrily.

"Sorry. I just think that love doesn't wait patiently for a suitable time. It assails you from behind, and when you least expect it."

He snorts. "Then love is a sneaky bastard."

I grin. Wren maintains his feigned angry expression for about two seconds until he has to return the grin.

"I'm just thinking over and over again about what our plan was for years. And then I look at us now and can only laugh at how stupid and naïve we were," he says finally.

"The year can still be the best of our lives."

He lowers his arms and snorts. "God, please don't. The best year of my life must not start so shitty. I don't accept that."

"You're right. I just wanted to say something optimistic."

"You're spending too much time with Ember," he says. At my look, he quickly adds: "And Ruby."

Wren kicks a stone out of the way. We both watch him roll away from us a few meters. "How was it with you? By Ruby, I mean."

I have to think about that for a moment. "It just happened somehow. At first I wanted to defend myself, but I quickly realized that it was pointless. I love Ruby. That won't change anytime soon."

Wren's eyes widen a bit. "Really?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Yes."

"That sounds so super serious. As if you were sure you wanted to spend your life with her."

"Maybe I want to." The words come by themselves, and while half a year ago I was still struggling with myself, now they don't scare me at all. Rather the opposite.

"Shit, man." Wren shakes his head.

"Do you want to tell me something about her?" I ask.

He rubs the back of his head. "I'd rather not."

"Okay. But just so you know: I'm here to talk. And I think maybe we should do that more often."

"Thank you. I think so too."

I watch a few students from the lower classes running around the fire and chasing each other with sticks. A few of them simulate sword fights, and I see Lin handing out warnings – even though she pricked me in the back with a stick earlier.

"Have you heard of Cy lately?" asks Wren suddenly.

I look at the sparks that rise from the fire to the sky and ultimately burn out there. "No."

"I'm starting to worry. He hasn't been to school for two weeks. No one knows what is the matter with him."

I shouldn't care, but there's nothing I can do about the worry that arises in me.

"Maybe I should invite him to the party, too," Wren continues. "Although he probably won't come anyway. Right now, he's ignoring all the messages I send him. I'm sure he's reproaching himself for the Ruby and Lydia thing."

"He should, damn it," I exclaim, sharper than intended. I sigh. "I don't know if I can ever forgive him for that. He could have destroyed Ruby's future with this action."

"But he realized his mistake and tried to make up for it, didn't he?"

I don't answer him.

"An invitation can't hurt. Believe me, I know he screwed up. But all of us have had that before. If we're not there for him now, that would be pretty self-righteous, wouldn't you think?"

I clench my teeth tightly. Then I stretch out my hand and have the hip flask handed to me. I take a few sips, enjoying the burning sensation running down my throat.

"I hate it when you're right," I say finally.

Wren wraps an arm around my shoulder, grinning.

When I say goodbye to Wren, I go back in search of Ruby. I have a blanket in the car and a small speaker, hoping that after the event is over, we can stay on the grounds for a while and look at the starry sky.

In the last two weeks, we have rarely had the opportunity to be alone. Ruby's parents are not strict, but the mere possibility that they could be in the room at any moment ensures that I keep a certain distance from Ruby. At least for the most part. I really don't want to be disrespectful to the Bells. After all, I have them to thank for the fact that I have a roof over my head.

I find Ruby at the Bonfire. She is standing next to Rector Lexington, who is just finishing the event and thanking everyone involved. The glow of the fire bathes her in glowing light, so that she almost looks like an avenging angel.

Without taking my eyes off her, I take my phone out of my pocket, turn on the camera and press the shutter release. A pleasant shiver runs through me as I look at the picture.

I'm just about to plug the phone back in when a new message lights up. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I see that it is from my father. After I ignored his first email, he wrote to me again a week ago and told me that he was disappointed in me, but that he was giving me another chance to come to my senses. I didn't answer again and hoped he would finally leave me alone.

But when I open his message, I realize that I was wrong. For my father, the matter is not closed. For him, it is just beginning.

You didn't want it any other way.

16

James

I didn't tell Ruby about Dad's messages.

I know it's wrong. We swore to each other to keep no more secrets from each other and to talk to each other about everything that concerns us. But I can't bring myself to burden her with my problems again. She has enough on her plate at the moment: the final exams are getting closer and closer, and the applications for the Oxford scholarships are entering the hot phase. I don't want her to have to worry about me now – especially since I don't know what my father's cryptic message means.

His goal was probably to intimidate me, but he achieved exactly the opposite. I have never been so sure that I have made the right decision. And I've never been more motivated to finally take into my own hands what I've been thinking about for weeks.

On Saturday night, I wait for Ruby to disappear into the bathroom to get ready for Wren's party, then I go to Ember's room. I take a deep breath and finally knock on the door, which is open a crack.

"Yes?" calls Ember from inside. She sits at her desk, her laptop open in front of her and a cup of tea in her hand. When she spots me, she raises her eyebrows.

"Do you have a moment?" I ask.

Ember nods. "Sure, come in. What's Ruby doing?"

"She's getting ready and facetimed with Lydia."

"Oh, yes." When I stop next to her desk, she tilts her head. "What's the matter?"

I point to her laptop. »I have a few questions about your blog. Or for blogging in general.«

Ember looks at me for a few seconds, then nods briefly. If I surprised her with it, she doesn't show anything. Instead, she pulls out a small wooden stool from under the desk. "Sure. Will you sit down?"

I take a seat next to her and run my hand through my hair briefly. Then I exhale audibly. "I've been dealing with Wordpress in the last few days and thought you might be able to explain it all to me a little more understandably than all the guides online."

"Oh, of course. I wish I had had someone to show me all this back then," she says. She turns her laptop towards me so that we can both see the screen well. Then she opens the browser and enters a URL that pops up a small field with login data. Bellbird opens it in another tab.

"So: Everything you find here on the homepage you can find in the dashboard ..." It switches to the first window. »… and coordinate. First of all, I would recommend that you familiarize yourself with it, because you control the entire blog from here.« She clicks on a button, and a black-gray field appears on the side.

"Okay. How did you program the site? Did you have a web designer?"

"You need a provider to host your site. If you do this on Wordpress, there are many ready-made themes that you can buy. Here, I'll show you where I found my design.«

It opens a website where various themes are available for purchase.

"You always have to look a little beforehand at what you want to achieve with your site. This one, for example, is a very nice design, but it wouldn't fit my content at all. «

I nod. »What did you attach particular importance to in your design?«

"It definitely had to be responsive and work just as well on mobile devices as it did on the computer. Otherwise, the home page was important to me, oh, and the sidebar. There are now so many vendors who have beautiful designs in their stores. I then saved the best ones and went through them over and over again for weeks until I decided."

"I wonder how we should know all this."

"You learn that over time."

"Did you raise it so professionally from the beginning?"

She shakes her head. "No, but I wish I had." She scrolls even further through her web designer's page and stops at some point. Then she looks at me from the side. "Why are you interested in that?"

I shrug my shoulders. »I like blogs. They help me to relax. I can learn or see new things that I would never think of otherwise."

"That's how it started for me, too," says Ember and smiles meaningfully. "Until I opened my own site at some point."

It's on the tip of my tongue to say what's going through my head at that moment: I have no idea what to do with my life, and this is the only thing that has interested me for years.

Maybe I'll manage to say that someday. Unfortunately, this moment has not yet come today.

Instead, I return Ember's gaze. "How did you know you had something to tell?" I finally ask.

A slight smile spreads on Ember's lips. "Everyone has something to tell, James."

Ruby

Even on the display of James' cell phone, I can see how much color Lydia has gotten on her face. She wears her hair open and wavy, and her eyes literally light up when she tells me about the past week. "We found it depressing to be inside all the time when the weather is so nice. So Ophelia moved her office to the terrace without further ado." She grins. "Although I'm pretty sure that she just wanted to have an unobstructed view of the gardeners who are currently sprucing up their garden."

I have to laugh and almost burn my forehead on the straightener I'm using to shape my bangs.

"James and I must come to see you again soon. I also want to get to know your private teacher. Is she still so super strict?"

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Compared with her, Lexington is a pious lamb."

I cast a skeptical glance into the front camera.

"Really. She is totally meticulous and even pays attention to handwriting and so on. If it's not perfect, it's done again. On the one hand, I find it exhausting, but on the other hand, I'm glad that she treats me as if I were normal."

"You're normal, Lydia."

She clicks her tongue. "You know what I mean."

I grab the hairspray from the closet and spray it once over my entire head with my eyes closed.

"Even two hundred miles away, I feel like I'm coughing," Lydia remarks, and I laugh again. "You look very handsome, by the way."

"You're nice, thank you." I take a quick look at myself in the small picture that can be seen on the display. Yes, everything fits. Hopefully it would stay that way tonight. "What are you up to for the weekend?" I ask.

"Nothing special. Graham comes later and stays until Monday morning. I'm pretty sure Ophelia will take the opportunity to persuade him to have a baby shower."

"Oh!" I exclaim. "That sounds great."

"Do you think so?" She frowns. "I don't know. Isn't that kind of funny?"

"Why?" I ask.

"Well. After everything that's happened, I'm just not sure if a baby shower is really appropriate."

I can only shake my head at that. I walk close to the front camera and look at Lydia seriously. "Lydia, so far your pregnancy hasn't given you a reason to be happy. But this is supposed to be a happy time in your life. If you're ready to share it with others and celebrate yourself and your babies, then I think you should definitely do that."

Lydia exhales audibly.

"You're happy, aren't you?"

"Yes, by now," she says immediately.

"Then I don't know what would stop you from throwing a party for you and your babies."

A slight smile spreads across Lydia's face. "Would you come to a baby shower?"

"I'd love to come. And the others certainly do too."

"Ophelia is definitely on fire. I don't know where she gets the time from, but she's knitted several hats and a blanket for the little ones in the last few days."

"That's so cute."

"Yes, but I have to say that her strengths definitely lie elsewhere. The blanket is more suitable as a potholder because it is so hard." She smiles. "But never mind. I'm happy anyway."

"I'm so glad to see you so happy. It seems like your time with Ophelia is really good for you."

"So it is. Actually, this was supposed to be a kind of punishment. Dad certainly didn't expect us to get along so well."

"It almost sounds like you can imagine staying with her any longer."

She nods. "I had thought it over. "It's good to be with someone who understands me as she does," says Lydia. On the other hand, it's not fair to turn their lives upside down like that. She has just enough to do."

I go to my closet and open it with one hand. "And what about Mr. Sutton?"

Lydia just laughs. "You really need to stop calling him that."

I pick up my brogues and walk back to the desk with them. Carefully, I lean the cell phone against an old glass of water. "He may have always been Graham to you, but not to me. I find it strange to suddenly address him by his first name."

"We'll teach you that," Lydia says confidently. Then she bites her lower lip before hesitantly continuing to speak. "Graham... asked me if we wanted to move in together."

I pause with a shoe in my hand and look at my cell phone. "And?"

Lydia nods, and a smile spreads across her face. "I think I could imagine that," she whispers.

At this moment, such a difference to the Lydia I found crying in a toilet in Oxford can be seen that my heart warms.

"I'm happy for you," I say honestly.

"Please don't tell my brother yet," she quickly adds. "Otherwise he'll ask me a thousand questions again, which I can't answer yet anyway."

"I will be silent as a grave."

"How is he?" she asks.

I slip into the shoes and fasten the first shoelace while I think about the question. "Good, I think. But you know how he always keeps everything to himself until it bursts out of him with full force."

Lydia sighs softly. "Looks familiar. How is he coping with the Dad thing?"

"Every time I talk to him about it, I have the feeling that the topic is uncomfortable for him. At the moment, I'm trying to respect that. I trust that he will come to me if he wants to talk."

She nods. All of a sudden, she seems thoughtful. "I could shake him sometimes if he doesn't want to talk."

I also close the second shoelace and think about her words. "He talked to Wren for a long time on the Bonfire. The main thing is that he talks to someone. It doesn't necessarily have to be me."

"I'm sure he just doesn't want to incriminate you after all that happened."

"I don't know." I get up from the chair, take a step backwards and then turn around once. "What do you mean?"

"Very pretty! Did Ember sew the skirt?" asks Lydia, squinting her eyes a bit.

"How did you know that?" I reply and look down at myself. The hem of the dark blue circle skirt is embroidered with small flowers that can only be seen up close.

"I don't know, I had that feeling." Her tone of voice makes me sit up and take notice.

"She must have sent you a picture, you cheater."

Lydia grins. "She regularly supplies me with her latest things. Sometimes I even get to show them to Ophelia and ask her for feedback."

"Would you like to say hello to Ember?" I ask, grabbing my bag.

"Oh yes, gladly."

With James' cell phone in front of my nose, I go to Ember's room and knock on the door. I can hear low voices, then Ember calls, "Come in!"

When I open the door, I stop on the spot.

Next to Ember, directly at their desk, sits James. In front of them is Ember's laptop, on whose screen I can see the Bellbird logo. The moment James sees me, he stands up.

"Um, here's someone who wanted to say hello to you, Ember." I go to her and hold out the cell phone to her. She takes it out of my hand and grins at Lydia.

"You sewed a nice skirt for Ruby," she says as a greeting.

"Did you recognize him from the photo?" asks Ember.

I hear Lydia make an approving sound. Meanwhile, I turn to James and put a hand on his hip. "What did you do?"

"Ember showed me her blog," he says, but before I can follow up, he glances at the watch. "Shall we go?"

"Where are you going?" asks Lydia.

"To Wren," says James. "He's having a housewarming party."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ember suddenly turn pale at James' words. Her mouth opens a little bit. "Oh. Cool." She holds out the cell phone to James.

"Thank you," he says and then turns to Lydia again. "I'll get back to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure. I can do it from one, before that I have lessons."

"Tomorrow is Saturday," he says with a frown.

"My private teacher is of the opinion that I should prepare as much material as possible in case the twins come too early. That's not so unusual," says Lydia.

I whistle briefly. "Now I understand what you mean by 'severe.'"

"Well, what the heck. I wish you a great evening. Say hello to the boys from me!"

"I'll do it," says James with a wry smile and hangs up. Then he turns to Ember. "Thank you for taking the time to explain everything to me. That was a great help."

"No problem," my sister murmurs. "Have fun tonight."

She has her eyes fixed on her laptop, but it seems to me that she is looking straight through the screen.

17

Ember

Kingfitz: I want to see you again, Supergirl

Kingfitz: Fancy a coffee?

Kingfitz: Thank you for being here today. I don't know if I could have done it without you

Kingfitz: You're the best X

Kingfitz: I wish we had built a cave in the ice cream parlor and just stayed there

Kingfitz: I'm in favor of trying our way through all the ice cream parlors within a five-mile radius and then setting up a ranking

Aside from the fact that Wren's lack of capitalization drives me crazy, my fingers quiver with anger as I scroll through our message thread. All of a sudden, the words I have been so attached to seem empty and meaningless.

I can't believe I've made a fool of myself like that.

I googled for hours for scholarships. I helped him renovate his room so that he would feel comfortable in his new home. I listened to his worries and talked to him for hours about what it was like back then after Dad had his accident. That I felt just as desperate, even though I was still a little girl and had no idea how everything would change for us. I confided my fears to him because I thought I had found someone with whom I could talk about all the things I couldn't talk to my sister about.

And now?

Now he's having a housewarming party without inviting me or even telling me about it.

I thought we were friends. I thought he would also be willing to take this whole thing between us to the next level. But apparently I was wrong.

Will we see you tomorrow?

That was his last message to me. He sent it to me this afternoon, and I was so stupid and answered him with a clare. I have no idea how to behave now. Only one thing I know for sure: I will not eat my anger into myself.

Indecisively, I stare at the glowing buttons of my cell phone and search for the right words.

Have fun at your party, traitors.

That sounds far too childish. I immediately delete the draft again.

I look at the TV. Gordon Ramsey is yelling at another chef, and I can't help but think of the evening when Dad and I watched a best-of and rolled over with laughter when Ramsey just yelled around in the kitchen for fifteen minutes at a time.

Maybe I should watch this video again now.

"Why are you making such a long face, sparrow?" asks Mum suddenly.

I sigh. She really doesn't miss anything. Just as Wren calls me a superheroine, I do it in my mind with my mum when she sees something that no one else notices.

"Have you ever had friends who ostracized you from one day to the next?" I ask.

My mother puts aside the Kindle she just held in front of her nose. She looks at me thoughtfully and brushes her hair behind her ear.

"I had a girlfriend like that when I was at school, yes."

"How did you deal with it?" I ask.

"Most of the time I overlooked it. But once I dared to say something. That was when she threw a party on my birthday and no one showed up for mine."

"Oh God, Mum. That sounds terrible."

"Are you talking about Samantha Baker?" Dad asks suddenly. "That bitch."

"Angus!" says Mum.

"It's true. I thought it was great when you gave her her opinion."

Mum's cheeks turn slightly reddish. "Thank you, honey."

"What did you do?" I ask.

"I told her how her actions made me feel. She always ignored me in front of our classmates, but as soon as we were alone, I was her best friend. I didn't think that was okay. I gave her the chance to change, but she didn't want to."

"And then?" I ask.

"I broke off my friendship with her and decided never to let anyone treat me so badly again. I have learned to always take my needs and feelings seriously. And I can only give you that tip, Ember."

I think about her words for a while. I told her how her actions made me feel.

No one has ever hurt me as much as Wren did today. Maybe that's exactly what I should tell him.

I think it sucks that you're throwing a housewarming party without me. I actually thought we were friends.

As I type the words, I feel strangely exposed. That's how it always feels when I write a personal post on my blog and talk about the things that are close to my heart.

I hesitate, but only for a short moment, then I take an example from my mum and send the message. Then I lock the phone and place it next to me on the couch with the display facing down.

"Thank you, Mum," I say quietly.

"Would you like to talk about it, sparrow?"

I shake my head. Then I lean on Dad's shoulder and push Wren Fitzgerald out of my thoughts.

James

"Well," Alistair says, toasting Wren with the beer bottle. "I like it here."

Wren raises his eyebrows and looks around his room as if he were looking at it himself for the first time.

"Me too," I agree with Alistair, meaning it. It may not be as big as Wren's previous room, and maybe the walls aren't covered in pig-expensive wallpaper, but it's cozy, and Wren has managed to give it his own personal touch. He hung up a handful of framed pictures and put the lacrosse trophies we've won over the past few years on the shelf. Alistair, Kesh and I gave him a glass whiskey set as a move-in gift, which now adorns his desk. Some furniture is from Ikea, others from Wren's old house, and an oriental rug is spread out in the middle of the room.

"The house is really cute," Ruby says next to me. She's leaning against me, and I run my hand over her back lost in thought as I watch Wren.

Something is wrong with him this evening. He has never put down his cell phone once and sometimes stares at the display for minutes.

His mood is depressed, and I don't think it's just because he's uncomfortable that there's no room for chairs in his new room, so we're all sitting on the floor. Something else seems to be going through his head, and I wonder if it has to do with the mysterious girl he didn't want to tell me more about at the Bonfire a week ago.

"And your garden is really big," Alistair adds. "If you miss the pool, we can buy an inflatable one in the summer."

He walks across the room and climbs over Kesh's legs without looking at him. Then he sits cross-legged between me and Wren. Kesh frowns and begins to roll up the fringes of the carpet between his fingers. I wonder if the two of them have argued again.

"We always did that in childhood," says Ruby with a smile.

"That's right," I say. "There are pictures of it hanging in your hallway."

Ruby thrusts her elbow into my side. That hurts, but I still have to grin.

"Don't tell me there are pictures of you with water wings," Alistair says.

"Yes, something like that," Ruby murmurs. Her cheeks are slightly red, but she grins as well as she takes a sip of her Coke. I never thought I'd see her so relaxed in the presence of my friends, and it makes me happy to be able to spend this evening here with her.

"Well, I could well imagine that your neighbors would be happy if you put on a little strip show every day in the summer, Wren," Alistair muses. "Maybe they'll take pictures and hang them in the hallway." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"On the way here, I met three women who wished me a lot of fun at the housewarming ceremony," Kesh adds. "It seems you've already made a lasting impression in the area."

Wren groans. "Mum talks too much to them."

"That's the way it should be when you're looking for good neighborliness," Ruby interjects.

"They all looked very adorable," Alistair agrees, but his dirty smile speaks volumes.

"How about you pull off the pool number and charm the neighbors?" suggests Wren. "It won't be successful with me."

"No wonder you walk around with that expression all the time." Kesh pushes away the chips that we first passed around, but which eventually came to a halt in the course of the evening.

Wren gasps indignantly. "Hello? What's wrong with my facial expression, please?"

"He looks about as inviting as a board of nails on fire." Kesh pulls his brows together tightly and looks grimly around the group. When he arrives at Alistair's place, his face slips a bit, and he quickly averts his gaze. An awkward pause ensues, in which Alistair frowns at Kesh. He takes a deep breath, and his forehead smoothes out a bit.

"Actually, you still have to twist the corners of your mouth down a bit," he says after a short moment and also looks grim. "Something like that."

Kesh seems to be thrown off his game for a moment. When a grin spreads on his lips, it seems to come from the heart.

He imitates Alistair's expression. "Hello, I'm Wren Fitzgerald and I don't feel like company. Leave me alone, dear neighbors, so that I can continue to eke out my existence as a grumpy teenager, thank you very much."

Alistair, Ruby and I start snorting, and after a short hesitation Wren joins in. Kesh leans back on his elbow and smiles to himself.

"You're so shitty. Can anyone tell me why I invited you in the first place?" he asks after we have all calmed down a bit.

"Because you value your friends and don't want to spend your evenings without them?" I ask.

"Or maybe because you need someone to inaugurate the sofa?" says Alistair.

"Or because you want someone to leave crumbs on the carpet?" Kesh knocks some of the chip residues off the patterned carpet with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"The carpet is new, man."

Kesh then picks up the bowl of chips and holds it out to Wren with a grin.

"Guys," Alistair interrupts Wren as he is about to say something.

We all look at him. He holds up his cell phone, which shows a photo of a crowd. The flash overexposes the image, and it is not apparent at first glance who is depicted in the photo.

"James McCormack is apparently throwing a party today."

"And?" asks Wren disinterestedly. We all can't stand McCormack. Not because he's the captain of the Eastview lacrosse team, but because he's an arrogant, nasty guy who provokes us again and again at our games.

I lean forward and squint my eyes. And then I know what Alistair means. At the edge of the picture you can see someone who is supported by two other people and gives the impression that he is going to vomit his heart out at any second. And this someone looks suspiciously like...

"Is that Cy?" asks Kesh with a furrowed brow.

"One hundred percent," Alistair replies with a nod and then looks questioningly at Wren.

"It looks really bad," says Wren.

I growl in agreement. Cyril is deathly pale, his hair hangs stringy in his forehead. Someone holds a cell phone in his face to take a photo, and he raises his hand defensively, but doesn't seem to be able to do so anymore.

"Didn't you want to invite him?"

Wren nods. "Yes, but he didn't answer again."

Suddenly there is something heavy in the air between us.

"What do you think?" Alistair suddenly asks the group. "How about we pay James McCormack a little visit?"

The ground under my feet vibrates. The music is so loud that the walls shake. I push my way through clusters of people, some dancing, others trying to talk over the noise. Someone jerkily lifts his beer bottle, and I get splashes of the contents in my face. Annoyed, I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand. One of the guys I know from lacrosse rams his elbow into my side as he passes. When I look at him frowning, he gives me a challenging look. But I don't have the nerve for that.

I lean down to Ruby, who is walking next to me and hasn't said a word in a while.

"Are you okay?" I ask aloud.

She nods and throws me a forced smile. I can't blame her. Instead of sitting in Wren's cozy room, we let Alistair's chauffeur take us to Eastview, where the party of the century is obviously taking place.

Damn James McCormack.

"If you'd rather go home...", I start again, whereupon Ruby just rolls her eyes.

"I'll stay with you." She squeezes my hand and then pulls me to the stairs that lead up to the upper floor of the villa.

I ignore people's looks. Our reputation in Eastview is not the best. Not only did we destroy the lacrosse team time and time again in the championship, Alistair is also notorious for attacking McCormack twice – with an unpleasant outcome. As we walk upstairs, I hear someone making him stupid, and when I glance over his shoulder, I just see Kesh shouldering a guy who got pretty close to Alistair.

"Don't let yourself be provoked," says Wren, walking in front of Ruby and me, looking around for Cyril.

The music echoes throughout the lobby, a booming house beat that makes the chandelier clink and my skull buzz. I almost wish I could drink as well, but that's out of the question. I need a clear head.

"Do you have any idea where he might be?" shouts Wren over his shoulder.

I shake my head. The house where the party takes place belongs to McCormack's parents, and I can vaguely remember having been here before. The winding banister and the ugly paintings of fruit baskets and old vases look familiar to me. At that time I was so drunk that I have no idea where something is in here.

We go up the last steps and then walk through the hallway to a double-winged door. Wren's shoulders stiffen, and when I catch a glimpse into the room, I know why.

On a table where I can still see the remains of a poker game, Cyril is standing. He bawls along loudly to the song, which echoes through the room, and holds a half-filled whiskey glass in his hand, from which drops fly with each of his exuberant movements. In front of him stands a girl on the table, who dances just as exuberantly as he does and then calls out to him to drink. He puts his head back and empties the glass – and the next moment he throws it across the room. It smashes against the wall, but no one seems to be bothered by it. On the contrary: a loud cheering goes through the room. Cyril bows with a laugh, stumbles and holds on to the girl.

"I can't believe I was worried about him," Wren says, shaking his head.

"I just think that shows how justified your concern was," says Alistair, who has stepped up next to us. "His behavior reminds me of James' in December."

The remark stabs me in the pit of my stomach. "We have to get him out of here," I shout to them over the music. I exchange a look with the boys, then I turn to Ruby. "Will you stay here for a moment? We'll get him and then we'll disappear."

Ruby's gaze is worried as he slides from me to Cyril, who is now swaying on the table and loudly demanding a new drink. Finally, she nods. I give her a kiss on the forehead, then I turn around, walk across the room and jump onto the table without further ado.

When Cyril sees me, he frowns. His eyes are red, and I can't tell if he's drunk or crying. His gaze becomes even more serious when he discovers the others below. Then he swallows hard.

The girl who danced with him stopped. She seems to notice how serious the mood suddenly is, and lets herself be helped off the table with a sigh. Meanwhile, Cyril and I just look at each other. I'm looking for the anger I've felt over him for the past two weeks, but surprisingly I can't find it. Not when I see how bad he is at this second.

"What are you doing here?" he slurps after a while.

I swallow hard. "We're here to pick you up."

Cyril staggers from side to side without looking away from me. A glazed look enters his eyes.

"Come on," I say and nod to the door. Then I grasp his arm and help him down from the table together with Wren. A few boos ring out around us, out of the corner of my eye I can see someone else taking Cyril's place on the table and is immediately cheered on to drink.

We try to support Cyril – Wren to his left, I to his right – but he keeps collapsing.

"Damn it, Cy," Wren groans. "Can you help at least a little?"

Cy slurps an answer, but I only listen with half an ear, because at this moment we reach the double door – and Ruby is no longer there.

I curse softly and look around for Alistair and Kesh, who are also staring at the same spot.

"Where is she?" asks Alistair.

Kesh, who is the tallest of us all, looks around in all directions. When his gaze darkens, I know that he must have spotted her.

"She's standing at the gallery. At McCormack's," he adds, but by then I've already started moving. I put Cyril's arm around Keshav's shoulders and immediately begin to fight my way through to her.

"Beaufort!" says McCormack when he spots me. He has one hand resting on the railing next to Ruby. In the other, he holds a cup with which he toasts me. "How nice that you show up. I don't remember inviting you." His tone is polite, almost as if greeting old friends – but we all know that we are exactly the opposite.

"I see you're taking care of this failure," McCormack continues. He grimaces in disgust as he looks Cyril up and down. "The idiot threw up all over my toilet."

I don't want to be provoked by him. Really not. But then he lifts his hand off the railing and touches Ruby on the hip. "And what brings you here?"

She takes a step towards me and away from McCormack at the same moment that I take one forward.

I open my mouth, but Ruby is faster. "Please don't touch me," she says, her tone friendly. I take her hand in mine as she stands next to me.

McCormack looks from me to Ruby and back. His mocking smile becomes even wider. "How nice. Now that we've got that out of the way, feel free to leave. I really don't need rubbish like you here."

I feel how I automatically clench my free hand into a fist. "Be careful what you say," I growl.

"Let it be, James," Wren admonishes me quietly.

"You'd better listen to your lapdog, Beaufort."

I take a step towards him, but suddenly there is Alistair at my side, holding me back by the arm. I glared at him angrily.

"You made a mess of me last time when I attacked him, so don't look like that," he snaps at me.

I know he's right. Nevertheless, I am foaming with anger. It's one thing when McCormack turns on me stupidly from the side. But he has insulted my friends and Ruby, and everything in me wants to show him exactly what I think of it.

But then I look at Ruby and think about how her parents would feel if I came home with a black eye or scraped ankles.

Not good, that's for sure.

I swallow hard and then turn around. While Kesh and Wren support Cyril, I hold Ruby's hand.

Together we leave the party.

18

Alistair

We are guaranteed to give a magnificent picture as we roam through the deserted streets of Eastview with Cyril in our midst. At first he can hardly stand upright, and we only make progress because Keshav and Wren pull him along, but the longer we are on the road, the better he feels. When we finally found a shop after two miles that is still open at this time, we were in the fresh air for so long that it is at least responsive again.

He drops onto the bench while Wren and Kesh sit next to him and James, Ruby and I sit opposite him. Then he stares past us out of the window, an apathetic look in his eyes.

The longer I look at Cyril, the more worried I am about him. James seems to feel the same way, because his facial expression is a mixture of compassion, concern and anger. After everything Cyril did to him, Lydia and Ruby, I can't blame him for the latter.

"How about you tell us what the hell you did at McCormack in the first place?" Wren suggests casually after our drinks have been brought. A still water for Cyril, Coke for the rest of us – although I saw exactly how Kesh and Wren flirted with the alcohol menu.

"Distraction," Cyril says simply, trying hard not to babble. He really looked better before: His face is red, his hair stringy, and there are spots on his white shirt that I'd rather not know where they come from.

"I invited you to my housewarming party. You would have had a distraction there, too."

Cyril snorts. "As if the invitation was meant seriously."

"How else could I have meant her?" asks Wren.

Cyril presses his lips together and averts his gaze.

After a few seconds, Wren clears his throat. "I know how you feel, man. And I—"

"You know a shit," Cyril hisses. "You have no idea what it feels like to lose everything you even begin to love. How it feels to be to blame yourself when you're hated by all your friends."

Be silent. I think we are all holding our breath.

"We don't hate you, Cy," I finally say quietly.

Cyril then only clenches his teeth tightly. I have no idea what's going on in his head, but I can tell from the red spots that slowly spread from his cheeks to his neck how close this conversation is to him.

"Alistair is right," James agrees. "We were worried about you."

Cyril looks up and pierces James with ice-blue eyes. "You said yourself that our friendship is lost."

James returns his gaze and then shrugs his shoulders. "You really screwed up. And I was angry, yes, but that doesn't mean we hate you."

Cyril lets out a bitter laugh and shakes his head. His gaze twitches to the end of the bench, as if he's considering jumping over Wren and Kesh and then fleeing the bar as quickly as possible. At the same moment, Wren leans forward and rests both arms on the grained wooden table. Cyril clenches his teeth tightly and lets himself sink backwards again. He runs both hands over his face and lets out a soft moan.

"I don't understand you, Cy," I say, looking at him angrily as he lowers his hands again. "You're the one who messed up. You are the one who made sure that Lydia had to disappear and Ruby was kicked out of school. You haven't tried to talk to us once, but rather assume right away that we hate you. How is this supposed to continue? Are we to remain so shattered forever?" I shake my head. "Why are you like that?"

"Because I know I screwed up, okay?" yells Cyril and hits the table with his fist so hard that his glass of water wobbles dangerously. "That is more than clear to me. I know you'll never forgive me for that, so why bother?"

I stare at him with wide eyes. His shoulders rise and fall quickly. He looks like he was at the party when James helped him off the table: as if he would start crying at any moment, but stop himself with all his might.

"I don't know what you want from me," he continues, calmer. "Why do you care what I do in my free time?"

"We don't care because you're still our friend," Wren says firmly. "In spite of everything."

I growl in agreement. Cyril merely presses his lips tightly together.

"Just talk to us," Kesh suggests in a calm tone. "We don't even know what exactly happened."

"Would that change anything?" Cy replies resignedly.

Kesh looks at him from the side with dark eyes. Finally, he lifts a shoulder. "It can't hurt, can it?"

Cyril stares at the tabletop. He takes a deep breath and audibly lets the air escape. His gaze twitches briefly at Ruby, who is sitting next to James and hasn't made a sound during our entire conversation.

"I wanted to go to Lexington and tell him the truth," he finally begins in a hoarse voice. He shakes his head and directs his gaze to the tabletop. "But then your father showed up at my house, James. He has declared war on me if I make one attempt to help Ruby. I... I got scared and let myself be intimidated by him, because I know what he is capable of."

All of a sudden, it's so quiet at the table that you can almost hear the carbon dioxide rising from the rim of the glasses.

"I didn't dare to go to Lexington, but I knew I had to do something. So I sent you the pictures." Cyril swallows hard. "And I meant what I told you at the club. I'm really sorry."

The waiter comes by and asks us if he can bring us anything else. Ruby is the only one who reacts and politely declines. We spend a few minutes in silence until I can't take it anymore.

"We have to do better than our parents," I say. My voice breaks the awkward silence. "We've always said that, haven't we? That we don't want to become like them. Perhaps with the exception of Kesh, because his parents are saints."

"I don't know about you, but I'm so tired of it all," James adds. We all turn to him. "I'm so tired of seeing us fall apart. Even though a lot will change with us in the near future – one thing I am quite sure of: You are important to me. I want to know you in my life. Every one of you," he says, looking directly at Cyril.

"We've been through so much together." Wren bumps his shoulder against Cyril's.

"You can't ignore the situation, Cy," says Kesh. "You can't just disappear, stop coming to school, and spend your weekends with James McCormack and get drunk on him. Okay?"

Again it is quiet for a minute. Then Cyril looks up from the tabletop and looks at Ruby.

"I'm sorry," he croaks. "I wish I could undo that with the pictures."

Ruby presses her lips tightly together and nods abruptly. Her cheeks suddenly look very pale. "Is ... It's okay, Cyril."

"It's not, and we both know that," he contradicts. "But I still want you to know how much I regret it."

Ruby and he look at each other, and a silent exchange seems to take place between them, in which she apparently checks how seriously he means these words.

"I don't think I've ever heard him apologize so often," Wren says suddenly.

"I've never heard Cyril use the word 'sorry' at all," Kesh agrees.

Cyril tears his gaze away from Ruby and runs a hand through his hair. Then, as if he had the idea after the fact, he punches first Wren and then Kesh in the shoulder. The latter tries to avoid it and almost slips off the bench, which is such a funny sight that James and I have to laugh.

"It's time for you to come back to school," James says to Cyril.

Half an eternity seems to pass until Cyril finally nods. "You're right."

It's after three o'clock when I call my chauffeur to come and pick us up at the pub in Eastview. First we drive Wren, James and Ruby to Gormsey, then we drop Cyril off at home. He gets out, but before he closes the door, he bends down again and looks inside the car. He looks back and forth between Kesh and me.

"I..." he begins, clearing his throat. "Thanks for tonight, boys."

"Anytime," Kesh replies.

"Next time, get drunk with us, not James McCormack," I say, immediately getting a kick in the shin from Kesh.

"Understood," Cyril murmurs and then turns around. I close the car door and knock on the privacy screen at the front to signal to Rupert that he can continue.

"Where to, sir?" he asks.

"To Keshav, please," I answer. A little later, the car starts moving. Tired, I let my head sink against the backrest.

"That hurt," I say, rubbing my shin with one hand.

"You have destroyed a very moving moment with your remark." His gaze twitches to my leg. "But I didn't want to kick you quite so hard, I'm sorry."

"I just wanted to lighten the mood between us a bit," I reply. "The evening was too heavily laden for my taste."

Kesh just grumbles. He sits opposite me on the bench. Unlike me, he doesn't get sick when reversing. He can even read in the car, which is unimaginable for me. As soon as I pick up even one book, I could hang my head out of the window and start heroning.

Kesh used to make fun of the fact that I always felt so sick in the car and started doing experiments to find out what exactly was causing me to feel nauseous. Since then, I know that I can make out in the car without any problems, but clearly can't play on my phone.

Luckily, my body is setting the right priorities.

"Don't look at me like that," Kesh says suddenly. His voice has taken on an even darker tone than usual. He lets his gaze wander from my eyes to my mouth, but then jerks it away from me, as if he himself had noticed what he was doing. He turns his head to the window.

"How did I look at you?" I ask.

The change in mood comes so suddenly that it almost makes me dizzy.

"You looked at me as if you were thinking about the past," he replies after a while.

I swallow hard. "Am I not allowed to do that?"

Kesh lets out a sound that is probably supposed to be something like a laugh, but at the same time sounds desperate. "No."

"No? Why not?"

He looks at me again. "Because you shouldn't cling to memories when you could experience new moments with me instead."

His words leave me speechless. I need a moment before I can speak again. "Kesh—"

"I told my mum," he interrupts.

The heart is pounding in my chest. I only perceive Kesh, everything else around me moves into the distance. "What?"

"I told her that I was bisexual and that I was attracted to women and men."

The thoughts are running over in my head. I don't know what to say first. I clear my throat and start to ask the question that seems most important to me at that moment. "How did she react?"

Kesh exhales jerkily. "Different from what I expected. It was really hard for me, but to be honest, I wasn't as afraid of Mum as I was of Dad. At first she thought I was sick or something, because I was so nervous and started crying before I could even say a word. When I told her, she was relieved that it wasn't a bad thing. Then she immediately apologized and asked if it would have been tactless to say that."

I listen to his story with bated breath.

"All in all, it was ... I do not know. Better than I thought?" He almost makes it sound like a question.

"That sounds great," I croak.

Kesh nods and looks at his hands.

The moment between us expands.

"I... I didn't push you to do it, did I?" I finally ask.

He shakes his head without looking up. "No. I didn't do this for you, but for myself. I wanted to tell Mum because it felt right."

I feel the pressure in my chest ease a bit.

"She said she loved me. And I think she ordered information brochures or researched on the Internet or something, because now she keeps asking me things that sound like something out of a pedagogy textbook. She also gave me a lecture on safe sex for the second time." Kesh grimaces. "This time it was even more unpleasant than the first time."

I let out a snorting laugh. "I love your mum."

Kesh smiles at his hands. "And I love you."

The car stops. I think my heart does too.

I stare at Kesh, who raises his head and looks at me – very directly. His gaze is open and more vulnerable than I have ever seen him before. Again, the atmosphere in the car changes. It seems to me that Kesh is too close and at the same time far too far away. I want to stretch out my hand, but I can't move from the spot.

"What did you just say?" I whisper.

Keshav swallows hard. "I said I loved you, Alistair. I've been doing that for quite some time. And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise."

Every word he says touches me deep inside. That's how long I've hoped to hear those words from him—or even a hint of them. To hear him say that now is beyond my imagination. Tears burn in my eyes that I can't blink away. I can't do anything about it as they free themselves from the corners of my eyes and run down my cheeks.

What I do then happens by itself. My body is remote-controlled as I leap forward towards Kesh and wrap my arms around his neck. The air escapes audibly, but at this moment I don't care. The only thing that matters is to be as close to him as possible.

"I love you too," I murmur into his hair.

Kesh puts both arms around my back and pulls me close to him. "Cool."

A hoarse laugh bursts out of me, at the same time more tears run down my cheeks. I get away from him a bit to be able to look into his face. "That's your reaction? Cool?"

He raises a hand to my face and brushes the wetness from my cheeks. A smile plays around the corners of his mouth. "Yes," he says simply. The answer is so much Kesh that I have to hug him again and hold him tight. He gently strokes my back with his hands, not really helping my heart to calm down.

"Would you like to come in?" he finally asks. He smiles uncertainly. "I don't want to say good-bye to you just yet."

I detach myself from him again and look him in the eye. "Gladly."

Kesh leans forward a bit and strokes mine with his mouth. It's just the hint of a touch, and yet goosebumps spread across my arms.

"Cool," he murmurs again.

Then he gently lowers his lips to mine.

19

Ember

The coming week is pure hell for me. On the one hand, because I get two bad exams back and Mum and Dad are disappointed in me because of it, and on the other hand, because I can't get the thing with Wren out of my head and I think about him all the time.

I have hardly seen Ruby and James in the last few days. When they are not sitting at their desk or kitchen table preparing for the final exams together, they go to visit Lydia or organize something for the event committee. Only once did I hear her talk about the party at Wren's in the living room, when James said how good the evening had been for all of them in the end and that he would visit Wren more often from now on. It took me a lot of effort to refrain from snorting contemptuously.

"Is everything okay?" my friend Maisie asks me as we leave the school building after the last lesson. Usually we are not in a hurry and take our time on the stairs to talk about all kinds of things. But today I just want to go home and bury myself so deep in the internet that any thoughts of Wren Fitzgerald are driven out of my head.

"The week wasn't exactly the best," I answer, my eyes fixed on my patent boots. They are neon pink with big buckles and don't match the school uniform at all, but I don't care. I got hold of them cheaply at a flea market and since then I have been happy to be able to wear them every day. Especially because the color usually always puts me in a good mood.

But unfortunately not today.

"I fucked up chemistry too. Don't worry, Embermaus," Maisie says encouragingly, patting me on the back with the flat of her hand.

"Was the rhyme intentional?" I ask with a grin.

"No, but that shows again what an incredible talent I have for language," she replies with a grin.

"Not if Mrs. Wright has her way." I dodge her next punch with a grin and almost stumble over the next step.

"Hello? You have to be kind to me. After all, I don't have a hot secret friend to pick me up from school."

"I don't have a hot secret ...", I begin, but stop mid-sentence when I see someone leaning against the banister at the bottom and looking up at me with their hands buried in their pockets.

Wren.

He is here.

At my school.

I bite my tongue from the inside. I'm angry, but at the same time I'm insecure. He didn't reply to my message. To be more precise, I haven't heard from him at all since last weekend.

I have no idea what he wants here.

"I'll see you tomorrow, will we? Oh, and ask your mum if she can give you another scone for me. Thank you, you're the best!" Maisie calls to me, and before I have a chance to hold her back, she jumps down the remaining steps, her two braids flying in the air behind her.

Suddenly on my own, I take a deep breath and slowly go downstairs. When I've met Wren over the past few weeks, I've always looked him up and down, trying to memorize every detail of him—like the slight crease in his left ear, the little burn hole in his leather jacket, or the notches around the corners of his mouth when he smiles in a certain way.

Now I don't look at him as I descend the stairs, nor when we are at the same height and he opens his mouth to say something. Instead, I walk past him without a word.

"Wait!" he shouts, and I can hear him running after me.

I ignore him.

"Of course we're friends, Ember," he calls behind me.

I stop on my heel and press my lips tightly together.

Wren comes around me and stands in front of me. It hurts to look at him, so I stare at the yellowed tips of his chucks instead.

Not much better either.

How can it be that I have invested so much in this friendship within a very short time?

How can it be that I'm already so attached to this boy?

"I know the answer comes far too late, but... we're friends," Wren repeats, this time more energetically.

Now I can't help it—I look him in the eye. "It didn't feel like that this week," I reply. "I understood that we wanted to tell Ruby and the others about our friendship. And then I find out from my sister that you're throwing a party where I'm obviously not wanted."

"I'm sorry," he says. He runs his fingers over his hair, and only at this moment do I realize how much he stands out here with his Maxton Hall uniform. A few of my classmates eye us curiously as they walk past us, but I can't worry about that now.

I shake my head. "You didn't answer my text message for a week. Or even given any sign of life from you. That's not how friends behave."

"I know, and I'm really sorry about that." He searches for the right words for a moment. "But this party... All my friends came. I just couldn't invite you there, Ember."

It feels like he's hit me in the chest with his words, and I take a step back.

I renovated his room with Wren and spent nights scouring the internet for scholarships for him. I was the one who helped him cope with the current situation, which was there for him when he needed someone to talk to in the middle of the night. We talked and wrote to each other for hours. I thought we were good friends.

Apparently I was wrong.

It hurt not to get any news from him this week, but that was nothing compared to the pain his words just caused me. At the same time, something became very clear to me at that moment.

"I didn't spend years learning to love myself in order to let anyone make me feel so bad," I say.

Wren shakes his head, takes another step towards me. "That's not what I meant. I just didn't want you to get the wrong impression of me or my friends. And after your text message ... I didn't know what to answer to you. Or if you want to hear from me at all. I haven't thought about what that must look like for you."

"To me, it looks like you're just secretly trying to meet me," I reply tonelessly.

I almost expect him to deny it and assert how important I am to him. I'm waiting for an answer. Ten seconds pass. Twenty. More than thirty until I lose track and the situation becomes really uncomfortable. I realize that I won't get an answer. Swallowing hard, I look Wren in the face. I look at his dark brown eyes, the black, curved eyelashes, the small birthmark on his right cheek.

Then I tear my eyes away from him and clear my throat.

"Goodbye, Wren," I say, turning and leaving him standing on the sidewalk. Only then do I realize how sweaty my palms feel. How fast my pulse races.

And how much my heart hurts.

Lydia

"What do you think of this?" asks Ophelia.

I can only refrain from turning up my nose at the last moment when I look at the knitted jackets that my aunt shows me on her iPad. They are piggy pink, glittery and about the last thing I want to wear to my children.

"I don't think a little less pink wouldn't hurt," I say diplomatically, whereupon Ophelia is the one who wrinkles her nose.

"You're just like your mother. She always resisted color in your clothes."

Over the past few weeks, I've been digging through Ophelia's photo albums and realizing that Mum had fantastic taste in James' and my outfits. They were mostly in neutral shades and always fit together perfectly without being exactly the same. I want my babies to be just as stylish infants.

"Mum just got the hang of it," I say.

Ophelia sighs and pulls back the iPad. Then she scrolls through the online shop, where she is currently pushing almost everything available in the smallest size into the shopping cart.

"I don't see how you can take it," she finally says, looking at me over the rim of her sunglasses.

I lean back on the lounger and look at the underside of the striped parasol that stands on Ophelia's terrace and is spread out over us.

"I'm also totally curious. But it's more like that ... a joyful expectation."

"When did you decide that the two of them should be a surprise package?" asks Ophelia.

I stroke my belly, lost in thought. "The pregnancy was a surprise from the beginning. When my doctor asked me if I wanted to know the genders, I thought it was a nice idea to wait. Surprise is now the motto of my entire pregnancy, so to speak."

Since I've been with Ophelia, I no longer feel like I have to whisper when I talk about my babies. She helped me loosen up and accept that there is nothing I can do but let things come to me and then make the best of them. She probably doesn't know this, but I only have her support to thank for the fact that I don't lose my head now, a month and a half before the due date.

I can cope with the fact that her taste in baby fashion leaves a lot to be desired and I still shudder today when I think of the neon green dungarees that she suggested to me with shining eyes, but which I personally would only use to scare off insects.

"Sweetie, your cell phone is ringing," says Ophelia, pointing to the small side table that stands between our two garden chairs.

I push the sunglasses into my hair to be able to see the display better. When I see who is calling me, my heart slips into my pants – or rather into a maxi dress.

Cyril's name is written on the display.

I pick up the phone and look indecisively at the small picture displayed above his name. It was recorded at James' and my last birthday party. Cyril has put a hand to my head and pulled me close to him, and I'm beaming into the camera as if I'm having the best evening of my life.

The memory of what Cyril once meant to me, and the knowledge of what he is capable of and what he has done, collide, and for a moment I am so overwhelmed that I don't know whether to answer or throw the cell phone as far away as possible.

After two deep breaths, I decide on the former.

"Hello?" I ask hoarsely.

"Lydia." He sounds surprised, as if he didn't expect me to pick up the phone.

I'm waiting.

"How... um. How are you?" he asks.

For a moment I am so perplexed that I don't know what to say at all. "Are you serious?" I finally manage in disbelief.

He is silent for a moment. I can hear him take a deep breath, then he finally sighs. "I have no idea how to start this conversation."

"Then why are you calling?" I snap at him. All the anger I have felt at Cyril in the past time bursts out of me with full force. I can't stand it for a second longer on the garden chair and heave myself up. I can feel Ophelia's gaze on me, but I don't turn to her. Instead, I walk a few steps through the garden and try to calm down.

The lawn sprinkler is switched on, and I have to make a swerve to avoid getting wet.

"I wanted to apologize," says Cy.

"It's too late for that," I say bitterly.

"You have every right to be angry with me," he says quickly. "I could understand if you never exchanged a word with me again. I just wanted to call to apologize. It... I'm very sorry for the way I behaved."

I swallow hard and push back the burning sensation that wants to enter my eyes. Cyril's friendship was so important to me. The fact that we ended up in bed together was drunken recklessness paired with lovesickness, from which I wanted to distract myself at all costs. It was great, but at the same time stupid and reckless. And if I had known that Cyril hoped for more from me, I would never have done it.

"I know I hurt you, Cy," I say in a trembling voice. "But to pull off such shit ..."

"I know."

"You didn't care at all who you were going to ruin with you. Ruby almost lost her place in Oxford. And I don't want to get started on James and the reproaches he makes for the whole thing."

"I didn't think," he says.

"Such bullshit," I blurt out loudly. I would like to stomp the small flowers that grow next to me at the edge of the bed with my feet, I get so angry. "I've known you for eighteen years, Cyril. There is nothing you do without calculation. In this respect, you are just like James. You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew exactly what the consequences would be."

He is silent for a moment. His breath is bumpy. "I wanted everything to go back to the way it used to be. I wanted you and James in my life, and I didn't care who had to pay the price, as long as it brought us closer together again. But now I don't care anymore. I deeply regret what I have done."

I've never heard Cyril talk like that before. Normally, he gives you the impression that he is in control – over himself, over his friends, over the entire world. But now it seems as if he has completely lost this control.

"I don't know if you can forgive me. I don't even know if I can forgive myself," he continues. But if you still want me in your life, I'm here for you. That... I just wanted to tell you."

I can hear despair and remorse in his words, but above all one thing: sincerity. He honestly means what he says. But I'm not sure if Cyril has understood that I'm not the same as I was half a year ago. My life has turned a hundred and eighty degrees, while he still seems to cling to the past.

I don't know how to make him understand how important Graham is to me and what our relationship means to me. I'm not even sure if Cyril has a right to an explanation at all after he has betrayed my trust in such a way. But I have to tell him this one thing. Otherwise, I don't know how to look ahead.

"I'd like to tell you something, Cy," I begin in a raspy voice.

"What?" he asks quietly.

I take a deep breath. "Dad didn't just kick me out because I'm with Graham. He threw me out because I'm pregnant."

I can hear him breathe in sharply. What feels like an eternity passes in which we both remain silent. I wiggle my toes a bit and concentrate on the feeling of the warm turf under my feet.

"I don't know what to say," he finally admits in a hoarse voice.

I don't know either. I don't want to hurt Cyril any further, but I think it's time for us to clarify things between us once and for all.

"I'm sorry if that throws you off track," I say awkwardly. "But I want to be honest with you."

"What have I done?" croaks Cyril.

"Sooner or later it would have come out anyway," I say. "Not that that justifies your behavior, but Dad would have banned me at some point anyway."

Silence spreads between us again. It seems to me that during this phone call, we spend more time saying nothing than talking to each other. But maybe that's not so wrong after all. A lot can also happen through shared silence.

On the one hand, I can literally feel how Cy is trying to digest what I have just revealed to him. On the other hand, I remember everything that has connected us for an eternity – days when we skipped Maxton Hall and went to London to shop instead. Of nights spent just talking, and moments when I thought I'd never find a friend like him again.

One thing becomes clear to me at this moment: I can't imagine a future without Cyril. And even though he hurt me deeply, I don't want to lose him.

"Will you be able to handle it, Cy?" I ask quietly.

He clears his throat, and it sounds as if he wants to answer, but nothing comes. I look at the pink flowers in Ophelia's bed, which were still closed when I arrived here, but have now opened completely.

"Do you think I'm a cool uncle?" it finally sounds on the other end of the receiver.

A timid smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I feel my heart lightening. "In any case, you'd be a cool uncle."

Ruby

"I've got something for you," says James.

I look up from my book and look up at him. James stands next to the garden chair I sat down on over an hour ago and looks at me with a smile. In his hand he holds a small stack of papers.

"That sounds very mysterious. What?" I ask and close the book – not without first putting the bookmark in the right place.

James comes around the table and takes a seat in the chair next to me. I try to catch a glimpse of the papers, but in the second he folds them up and presses them against his stomach.

"What do you think about surprises?" he asks me.

I immediately have to think of our date in the conservatory. James surprised me back then, too, and I remember the evening as one of the most beautiful we have ever spent together.

"When surprises come from you, I like them. I think so," I add, which causes a smile on his lips.

"I want to kidnap you over the weekend."

I sit up so abruptly that the book almost slips off my lap. I clasp it tightly with both hands. "When?"

He nods. "Now. If you feel like it."

I can't do anything about the smile that spreads all over my face. "Where?"

"That's the surprise," he says with a grin.

"James!"

Now he laughs. "You need things for an overnight stay."

All of a sudden, I'm all jittery. "And we're going right away?"

"As soon as you're done."

I get up. The entire way through the garden, I feel James' gaze on my back, and before I go into the house, I turn to him one last time. The look on his face makes my heart beat faster.

He looks happy.

As I pass the kitchen, I poke my head through the door. Mum stands at the counter and cuts onions while Dad drizzles oil into a pan.

"James invited me on a short trip," I say, not quite managing to banish the excitement from my voice.

Mum turns around. "We know. He asked us beforehand if it was okay with us."

"Do you know where we're going?"

She grins meaningfully. "Perhaps."

I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, she points at me with the knife. "Forget it. I won't say a single word. Not a single one."

"That's unfair. With Dad, you always spill the beans when it comes to surprises."

"Because my arguments are simply unbeatable and I have a talent for pressing the right buttons on her," Dad intervenes as he adds a handful of peppers to the pan.

"You can tell that sounds pretty disgusting, don't you?" I ask with the corners of my mouth twisted downwards.

A thoughtful wrinkle forms between his brows. "You're right," he says. "How funny." Then he pretends that nothing has happened and pushes the peppers back and forth with a spoon.

I feel James step behind me and stroke my back, only very briefly. That's how it is always when we are in the presence of my parents: small, secret gestures and touches. Never again.

"Will I get at least a teeny-tiny tip?" I ask with a smile.

James leans forward until his mouth stops just above my ear. "I want to grant you one of your wishes, Ruby Bell."

A tingling sensation spreads from my stomach throughout my body.

"Then I'd better go pack," I say in a hoarse voice.

20

Ruby

For the first half hour, I have no idea where we're going. But at some point we pass a street sign announcing the next major cities, and then it clicks.

"No!" I exclaim.

"No, what?" replies James.

"Drive ... are we going to Oxford?"

Actually, the question is superfluous. His smile is answer enough.

Since I don't know what else to do, but suddenly I'm so excited, I hit him on the shoulder with full force. "That's so cool! Where exactly are we going?" I ask. Are we going to university? To St. Hildas? Actually, there are no events planned there, I have subscribed to the feed and am also subscribed to the newsletter. Oh, or maybe I missed something? Is there any event taking place?"

James grins. "You'll have to wait a little longer to see the schedule." Then he rubs briefly over his left upper arm. "By the way, that hurt."

"I can't help it. That was the excitement that spoke out of me."

Laughing, he shakes his head.

After another hour of driving, I realize that we are no longer on the direct route to Oxford, but James only reacts to my questioning sound with a shrug of the shoulders. We drive through a roundabout and two more, and at some point James takes an exit that doesn't seem familiar to me. As he pulls onto another country road, I give up trying to guess where he's taking me.

Not to the campus, that much is certain.

We stay on the country road for another half hour, then James turns right onto a smaller path and a little later onto an even narrower one. If a car comes towards us now, we have to swerve into the rapeseed field to our left. I look at the switched off navigation device and wonder if James has perhaps lost his way and just doesn't want to admit it. But when I give him a sideways glance, he makes a relaxed impression.

His cheerful smile doesn't escape me either.

"You enjoy putting me in suspense like that," I say.

"Maybe a little," he admits, without the slight smile leaving his lips. "But if it comforts you, we should be there in about ten minutes."

The trail takes us to Brightwell--Sotwell, a picturesque village in Oxfordshire. We pass a number of thatched houses that would make the perfect picture for a postcard, and some farms with donkeys and sheep on their pastures. Then James turns onto a gravel path, and after a few minutes a small cottage appears in the distance. It has an attached conservatory, the frame of which has been painted mint green, and the driveway is lined with many small trees and shrubs that are in full bloom and make the whole thing look at least as picturesque and fairytale as the rest of the village.

"We sleep in a cottage?" I ask, without taking my eyes off the beautiful sight.

"Not quite," James replies, parking the car on the left side of the long driveway. He unbuckles himself and then gets out. I do the same, and together we walk towards the cottage, where at the same moment a middle-aged blonde woman comes out of the door and smiles politely at us.

"Hello, you two. You must be James, I'm Martha," she says.

"Exactly, we emailed," James replies. "That's my friend, Ruby."

"How nice that it worked out." She holds up a bunch of keys to which a self-woven ribbon and a leaf carved from wood as pendants are attached. "The hut is at the back of the garden. If you want, I can show it to you right away," she says, pointing to a small path that leads past the cottage.

James nods. We follow her into the garden, where wildflowers and shrubs grow criss-cross and where there is a small house about fifty meters from the cottage. It almost looks like a converted caravan, but it is made of wood, has a dark roof and a sliding door that is open at this moment. There is a small window on the side, in front of which a white, transparent curtain is drawn. A staircase leads inside, and flowers are planted all around the house, the smell of which fills the air.

"Here we are," says Martha. "In the pictures you saw that there is a double bed and you have a view of the fields to the west. In the bathroom you will find hygiene products, and everything else you need should be available."

Next to me, James nods, but I can't take my eyes off the accommodation. Excitement spreads through me, from my stomach to the tips of my fingers.

"Breakfast is taken in our conservatory," Martha continues. "There is coffee and a selection of teas, fresh milk from the farm next door, homemade jams and eggs from our own chickens. Besides, I bake fresh bread every morning, which you can enjoy warm if you are awake in time."

"That sounds great," I say.

She hands James the key. "If you have any questions, I'll be home until noon today. After that, I have to go to work, but you can call me on the cell phone if it's urgent. You have my number, right?"

James nods. "Yes, thank you very much."

"Then see you later, perhaps." She waves to us and goes back the way we came. Instantly, I grab James' hand and pull him with me to the small staircase that leads to the front door of the cabin. It's too narrow for us to climb up side by side, so I go ahead and stick my head inside with a pounding heart.

The first thing I see is a double bed that, because the hut is so narrow, stretches from one side of the wall to the other. Directly opposite, at the other end of the room, is a black wood-burning fireplace in front of which some logs have been stacked. In the middle of the wall is a narrow chest of drawers on which a kettle is set up and a box from which tea bags in various varieties spill out. Above it hang several tea and coffee mugs on small hooks, and next to it is a wooden door that probably leads to the bathroom.

James runs his thumb over the back of my hand, and I turn to him. His gaze goes through and through: He is loving and warm, but at the same time I also discover a trace of nervousness and excitement in it. As if he wasn't sure what my reaction would be.

"After everything you've had to go through in the last few weeks, I thought a little break from everything would be nice," he says quietly. "I—"

He doesn't get any further, as I wrap my arms around his neck and choke every further word from him with my stormy embrace. I close my eyes and hold on to James as I try to memorize this moment forever so that I can bring it out and hold on to it every time I'm feeling bad.

"Best surprise ever," I say to James' neck. Then I lean back a bit and look him in the eye. "Thank you."

He smiles and brushes a strand of hair out of my face. I put a hand around his neck, pull him to me and kiss him.

James lets out a muffled sound and immediately wraps his arms around me. He pulls me close to him and deepens the kiss. I groan as our tongues touch and I feel James' hands restlessly stroking my back. I run my fingers through his soft hair and am about to bite his lower lip, when he abruptly detaches himself from me.

"That's not possible," he says breathlessly.

"Not?" I ask, dazed.

He shakes his head. "We have something else to do, Ruby."

I would so much like to stay here. Let myself sink into this bed with James, enjoy the fact that we are finally alone, and forget the time together with him. But at the same time, I want to know why we are here and what else he has planned for today.

"If you want, we can put the things down and then drive straight on," says James.

I don't have to think about it for long. "Agreed."

Because no matter where it will take me – I am looking forward to it.

Oxford is only about thirteen miles from Brightwell--Sotwell. During the journey, which takes longer than expected due to a traffic jam, we listen to a totally stupid but funny radio show. It's so warm outside that I can open the window and stretch my hand outside. I cut the air with my fingers and soak up the sight of the houses and fields flying by.

We drive to the north of Oxford on Leckford Road and stop there at a parking lot on the side of the road. James comes around the car and opens the door for me. After I get out, I look around curiously. We are in a residential area with apartment buildings, all of which have bay windows and pointed roofs, walls made of roughened stone and stained fronts that must have been exposed to the English weather for decades.

James walks with me to one of the entrances, where a young man is already waiting to shake his hand.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Beaufort," he says politely and then shakes my hand as well. "I'm Shaun Cornell, we had a phone call." He says the first part of the sentence to me, the last part he addresses James. "Shall we?"

Confused, I look back and forth between the two, and I'm about to ask James what this house is all about, when my gaze stops at the folder that Mr. Cornell has tucked under his arm. A logo is printed on it. More specifically, the logo of the brokerage company, which I also saw on the sign that is placed in front of the house.

"James," I whisper as we walk into the apartment building behind the realtor. "What are we doing here?"

James strokes the back of my hand with his thumb. "We're looking at an apartment."

I stop on my heel. When he sees my startled look, he quickly shakes his head.

"For me," he says quickly. "I can't stay with you forever, and I need something to do after graduation."

"I thought you didn't want to go to Oxford," I say quietly.

"You're ruining my plan if you question me now. Shouldn't we first go up and see what the apartment looks like? I'll explain everything to you as soon as we have a little rest."

I hesitate. The questions roll over in my head, and I would like to ask them all at once. But then my gaze falls on the broker who is going up the stairs in front of us, and I admonish myself to be patient. James must have thought of something, and I don't want to ruin his plan.

"Okay," I say finally.

James squeezes my hand.

Once at the top, Mr. Cornell opens the door with a large bunch of keys and holds it open for us so that we can enter.

"The property is an old apartment with two bedrooms," he begins to tell. »The historic property scores with a great floor plan, a large communal garden and a parking space for one car. He makes a hand gesture that includes the hallway and the entire rest of the apartment. "I'll wait outside, and I'll be happy to come back when you're done and have questions."

James nods. "Thank you, Shaun."

The estate agent smiles politely, then leaves the apartment. I can still hear his footsteps on the stairs, then it's quiet.

Slowly I look around. The apartment is in good condition, even if the wooden floors creak as soon as you move even an inch from the spot.

"Shall we go through?" asks James and nods in the direction of the first room that leads off to the right of the hallway.

I lead the way and enter a small, rectangular living room, painted in a terracotta tone and decorated with stucco on the high ceiling. There is a fireplace and a small bay window through which the midday sun shines into the room. In front of the bay window is a dining table that already shows some signs of use, and the accompanying chairs don't make a particularly stable impression either, but that doesn't change the fact that I immediately feel at home here – as if I were in a home and not in a sterile room that has to be filled with life first.

"Next room?" asks James quietly.

"Yes," I reply and walk with him from the living room back into the hallway. The next room is the kitchen, which is a bit narrow, but impresses with its high-quality granite worktop (for which my dad would surely kill) and is otherwise fully equipped, with refrigerator, gas stove and oven, although the latter, as I realize on closer inspection, urgently needs to be cleaned again.

James doesn't have to ask me if we want to go to the next room. This time I'm the one who pulls his hand lightly so that he comes with me.

Unlike the living room, the bedroom is square and has light gray walls. Only a wooden bed frame is set up here, and there is also a small built-in wardrobe that is about the same size as the one in my room at home. In the middle of the ceiling hangs a large lamp with a white shade.

The bathroom is the last thing we look at. It's not particularly big either, but the joints are clean, and I can't find any stains on the walls.

After that, it's the turn of the last room. It is about the same size as the bedroom, and the current tenant seems to have used it as an office. On one wall is a large old desk with a black executive chair. Above it hangs a whiteboard on which notes are scribbled that I can't decipher.

The most beautiful thing is that you have a view of the garden of the house from here. When I step to the window, I see one of the neighbors playing with her beagle, while a man is hanging laundry on a clothesline on the property next door. I watch the two of them for a while, then I turn around, lean against the window sill and look at James, who is standing directly behind me.

"The apartment is nice, even if a few things have to be done."

James returns my gaze. He raises his hand and brushes a strand of hair out of my face, which has come loose from my braid. Gently he clamps it behind my ear. "I think she's great, too."

I'm waiting to see if he says more, but he seems too fascinated by my auricle at this moment, over which he slowly runs his finger. I get pleasant goosebumps.

"Would you like to explain to me why we're here?" I ask.

He nods, but it takes another moment before he begins to speak.

"We never talked about how we were going to continue," he says finally. "After graduation, I mean."

I swallow hard. I didn't even allow myself to think about this kind of conversation. Not after everything we've been through. I didn't want to bring the next challenge within reach as soon as we had survived the one.

"I want to buy this apartment, Ruby," James says suddenly.

My heart starts racing, and my pulse is literally pounding in my ears. "What?"

There is a certainty in James' gaze that makes me feel excited, but at the same time secure. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his leather wallet. He unfolds it and then takes a folded piece of paper out of one of the compartments. The paper is now brownish at the corners and looks as if it has taken on the color of the wallet. When James opens the note, I recognize him immediately.

It's James' list. The one we wrote down in Oxford, on the night when we talked and confided in each other. That night, when we were closer than ever before.

It looks pretty battered by now, as if he had unfolded and folded it up countless times.

"Do you remember here?" asks James.

"Of course," I say.

"You're the first person who made me feel like there are dreams worth fighting for."

"James—" I whisper.

He waits to see if I say more, but I can only stare at the note in his hand.

"I would like to tackle this here. "Doing it right, I mean," he continues after a while. I want to see what else the world has in store for me. And I know your path is already set and mine isn't, but I've been thinking all the time about how we can still experience the time after high school together. How we can both realize our dreams without losing each other." I can see him swallowing.

My heart beats faster and faster. I grip his hand so tightly that it certainly hurts James, but he doesn't show anything.

"May I show you something?" he asks.

I nod, completely paralyzed and at the same time intoxicated by his words. James steps up to the desk and sits down. Then he picks up his bag and takes out his MacBook. He opens it, enters his password and then clicks on the browser.

I stand behind him and place my hands on the back of the chair. James types something into the address bar, but he is so fast that I can't read it. Less than three seconds later, a page opens. It is a blog whose name is at the top in clear letters:

Beyond Beaufort

The design is simple and clear, the only colors are muted gray and blue tones. In the upper half of the homepage, landscape images and some text passages alternate in a slider.

I scroll down – and hold my breath.

In a box entitled "About James Beaufort" is a picture of James that I have never seen before. He is wearing a simple black shirt, and although the picture is black and white, I immediately recognize that it was taken in our garden. If it weren't for our apple tree in the background, it would have revealed the copyright at the latest, which is written in small letters in the lower right corner: © Ember Bell.

Stunned, I first look at the display of the laptop, then at James again. He takes a deep breath.

"I'd like to try this one, Ruby. I want to work through the list we made together, piece by piece. I want to find out what my passion is, and I want to take my time. I want to travel and see the world," James says quickly. The words just tumble out of him. He turns half to me in the chair and looks up at me. "But first of all, I want you."

It left me speechless. I try to sort out the wildly jumbled thoughts in my head, but James' words took me completely by surprise. I start to answer several times, but break off each time because I don't know how to express what I feel.

In the end, the only reaction I'm capable of is a breathless laugh.

"When did you learn how to use Wordpress, please?"

James blinks perplexed, then smiles. "I took lessons from Ember."

Shaking my head, I look at the home page. I lean forward and scroll down again from top to bottom. There is not much yet, just a bit of filler text and example formatting of various travel reports, but I can imagine how James will fill this blog with experiences. The thought of what this step must mean for him makes my heart beat faster.

Without further hesitation, I walk around the chair and sit on James' lap. I wrap my arms around his neck, close my eyes and hold him tight.

I have to think of the boy I met in September. Who was so closed off and who was almost crushed by his obligations to his family. This boy would never have thought it possible that he could have a future that he himself creates.

"That's a great idea," I whisper against his neck.

James puts his arms around me and pulls me tight. "I'm glad you think so. I was really afraid of today. I—" He falters. "I owe it all to you, Ruby. You gave me the impetus to listen to myself and think about what I actually want to do after school. I shall be eternally grateful to you for that."

I lean back a bit so that I can look him in the eye. I run my hand over his neck, further forward over his jaw and smile at him, although suddenly tears burn in my eyes.

"But doesn't an apartment limit you?" I ask, croaking. "I mean, if you want to travel?"

He shakes his head slowly. Absently, he runs his hand up and down my thigh – a touch that calms me down and stirs me up at the same time.

"My mum always said that real estate is a sensible investment," he answers. "Once I've sold my shares in Beaufort, I'll have to invest the part of the money I don't spend on my travels somehow. Besides, I don't plan to travel all year round, and when I'm in England, I want to be able to be with you. And since you're going to go to Oxford, I can't think of a better place."

"You're not just going to do this for me, James," I whisper choked.

"I don't want us to lose each other. This is supposed to be a sign, Ruby. I'm serious about us and want to stay with you after graduation."

The small office suddenly feels much bigger. The whole world seems to expand as James looks me in the eye and whispers these meaningful words to me.

"I want to be with you, too," I reply just as quietly.

The next moment, James leans forward and I come towards him. He presses his mouth to mine, at least as moved by this moment as I am. Our kiss is so intense that at some point I don't know where up and down is. All I can do is hold on to James.

I have no idea when we last kissed like that.

I run my hands over James' neck, to the collar of his shirt and stroke the skin underneath with my fingers. It feels hot under my touch, just as warm as I feel in this second. James lets his hands wander up my body to my waist. He draws a trace across my costal arch before reaching back and resting both hands flat on my back to press me closer to him. I sigh as he kisses me even deeper, gently biting my lip.

"Mr Beaufort?" the broker's voice suddenly sounds.

I break away from James so abruptly that I stumble and the office chair slides across the floor. James holds me tight and pulls me up with him at the same moment. He supports me with one hand behind me and closes the laptop with the other.

"We're in the office, Shaun," he replies after straightening his slipped T-shirt.

A few seconds later, the broker appears on the doorstep. He looks back and forth between us. The twitching corners of his mouth do not escape me when he asks: "Would you like to see the garden?"

21

James

Back in Brightwell--Sotwell, Ruby and I have breakfast for dinner, and I wonder why the hell I've never done this before. It seems like the best idea of all time.

Afterwards we decide to take advantage of the nice weather and sit down in the garden. Martha gave us the tip that a few meters behind the hut there is a small seating area, from which you have an unobstructed view of the wide field landscape. While Ruby goes ahead, I get two woolen blankets from the hut, in which we both wrap ourselves. I turn on a playlist consisting of quiet songs by Death Cab for Cutie, Iron & Wine, Keaton Henson and Vancouver Sleep Clinic, and together we watch the sky change color.

"Do you already know where you want to travel first?" Ruby asks me at some point.

"Thailand," I answer so quickly that it's almost embarrassing. "That's what's on the list. No matter how many times I look at travel reports about other destinations, I always get stuck there. I've even picked out a route on which I can store all the insider tips I've found online so far."

As soon as I even think about getting on a plane and finally seeing all the things that I have only known from magazines and blog articles so far, an energy enters my body that is completely new to me. It feels like something has been awakened in me that is now unstoppable, and even if it is only vague plans so far, it is exciting and better than anything I have felt before when I have thought about my future.

"I want to help you," says Ruby. "I'm good at organizing. We can book your flights and accommodations together, and I can make a list of to-dos to prepare for the trip, and then we can work through them piece by piece."

I look at her scrutinizingly. While Keaton Henson's calm voice comes out of the speakers in the background, Ruby's gaze is on the setting sun. I don't think I'll ever forget this image of her: the blush on her cheeks, the strands of hair blowing lightly in the wind, her slightly parted lips. She is so beautiful that it sometimes takes my breath away.

"Is all this really okay with you, Ruby?" I ask quietly.

She pulls her legs up and wraps her arms around them. Then she rests her head on her knees and looks at me from the side. I can see melancholy in her eyes, but also a happy sparkle.

"It's going to be hard," she starts slowly, "but at the same time, I think it's great that you want to do this. I will definitely support you, just like you support me."

I nod and realize that I have unconsciously held my breath. Slowly I let him escape.

I can't foresee whether I will find a readership with my blog or not. I may return empty-handed after a few months and have to admit that my attempt has failed. But if it works well – what then? Can we be separated from each other for so long without automatically living further and further apart?

I won't find out the answer to these questions for a few months. The only thing I can do now is reach out and embrace Ruby's cheek. I can lean forward and let my lips merge with hers.

Our kiss is gentle. Full of uncertainty, but at the same time beautiful.

"Don't get me wrong: I'm guaranteed to cry like a castle dog at the airport," Ruby says as she pulls away from me for a moment.

"Are we the embarrassing couple who go to work in the middle of the airport?"

She laughs softly, but it sounds sad. I lean my forehead against hers and close my eyes.

"You could come with me," I say. "The first few weeks in the summer, I mean."

Ruby holds her breath. I open my eyes again.

"This is supposed to be your adventure, James," she whispers.

"I can't think of anything better than spending the summer with you," I say. Actually, I wanted to wait with this proposal. The trip here, the apartment, the blog ... I don't want to kill Ruby. But at this second I can't help it. I just have to make it clear to her how much she means to me.

"Only if you want, of course," I quickly add. "If you've planned the time for Oxford preparation, I understand that, of course."

She grins at that. "I'm really supposed to go to Thailand?"

I nod. "We could make a little round trip. Or stay in the same place all the time, just as you like."

"That sounds too good to be true," she whispers and snuggles closer to me. "I would even go with you to one of these street markets and taste the food there."

"And we have to go to Khao Sok National Park together. Oh, and to a Lake View bungalow in Khao Lak."

"That sounds like a plan."

Ruby turns to the side and presses a gentle kiss on my jaw. Then another. She draws a trace down the jaw. I take a sharp breath as I feel Ruby's tongue on my neck. A little later, she kisses a trail up and pauses a hand's breadth in front of my face. The green of her eyes has never seemed so clear to me. "I love you, James," she whispers.

My heart leaps. I lean forward and run my lips over hers. I hear her breath hitching. "Me too, Ruby Bell."

When I kiss her again, any thoughts of the future turn into fog that disappears further and further the closer Ruby and I get to each other.

I grasp her face with both hands and pull her closer, closer and closer to me. Only incidentally do I notice how the blanket slips off her shoulders and slides to the floor. The next moment she gets up from her chair and climbs onto my lap, just like before in the apartment.

This time I don't want to risk someone interrupting us – without further ado I tighten my grip on Ruby and stand up with her in my arms. We continue to kiss as I walk back to our cabin. Only at the stairs do I release my mouth from hers and look at the steps so that I don't miss them. Once inside, I let Ruby slide down my body and carefully set her down on the floor. Then I close the sliding door. I lean my back against it.

"Are you cold?" I ask roughly. "Shall I light the fireplace?"

Ruby continues to look at me with deep green eyes and finally slowly shakes her head. She takes a step towards me, then another. She puts her hands on my stomach and lets them wander up over my chest, causing me to take a sharp breath.

"I missed that," Ruby whispers, tapping her fingers briefly on my chest. "To be so close to you."

"I feel the same way," I whisper back.

Even though our last time was almost half a year ago, there were nights and days when I couldn't think of anything else. That's exactly what I wanted to do with her. Brush her hair out of her face, put my hand on her chin and kiss her as deeply as I can.

But there was never the right time for that. Until now.

There's nothing to hold us back, and there's a determination in every touch I touch that Ruby gives me back in equal measure. What I feel for her would scare me if it didn't feel so incredibly good to have her with me, in my life, in my arms.

Her hands are all over my body as mine wander under the hem of her top. I gently stroke her warm skin, and Ruby does the same. She feels her way under my shirt, runs her fingertips over my stomach and over my hips further up. I get goosebumps all over my body, the blood pumps powerfully through me. It rustles in my ears, at the same time I perceive Ruby's quiet breathing, which goes faster with every touch I touch.

With trembling hands, I push Ruby's top up. As Ruby slowly pulls the shirt over my head, she wraps her arms around me and presses her lips to my chest. The lace of her nude bra scratches lightly over my skin and makes the bulge of my pants stand out even more.

"You smell like James," Ruby murmurs as she runs her mouth over my collarbone.

I let out a breathless laugh. "I hope that's good."

She nods, her hair tickling my chin. "Very well, in fact."

I stroke her back, run my hands down her shoulders and along her spine. I put my hand on the small notch of her tailbone and push Ruby closer to me, eliciting a soft gasp from her. The next moment she looks up at me again. Her gaze burns into mine. I raise my hand and slide it into her hair, then kiss her again. I move my lips to hers, shove my tongue into her mouth, enjoy the sigh that escapes her, and let myself fall completely. My body takes over. As if by itself, I direct Ruby towards the bed. When she bumps into it with the back of her knees, I pause.

"Is that okay?" I murmur, brushing her hair off her cheek.

Ruby nods. Her eyes shine feverishly. "Yes."

I lean back to her and slowly run my mouth over her cheek, to the corner of her mouth, over her chin down to her neck. I press a kiss down her throat and feel Ruby's hands move up my back. She embraces my shoulders and holds on to them as I pull her skin between my teeth and suck on it. I can hear her breath hitching, but at the same time she presses closer against my body.

"That's nice," she whispers.

I take my time. After her neck, I turn my attention to her shoulders and collarbone. I explore her cleavage with my lips and embrace her breasts. I knead her gently before running my hands down her sides and kissing her belly. Carefully, I put my hands on her pants and look up at her.

"Okay, too?" I ask.

Ruby's eyes seem to glow as she nods.

I continue, first open the head of her jeans, then the zipper, and then pull them down over her hips. Ruby is wearing black panties, the sight of which makes my heart race. When I have helped her out of her pants, I straighten up again. Instantly, her hands find my belt. She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me, more and more wildly, while she blindly tries to undo the belt. After a few attempts, she succeeds, and my pants wander to hers on the floor.

Ruby sinks back into the soft blankets, and I follow her without interrupting our kiss. Actually, I wanted to say so much to her, but every word in my head is covered by the lust that takes over my body at that moment. Ruby wraps one leg around my waist and pulls me even closer to her.

It's hard for me to remember why I wanted to take this slow – my hands wander over her body as if by themselves. I touch them everywhere, I want to feel and fathom them everywhere. I press myself against her, right between her legs, and the sound she makes almost makes me go crazy. She touches me with feverish hands and bites my lower lip as I repeat the motion.

I reach under her shoulders and pull her up a bit until she is half sitting. I continue to kiss her as I reach around her and bring my hands to the clasp of her bra. My fingers are now shaking so badly that it takes me three attempts to get the little buckle on. Ruby smiles at me and slides the straps over her arms before she pushes the bra away.

For a moment I just look at her. The sight of her naked skin, the tousled hair and the vivid look in her eyes almost takes my breath away.

We move at the same time. Ruby sinks back in, and I lean over her and kiss her, both arms resting on the mattress next to her. Her tongue slowly plays around mine as her hands wander down to my boxers.

She hesitates and mumbles something against my lips. I pull away from her a bit and look her in the eye.

"Okay?" she repeats my question with a smile. I let out a breathless laugh and nod.

Ruby begins to timidly push the boxers down over my butt. I help a little and then take off her panties. Then I stretch to fish my pants off the floor and take a condom out of my wallet. Ruby watches me as I put it next to her on the bed and then lean over her again.

Her promising look makes my heart beat even faster than it already does. She wraps her arms around my neck, and her mouth finds mine again. I could go on forever – lying naked with her in this bed and kissing her until all thoughts of the past and future are gone and it's just the two of us. If it is up to me, this moment can last forever.

Ruby strokes my back further down to my butt. She arches her back and moans softly as my boner presses against her. Gradually, control slips away from me. Our next kiss is more feverish than the one before, almost wild, and then I feel Ruby burying the nails in my back. Now I'm the one who can't suppress a sound. I hold my breath and then roll off her briefly to put on the condom.

I turn on my side to be able to look her in the face. Her eyes are cloudy with pleasure, but the expression in them leaves no doubt about what Ruby wants.

And then there are no more questions. We move at the same time, I roll back on top of her, and she wraps her legs around me to pull me to her. I slide into it as if by itself. The feeling is so overwhelming that I have to close my eyes for a moment and stay in place.

When I open my eyes again, I see that Ruby is doing exactly the same thing. I let myself sink to my elbows and run my fingers over her temple further down to her cheek. She opens her eyes again. And then I slowly start to move. I pull out of her and gently thrust again, without once taking my eyes off Ruby's beautiful face. She moves with me, runs her hand into my hair and holds me tight.

I have never felt anything like this moment before in my life. What we do has something to do with unconditional trust. I give everything of myself to Ruby, and she gives herself back to me.

While sex used to be all about cumming for me, this is so much more. With Ruby, there's no goal I'm heading towards. It's just her and me and the emotions that fill me from head to toe.

I don't need to tell her how much I love her. I show her with my body, with every soft, deep kiss, with every thrust of my hips, with the way I hold her tightly as her body trembles under mine and I also let myself fall completely.

22

Ruby

The time I spent with James in Brightwell--Sotwell accompanies me in my mind every single day of the following week. And also the week after. And the one after that.

I can't forget how it felt to be so close to James, to feel his hands on my body, his breath on my ear. That night there was nothing but the two of us, and I catch myself in the most impossible moments thinking about it and wishing I could turn back time right there.

When I sit at the breakfast table with my family, I have to think of our morning after, the delicious freshly baked bread and James' intimate smile when he handed me the jam.

When I try to concentrate on the study material for the final exams, I have to think of the apartment James showed me and how we lay next to each other in bed at night and imagined how we would furnish it if James won the bid.

And when I try to fall asleep at night, I have to think of his voice, of how James whispers hoarsely and breathlessly in my ear how much he loves me and that he has never been so happy in his life.

"Earth to Ruby," says Lin.

Caught out, I jerk my head around to her. "What? Sorry. I was in my thoughts."

Lin looks at me sideways. "I noticed that. All right?"

I feel warmth spreading through my cheeks and nod quickly. "Yes. What did you say?"

"I just said that your bag looks like it's going to burst at the seams at any moment." Lin points to the James dangling at my side. It's the first day I'm wearing them back to school, and I've packed them so full that I'm worried the strap could break at any moment.

Carefully I straighten it on my shoulder. "I know, but James said this morning she can take it, so I hope for the best."

"If James says that, it'll be true." Lin opens the door to the library and lets me enter first.

"Do you also feel like you're going crazy every moment because of all the stress?" I ask her as we walk past the shelves towards the group rooms. When I think about the final exams, which are just around the corner, and everything we still have to plan with the organizing committee for the last two events of the year, a panic spreads through me that even my favorite ASMR videos sometimes can't dispel. And the pressure is growing as we get closer to the end of the third term.

"I've already gone crazy," replies Lin. "I also have no idea when I'm supposed to make for Lydia before Saturday."

"I told you that we could give gifts together."

She shakes her head. "No, I don't think that's appropriate. You're her sister-in-law, so to speak, and Lydia and I aren't that close friends. But thank you for the offer."

I exhale for a long time. "If I can help with anything, let me know."

Lin just laughs at that. "Just now you said that your head is about to burst, and now you offer me help. That's a typical Ruby, you know."

"A typical Ruby?" I raise my eyebrows.

"Well, you know. Taking on too much and then whining afterwards," says Lin with a grin.

I stick my tongue out at her.

"But we plan the game together, don't we?" I ask.

She nods. "Did we actually want to do the baby jars or the cards or both?"

"Both, right? Then we would have variety. Mum also has enough handicrafts at home, so we don't have to buy anything else."

"Have you received the pictures of Lydia's aunt in the meantime? And did she tell you what the motto will be? Is there one at all?" asks Lin.

I shake my head. "You'd better not ask. According to Lydia, Ophelia is going a bit crazy. She buys everything she can get her hands on – the main thing is that it's colourful. That will be the motto, I suppose, said Lydia."

"Colorful?" asks Lin, looking at me skeptically from the side.

"I know," I reply. "But with Ophelia, I seem."

"Okay, then we have to—" Lin falls silent and stops on the spot. Frowning, I look at her, then follow her gaze.

I hold my breath.

Cyril is standing in front of the group room of the event committee.

In contrast to the last few weeks, he no longer looks as if he stumbled straight into school from a wild party. His school uniform is ironed, his tie is straight, and his hair is styled. The dark circles under his eyes are also no longer so strong, and he seems to have shaved. It looks almost like it used to.

"Lin?" I ask quietly, when my friend still hasn't freed herself from her rigidity.

She swallows hard and then arches her back. A blink of an eye later, she continues to talk as if nothing had happened.

"Then we have to work with it," she finishes the sentence. "I don't have any plans after school – shall we make the cards today?"

I blink perplexed, but then nod quickly. "Sure."

"Great." Only if you know Lin well do you notice how stiff her shoulders are and how forced her looseness seems at this second. "Let's do it."

Arriving at the group room, Cyril pushes himself off the wall and stands upright. Lin stops in front of him, and the two look at each other for a moment without a word.

I walk through the door and close it quietly behind me.

I don't get the chance to ask Lin why Cyril was waiting for her. Shortly after I entered the group room, Camille and Doug came in with Kieran in tow, less than two minutes later Jessalyn and James. After the meeting, the three of us drove Lin's car to my house, and even though it burned on my nails, I didn't want to talk to her about it in James' presence.

Now James is at a meeting with a potential buyer of his Beaufort shares, and we sit together with Ember on the floor in my room and cut out romper-shaped cardboard cards on which you can predict the sexes of the babies as well as their measurements and weight at the baby shower. And if I don't question Lin right away, I'm sure I'll burst with curiosity.

"What did Cyril want?" It comes out of me so forcefully that Lin flinches. Ember looks up in surprise. For a moment, her gaze wanders back and forth between us, but then it lingers on Lin's stiff shoulders. Without a word, she takes another piece of cardboard and begins to trace the outline of the body with a white pen with the template.

Lin stares at the romper she just cut out. "He apologized."

I frown. "And?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "There's really nothing more to tell."

I put my pen aside. "How was it? Was he ... dear?" Not really a word I associate with Cyril, but I have the feeling that there is more to Lin's silence.

"I don't know. It was... funny."

"In what way?" I ask cautiously.

"He said we'd see each other at the baby shower at the weekend and he didn't want it to be weird between us. He even asked if he should stay at home." Lin sounds like this is the strangest suggestion Cyril has ever made.

"He apologized to me, too. I think he's in the process of turning his life upside down a bit," I point out. James believes that he really sincerely regrets the mistakes he made."

"To me, it sounds more like he's looking for an excuse not to have to go to this party," Ember interjects without looking up.

Perplexed, I blink. "What?"

Ember shrugs his shoulders indifferently. "Lin says his behavior seemed strange to her. Surely he wants to avoid seeing the girl he loves with the man she loves."

"Do you mean?" I ask skeptically.

By Ember's standards, this view of things is worryingly dark. Usually, she is always the one who is optimistic and believes in the good in people, while I question everything ten times.

I've suspected that something is wrong with her for quite a while. She buries herself in working on her blog like never before, hardly leaves her room, and when I ask her if everything is okay, she immediately changes the subject to something more innocuous. While I wondered for weeks who she spends her time with, I now wonder why she doesn't spend time with this person anymore.

And why she still thinks she can't talk to me about it.

"I think Cyril has reached a low point, from which he is just fighting his way back up. After everything you've told me about your time together, I think it's respectful that he asked you that," I say reassuringly to Lin. It certainly wasn't easy for him either. And anyway: Do you want him not to come to the party?"

Lin shakes his head. "No, I think that's childish. We are both going to Oxford and will certainly run into each other there. I can't tell him to fuck off."

"You could. Purely theoretically."

The corners of Lin's mouth twitch. She brushes her hair behind her ears and then reaches for the scissors again. "Besides, I'm over him."

I look at her scrutinizingly. The last time we talked about Cyril, it was obvious that Lin was very upset about the whole thing. Now I'm not so sure.

"I'm sure Lydia would understand if you didn't come to the party," I suggest cautiously.

"No," Lin says instantly. "No. I want to be there. And who knows—maybe someone I like will come."

Your comment surprises me, but at the same time I feel relieved. The way it sounds, Lin is really ready to look ahead and get involved in something new. I conceal from her that the other guests are only older friends of Ophelia. I'm too happy for her for that, and she just looks way too optimistic for that.

"Ruby, may I paint a penis on the body?"

For a moment I am overwhelmed by the sudden change of topic, but immediately afterwards I have to suppress a grin. "If you really want to, don't force yourself. I just don't know if Lydia will be happy about it."

"Lydia will laugh about it," Ember replies and then begins to draw a male genital on the cardboard romper with one of my beloved glitter pencils.

"You didn't have to make it quite so big," I comment dryly, but Ember just shrugs his shoulders with a grin.

"Oh, that's great," Lin says with a laugh. "I'll paint something funny on it, too."

I take a deep breath and look at the templates we have picked out on Pinterest in advance. These are made of brown cardboard with a small hole at the top through which a string is passed on which you can hang the bodysuits. They have a gold border and fine lines, as well as a curved calligraphy headline. Ember's artwork doesn't have much in common with it anymore, but if you can make her laugh again, that's fine with me.

"Lydia and Graham will appreciate our creativity," she says and begins to decorate the penis.

"Exactly," Lin agrees, drawing something on the body with a concentrated expression. After a while, she lifts him up and looks at him critically. Then she turns it to us. With one of the metallic pens, she painted the Superman logo.

Ember rejoices.

"I would have had to cut out a cape," she says contritely.

"With the next body, then," I say – actually just for fun. But then Ember and Lin look at each other and then at me with beaming expressions. In the next moment, both bend over the cardboard and begin to make changes to the outline given by the template.

After a while, I can't help but participate, and at some point it's all about who has the weirdest ideas and can make the others laugh the most.

We add angel wings to one bodysuit, and an ice hockey stick with a mini puck to another. Lin designs a romper bikini with a fruit pattern and paints devil horns on another one. My highlight, however, is a failed horse head, of which Ember is particularly proud. Every time I look at him, I can't contain myself anymore and start laughing again.

At some point there is a knock on the door.

"Come in," I call.

James sticks his head into the room.

"Hello, loverboy," Ember says in a deep voice, making Lin and me laugh even more.

James enters the room and raises an eyebrow in amusement. "You are having a great time, I see."

"Take a look at the baby shower guessing cards and pick a favorite," Lin says, pointing to the cardboard cards that cover almost the entire floor.

"Is that ..." asks James, but pauses and tilts his head.

"It's supposed to be a unicorn," says Ember, rolling his eyes. "As if it were so hard to see."

"Looks more like a pig. And only with a lot of imagination."

"Hey!" Ember shouts indignantly, grabbing one of the pillows on my bed and throwing it at James. The pillow sails through the room and hits the floor just in front of James, which makes him grin crookedly.

"I actually just wanted to let you know that I'm back. Oh, and Angus says the meal will be ready soon. So you can come down."

"How was your meeting?" I ask.

"Very good," says James. "She seems to know the company in detail and made a competent impression on me. Her interest in the shares seemed genuinely sincere, and not as if she was only interested in a piece of the pie."

"What does your gut feeling say?" I ask cautiously.

James has been looking for a suitable buyer for his shares for weeks, but Fiona Green was the first interested party he wanted to meet in person. Beaufort is his mum's life's work, and I think the pressure to find the right person weighs on him more than he wants to admit to himself.

"My gut feeling says I shouldn't hesitate too long," he replies.

"My grandma always says that gut feeling is the most important indicator when you have to make an important decision," says Lin, and Ember nods in agreement.

"It has to click, otherwise she's not the right one."

"It rarely clicks for me," James replies. "I always need time before I can assess people correctly – beyond the first impression, I think. But I'll meet her a second time next Tuesday. Maybe it'll be easier for me to make up my mind afterwards."

"Sounds good," says Ember. She lifts the cardboard unicorn. "And if you need advice, you can turn to Ernie with confidence."

The corners of James' mouth twitch. "All right."

"We're done crafting, aren't we?" asks Lin.

"Yes," I answer, looking around the floor. "We have more than enough."

She raises her arms above her head and lolls. Then she stretches out her legs and bends over to stretch her arms to her feet. I can hear a bone crack in her back, and my eyes widen in shock.

"I think it's great that you're preparing all this for Lydia," says James, and when our eyes meet, his smile changes a bit. It is becoming more open. Warmer. A tad more familiar. It's a smile meant only for me, one full of secrets that only the two of us know. The longer he looks at me, the drier my throat becomes. And the warmer I get.

Erratic, I start to push the cardboard bodysuits onto a pile. I'm sitting in my childhood room, together with my little sister. There's no way I can think about James' naked body right now.

"Shall we go downstairs?" asks Ember suddenly. "Dad wrote." She holds up her cell phone and shows us the message. At the same moment, I see another one coming in at the top. But before I can recognize the sender, Ember has turned the cell phone back to him. Her expression darkens as she reads the message. She locks the cell phone and supports herself on the floor, then stands up.

While Lin and James walk to the door, I hold my sister by the arm for a moment. "You can talk to me, Ember," I whisper. "Always. You know that, don't you?"

She looks at my hand, then at my face. She seems to wrestle with herself for a moment, but finally shakes her head. "Unfortunately not about that, sister."

Before I can say anything else, she follows Lin and James downstairs.

23

Lydia

"Guests!" I call out to James, Ruby, Ember, and Lin as soon as I open the door. I grab James' arm and pull him into the house, the others follow him.

"That's what I call a greeting," he replies, wrapping an arm around me. He hugs me briefly, then his gaze wanders along the hallway. He raises an eyebrow. "Is that a—?"

"An oversized heart of colorful roses? Yes." I turn to Ember, Lin and Ruby and also hug them one after the other.

"You look magical, Lydia," says Ember.

I stroke the soft fabric of my green sheath dress with both hands, which is cut in such a way that my belly, which in my opinion really can't get any bigger now, comes into its own.

"I think so too, by the way," Graham's voice sounds close behind me.

I turn to him and smile at him. Then I reach for his hand and let my fingers slide between his.

I can't describe how good it feels to be able to do this now – no matter where we are and who sees us. We talked last night about whether it would be strange if my friends, some of whom were his students, saw us like this, but then decided not to worry about it. Graham is my friend and the father of my children. I want to be able to touch him when and where I want.

When I turn back to the others and look into their faces, I see nothing but joy and openness. None of them seem to be uncomfortable to see us holding hands.

"You all look great, too," I say, examining their summery outfits.

I usually love warm weather, and summer has always been my favorite season, but with the belly and the painful water retention in my legs, I would actually be more like autumn. Or winter. Preferably winter in Antarctica.

Although a baby shower in Antarctica would probably not be fun.

"I hear the party is already in full swing," Ruby says with a smile. By this she certainly means the music that can be heard from the garden to here.

"Ophelia has already danced through the garden this morning. She wanted me to join in, but I was exhausted after two minutes," I say. I preferred to supervise the set-up of the buffet—there's a three-tier cake and about a million cakepops."

"I love cake pops," says Ember happily. She holds up a huge package wrapped in dotted wrapping paper and looks at me questioningly.

"Follow me," I say, and am about to lead her through the hallway to the back of the garden when James holds me back by the arm. I let go of Graham's hand and look at him puzzled.

"We brought another surprise guest with us," he says.

The first thing that comes to my mind is: hopefully not Dad.

My second thought is that James knows me better than anyone and wouldn't do that to me.

He takes a step back to the door and pulls it open again. Someone enters the house. Someone I've never seen before in my life in jeans and a shirt.

"Percy!" I shout loudly and leap forward towards my former chauffeur.

"It's good to see you well, Miss Beaufort," he answers, formally. He returns my hug, and I realize how familiar his smell seems to me. It smells of leather seats and an aftershave that I've known since I was a child. After a moment, we break away from each other.

"Your brother invited me," Percy explains. "I hope that's okay."

"All right?" I ask incredulously, looking back and forth between him and James. "That's a great surprise!"

I wave him into the house. "Percy, this is my friend Graham. Graham, this is Percy," I introduce the two of them, and they shake hands.

"Ophelia will fall over when she sees you," I say excitedly, pointing over my shoulder. "Shall we go out?"

When the others nod, I interlace my fingers with Graham's again. We walk through the hallway into the conservatory, whose doors are wide open to the outside. From there we enter the garden.

"Oh, wow," I can hear Lin muttering behind me.

"Now you understand what exactly I mean by 'colorful,'" I say over my shoulder, watching the others look around the garden.

In the middle of the grass stands a long garden table on which a green rug has been spread. Directly above it hang countless pastel-colored helium balloons, which are attached to small colorful lanterns so that they do not fly away. The buffet was set up to the side of the house. Between small clay pots filled with flowers or cacti, there are already the first drinks and a selection of different appetizers that made my mouth water earlier. Everywhere in the rest of the garden hang lanterns, balloons and streamers.

Ophelia discovers us from the other end of the garden and immediately comes running towards us. She is wearing a floral summer dress and has her red hair loosely pinned up. "Hello, everyone!"

When her gaze falls on Percy, her eyes widen. She seems to hesitate for a moment, but then she walks over to him and hugs him. "That's a surprise."

"Hello, Ophelia," Percy says quietly and adds something even more quietly that I don't understand, because at that moment the doorbell rings again.

"Are you coming with me?" I ask Graham, and when he nods, I say to the others, "Help yourself to the buffet, we'll be right back."

Graham and I walk through the sunroom and hallway back to the front door. Before I push down the handle, Graham reaches for my wrist. I look up at him questioningly, and before I know what is happening to me, he leans over to me and kisses me gently. As if by magic, I close my eyes and lean towards him, my body seems to want to merge with his. After a short moment, he pulls away from me and looks me in the eyes, a slight smile on his lips.

"What was he for?" I ask hoarsely.

He shakes his head. "Just like that."

Although these words are so simple, my heart makes an excited leap. In the past, it was not possible for us to do anything just like that.

But now the world is open to us.

I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him again when the bell rings through the house again. Graham laughs softly as I squint my eyes and finally turn to the door.

When I wind it up, I see nothing but a huge gift, which on closer inspection has the suspicious shape of a teddy bear. A bow is attached around it, which is certainly three times the circumference of my head. It moves a bit to the left, and Alistair's face appears next to it. He grins broadly at me. "I have a delivery for Lydia Beaufort."

Kesh, who is standing next to Alistair, laughs softly. I lower my gaze and see that he is holding Alistair's hand. My stomach makes a surprised leap. The question must be written on my face, but he just smiles and takes a step over the threshold. Then he hugs me tightly.

"Thank you for the invitation, Lydia," he says in a dark voice.

"With pleasure," I reply and beam at him.

He pulls away from me to shake Graham's hand. Meanwhile, Alistair tries to fit through the door with the giant gift, and when he finally does, he lets it sink to the ground and strokes his forehead with the back of his hand as if he had just completed a sweaty exercise during training. Then he embraces me, even more tightly than Kesh.

He shakes Graham's hand. "Hi, Mr. Sutton."

"Graham, please," Graham says immediately.

Alistair nods. "Sure." He looks curiously around Ophelia's hallway. "I'm so curious to see how it will turn out today. I've never been to a baby shower. Are gifts unwrapped right away, or—?"

"It would be nice," I say with a snort.

"Ophelia timed everything exactly," Graham explains with a smile. "The presents are only after dinner. If it were up to me, however, we could start right away. That one looks very interesting," he says with a nod at Alistair's gift. I'm just about to pull it towards me to take a closer look, when Alistair quickly picks it up again.

"That's out of the question," I hear him say in a muffled voice.

"I think Wren and Cy are arriving right now," Kesh remarks. He looks over his shoulder outside, where a rickety car drives onto the property.

"Why didn't you all ride together?" I ask, surprised.

"Wren said it's good for his car if it really heats up. However, the four of us would never have fit in there," says Keshav.

"Certainly not," says Graham, pointing to the gift.

"Could it be that I smell cake? I think I smell cake," Alistair says suddenly, trying to look at me around the stuffed animal.

I have to hold back a laugh. "Do you want to go ahead? You still know the way, don't you?"

Alistair murmurs in agreement. He and Kesh walk down the hall, and my heart skips a little happily as I see Kesh put his hand on Alistair's lower back and caress him fleetingly. I knew that the two were good friends, but I didn't expect that they could become a couple one day – and that's how this picture seems to me right now. I raise my eyes to Graham, who also looks after the two and then smiles at me.

"We heard there's a party going on here?" Wren's voice sounds, and I turn around just in time to see him and Cyril come up the stairs to the front door. Just like Kesh and Alistair, they wear shirts, and secretly I wonder if they all colluded.

My heart beats up to my throat when I look at Cyril. It's always strange to face each other again for the first time after a big argument. After our phone call, we had no more contact, and I don't know how to behave towards him.

"You heard right," I reply a little belatedly, returning Wren's hug as he pulls me close briefly but firmly.

"Wow," says Wren. He pushes his sunglasses into his hair and looks at my stomach. "I didn't have the feeling that we hadn't seen each other for so long."

"I've hidden it well," I say.

"I can see that," he says. Then he looks past me down the hall. "Are the others all here yet?"

"Yes, in the garden."

He nods and walks past us down the hallway.

Then Cyril, Graham and I are alone. An embarrassed silence spreads between us.

"Hello," Cyril finally says in a hoarse voice. Just like Wren, he's wearing sunglasses, so I can't see his eyes.

"Hi," I say. "It's nice that you came."

Cyril swallows hard and then struggles to smile. "Thank you for the invitation." Finally, he takes the sunglasses off his face, closes them and puts them in the pocket of his shirt.

Cyril and Graham face each other in silence, both with tense shoulders and clenched teeth. The mood is so charged that I inevitably hold my breath.

Finally, Cyril clears his throat. "Mr. Sutton, it—"

Silence again.

Next to me, I hear Graham exhale softly. "You can call me Graham, Cyril," he says.

A second passes, then another. Finally, Cyril nods.

"Agreed," he says. "Graham."

I take a step forward to greet Cyril with a hug like the others. He seems so taken by surprise that he doesn't do anything at all for a second. Only after a few heartbeats does he raise an arm and wrap it around my back – carefully and timidly, as if he were afraid he could scare me away if he pressed too hard. I notice how familiar it feels. At that moment, he's just the boy I've known all my life and who was always there for me when I needed him.

"Are you okay?" he asks, pulling away from me a bit. He looks at me closely, and in his gaze is the insecurity and the inner conflict that I also feel.

"Not yet," I say honestly. Something dark flickers in Cyril's eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, probably that he can leave again if I want to, but I beat him to it. "But it will be all right. Certainly."

With these words, I close the door behind him and take him to the others in the garden together with Graham.

24

Ember

We haven't even been here an hour, and I can already say with great certainty that I love Ophelia Beaufort. And not only because the decoration of the baby shower is so colorful that you can't have any reason to be in a bad mood, but above all because Lydia's aunt is totally cool.

She is one of those hostesses who manages to make you automatically feel comfortable in her home, even if you have never been there before. Within the first fifteen minutes, she gave me a non-alcoholic cocktail and talked to Ruby and me about our ambitions. She even approached me about my blog and told me that she subscribed to it and follows every one of my posts closely. After that, I couldn't help but think she was great.

However, my euphoria was dampened when Wren entered the garden. While the others greeted him stormily, I turned to Lin and engaged her in a conversation about her mum's gallery. I couldn't look at him.

I knew that it wouldn't be easy today. Losing Wren as a friend hurts, and even though I've made up my mind not to let it show, the stabbing pain in my chest was so intense at first that I didn't know how to deal with it for a moment, and had to ask Lin twice to repeat what she said.

After that, I tried to ignore Wren's presence and not flinch every time he laughed.

I'm glad when Ophelia comes to me again at some point, takes my hand and pulls me to a large canvas further back in the garden.

"Oh, how cute," I say when I see the picture painted on it: two little turtles being pulled towards the sky with a huge bouquet of balloons. "Did you draw that?"

Ophelia nods and looks so proud that I have to smile. "I found the template on Pinterest."

I eye the mixing palette that stands next to the canvas on a wooden table and has been filled with many colors. "What do I have to do?"

"That's finger paint," Ophelia explains. "You paint the balloons and the shields of the turtles with your thumbprint.

With Ophelia's instructions, I dip my thumb first in the green, then in the yellow paint and then press it onto the rough canvas. It's so sunny that the light reflects off the white surface and my eyes start to water, but judging by Ophelia's enthusiastic sounds, I'm still doing a good job.

"Very nice, Ember! You clearly have a talent for painting," says Ophelia, beaming at me. I wonder how she can tell that from a mere thumbprint, but I'm happy anyway.

"Have you already?" I ask, looking at the few balloons in the picture, which are already colorful.

"Yes, this one is mine," she answers.

"Yours glitters," I realize. "Why does yours glitter? I didn't see any glitter anywhere."

"I see you have more taste." Ophelia grins broadly. "Lydia said I shouldn't lay it on so thick, so I put the glitter away again. But if you like, I can go and fetch him."

I shake my head. "No, no, it's okay. By the way, that's a very nice idea with the picture."

"I don't think I've done anything else in the last four weeks than get inspiration for baby showers on the Internet. At some point I had to set up a ranking, otherwise the garden would have been bursting at the seams. And as you may see—" She makes a sweeping movement with one arm. "Hey, Percy, you have to go to the screen too!" she suddenly shouts.

The chauffeur, who has just fetched a glass of the grapefruit cocktail a few meters away, stiffens. "I—um. Do you really think so?"

Ophelia brushes off his objections with a wave of her hand.

Percy looks longingly at the table again, but finally comes to us and the canvas with a sigh.

I once heard Mum rave about Percy and I have to say that I can now understand her ecstatic expression from back then. He seems very likeable with the deep voice and the friendly smile. I also find it funny how formally he talks to Ophelia, Lydia and James, even though we are all in a sea of colorful balloons.

"Here, take yellow," Ophelia urges him.

"Why yellow?"

"Because it's a cheerful color and this is supposed to be a cheerful picture."

The way the two treat each other – the way Ophelia holds out the colors to him and Percy's smile loses some of its politeness and becomes warmer – shows how long they must have known each other.

Percy takes the yellow paint and dips his thumb into it, then presses it onto the canvas. Compared to mine, his has a much larger diameter.

"I can't believe you made Percy paint," James' voice suddenly sounds close to me.

I turn to him. "He's doing well, do you think—"

The words get stuck in my throat, and my whole body tenses.

Wren stands next to James, his eyes fixed on me. He looks like he's going to open his mouth and talk to me at any moment. I'm not prepared for that. When Wren's lips part, I act instinctively: I mumble an apology, turn around and walk towards the house.

I cross the conservatory, walk through the narrow hallway and enter the guest bathroom. After closing the door behind me, I breathe in and out for a few seconds, desperately trying to calm my heartbeat to some extent. Then I stand at the sink, run cold water over my hands and wrists and dab some of it on my neck.

Thoughtfully, I stare at the yellowish-brown tiles, on which small dogs are depicted here and there. Ophelia has an extremely strange, but at the same time endearing taste that touches something in me. Maybe it's the grasses and pollen outside, maybe it's the dog tiles, or maybe – to a very small percentage of probability – it's Wren, but all of a sudden tears burn in my eyes.

I push them back with all my strength and try to collect myself. Today was supposed to be a nice day. I refuse to let Wren's presence bring me down like that. Resolutely, I check if my mascara is still in place, wash my hands again and then open the door.

I turn right – and almost collide with someone.

"There you are," says Wren.

I can only stare at him. He greets me as if I were his companion, whom he has sought and finally found. As if we were here together.

Such fucking bullshit.

I take a big step away from him. "Do you want anything?" I ask.

"I'd like to talk to you when you have time," he answers.

I can't interpret his gaze, but I actually thought I had got the hang of it by now. But apparently I imagined that too.

"I don't know," I say irresolutely, looking around to see if there is anyone around who could hear us. I have no idea how to explain it to Ruby when she finds me with Wren in a dark hallway. How I was supposed to explain to her that Wren is the reason I was so rarely home and skipped school. That I wanted to spend time with him because he awakened something in me that I had never felt before.

I don't think she would understand me. I'm not even so sure myself if I understand myself.

"We really need to talk urgently. It can't go on as it is now."

"There's nothing at all that can go on," I reply tonelessly.

Wren flinches barely noticeably. His facial expression becomes softer, almost vulnerable.

"Ember," he finally says roughly. "I have something to tell you."

All the negative thoughts that haunted me after we met in front of my school are now coming back with a vengeance.

You're not good enough. You've landed back in the drawer that all the people who get to know you put you in.

"If you've told me lies before, I'm not sure I want to hear the truth now." I sound snappy and withdrawn and not at all like myself. I wonder how he does it. How does he manage to evoke these thoughts in me, when I work so hard to let only positive things into my life? I don't want to lose this fight. That just doesn't work.

Wren takes a step towards me. There is now only half a metre between us. "I lied when I said we were friends, Ember."

A nasty stabbing goes through my stomach.

I knew it.

I already knew it when he approached me for the first time. I could slap myself for being so curious and eager to meet new people.

A storm is growing inside me that wants to sweep me away, but I fight against it with all my might.

"You know what? I really don't have to give myself that," I say between clenched teeth and want to push past him. If you would please let me through?"

"Ember," Wren says urgently.

I avoid looking into his face and instead stare at his chest.

"You misunderstood me," he says quietly, but still with that urgency in his voice. "I don't just want to be your friend, Ember. I want to... more."

Suddenly the thoughts in my head fall silent.

I look at Wren's face, but I can't bring myself to say a single word.

Wren takes a halting breath and clears his throat. "When we saw each other for the first time, I just wanted to have fun. But then I really got to know you and realized what a great person you are. I started to miss you, even though we were in constant contact. I looked forward to each of our meetings. You were there for me all the time, even though I could hardly give you anything in return, and gradually something became clear to me." His voice becomes rougher the longer he speaks, and finally he has to clear his throat again to be able to continue speaking. "I like you, Ember. Even more than that. I think I'm about to fall head over heels in love with you."

There's nothing but loud noise in my ears as Wren's words repeat themselves over and over in my head. I'm trying to understand their meaning, I'm trying to understand what's happening here – but I can't.

I just stand there and stare at him.

"I realize you don't want anything from me in that regard. And I'm also aware..."

That tears me out of my trance. "Who says that?" I interrupt.

He opens his mouth and closes it again. "Who says what?"

"That I don't want anything from you in that regard. Who says that?" I ask.

"You. On our first evening at Maxton Hall. You were pretty clear when you told me what you thought of me. And I respect that."

"Do you mean the night I knew you for about two seconds and you wanted to kiss me even though you were drunk?" I reply incredulously.

Wren swallows hard. "Yes."

"I didn't know you at all! I'm not a girl who trusts easily, let alone one who immediately makes out with a stranger."

At first, Wren says nothing more. After a few seconds, he utters a monotonous "Oh".

I feel my heart pounding violently against my chest. This moment between us is so intense that I almost get dizzy.

"Was that the reason you didn't want me at your party?" I ask quietly.

Wren raises his hand and rubs his neck. "I was afraid. Of the reaction of my friends when they come to my house for the first time. Of Ruby and James' reaction when they find out that we met. And somehow also from my own feelings. It all came together at that moment."

"I thought you didn't want to show up to me in front of your friends, and that hurt," I say, and Wren shakes his head instantly.

"It is not. It's definitely not, Ember. It was... the timing. I was simply overwhelmed."

"If I had known that, I wouldn't have reacted so harshly."

"I should have told you what's going on with me," he replies. "I was just panicking about behaving abnormally in your presence and scaring you away... No idea. I don't want to mess it up with us under any circumstances. You're too important to me for that."

"You are important to me, too, Wren. That's the only reason I was offended," I say in a hushed voice.

"Yes?" he asks.

I nod.

Slowly, the Wren smile fights its way back onto his face, that effortless, languid smile that I noticed when we first met. Now it seems much more familiar to me than it did then.

And after I haven't seen it for so long, it awakens a tingling sensation in my body that runs through me from head to toe.

"What are we going to do now, Supergirl?" he asks subduedly.

His posture is relaxed, but the look in his brown eyes is full of uncertainty.

"I don't know," I murmur, meaning every word. I don't know how to deal with everything he just told me. My heart is beating excitedly, and the butterflies in my stomach make me nervous.

"You have to tell me what you want, Ember," he murmurs. "Whether we should continue to be friends. Whether we can be more. If you still want me to get out of the way so you can go back to the others in the garden?"

Whether we can be more.

I don't know exactly what that means – what it could mean for me – but I think that's exactly what I want.

"You don't have to get out of the way, Wren," I say firmly.

He breathes a sigh of relief. "Not?"

I slowly shake my head. "No."

Again a smile spreads on his lips. This time I reciprocate hesitantly.

"May I hug you, Ember?" he asks quietly.

Instead of answering, I take a cautious step forward and wrap my arms around his waist. I feel his hands on my back, at first very slightly, then firmer. I close my eyes and try not to think for a change, but to enjoy the moment.

A few hours ago, I wanted to banish Wren completely from my thoughts. Now he's holding me in his arms, and I can say with great certainty that this is one of the most beautiful things that has happened to me in quite some time.

I haven't lost him, I think, as he runs his hand over my shoulder blade. I can feel his fast heartbeat on my body, which seems to calm down little by little – just like my own.

As if we only needed each other to calm down again.

"Wren," a stunned voice suddenly sounds. "Can you tell me what the devil you're doing with my sister?"

25

Ruby

I can't believe what's going on in front of my eyes right now.

In the middle of the hallway of Ophelia's house stand Ember and Wren, tightly embraced.

They look familiar with each other – and clearly not as if they are holding each other in their arms for the first time.

At my words they jump apart and look at me caught. The guilty conscience in Ember's gaze sets alarm bells ringing in my head. Little by little, the missing pieces of the puzzle of the last few weeks come together, in which Ember has behaved so strangely and made such a big secret about who she spends her free time with.

The fact that she wasn't at school, lied to her friends and me, was always on her cell phone and didn't want to talk to me at all, even though we usually tell each other everything.

This must be the reason for all this.

Wren must be the reason for this.

"I can't believe it," I manage. "It's because of him that you've been so funny lately?"

Ember stretches his chin defiantly. "It's none of your business."

I clench my teeth so hard that they grind. Ember is right, I know that. She's not accountable to me, but this is Wren, damn it!

"I don't care what you do with whom, as long as it's a good person."

"Stop judging other people all the time, Ruby!" she replies angrily.

"Ember—" Wren says soothingly, but she brushes off his objection with a wild wave of her hand.

"I'm so tired of you trying to mother me all the time. It's slowly becoming totally unbearable."

I wince at her harsh words. "I don't want to mother you. I just want to—"

»… the best for me? While my friends' sisters always go out partying with them, you lecture me about who I can and can't meet with. You even tell me who I can spend time with at Maxton Hall parties and put a babysitter at my side. Instead of enjoying the time we have together before you move away, you're treating me with total condescension."

I feel all blood draining from my face. Ember has never talked to me like this before. Something is bubbling up inside me, fiercely and inexorably. "I'm sorry that I don't think the guy who secretly filled me with alcohol at my first school party and then took advantage of my drunken state to make out with me isn't good enough for my sister!"

Ember's eyes widen. She looks back and forth between Wren and me. Then she shakes her head.

"You didn't do that," she says to Wren, suddenly sounding vulnerable.

Wren shakes his head and nods at the same time. Disarmed, he raises his hands. "That was years ago. At that time... I have already apologized."

Ember gasps. "I don't believe it!"

"I was a stupid idiot, okay? I would never do anything like that again."

She snorts contemptuously. "That's clear. And why did you bottle my sister, if I may ask? For fun? To do with her the same thing you tried to do with me?"

"What did he try to do with you?" I ask, taking a threatening step forward. I'm willing to push Wren out of the way if I have to—even more than that.

"I'll keep apologizing to you, Ruby. I'm really sorry for what happened back then, but I actually thought we had put that behind us. And, Ember," he looks at my sister insistently, "everything I've ever said to you, I've meant from the bottom of my heart. I hope you know that."

Ember looks at him for what feels like a minute, then she shakes her head. "I don't know anything at all right now, Wren."

While I wonder what Wren could have told my sister, Ember turns around and walks down the hallway back outside, without giving me or Wren another look. My stomach suddenly feels queasy, and I wonder if I've just made a bad mistake.

"You hurt her," Wren says suddenly. I pull my head around to him and glare at him.

"Believe me, you managed to do it on your own. What the devil have you done to her?"

"I didn't do anything to her at all. Ember and I have clarified this – and it is exactly as she said. It's really none of your business. Stop trying to control something that has nothing to do with you at all."

"I want to protect her!" I reply aloud. "If you had someone you care about as much as I care about her, you'd know how it feels."

Wren opens his mouth to say something, but someone else beats him to it.

"People!" I drive around and see Alistair standing in the hallway. He is pale in the face, his curls stick out in all directions. "I know you're busy at each other's throats right now. But we've just had a bigger problem."

"What's going on?" asks Wren, stealing the words from my mouth.

Alistair swallows hard. "Mortimer Beaufort has just broken up Lydia's party."

James

Seeing Dad here catches me off guard. As if by itself, my gaze goes to Lydia, who sits at the table with Lin and laughs herself to death about the cards made by the girls. I want to prevent her from discovering Dad at all costs. She should keep this day in good memory.

Unfortunately, he came directly into the garden without ringing the doorbell. The moment Lydia's gaze falls on him, my heart slips into my pants. She stops laughing abruptly, and within a few seconds all color disappears from her face.

But just as I'm about to take a step forward and in her direction, I see Graham walking across the meadow towards Dad. He comes to a stop right in front of him. "You have no business here," he says, his tone harsh.

Dad raises an eyebrow mockingly. "And you have nothing to say to me at all," he replies coolly.

"This is our party. And as far as I can remember, you are not invited. They're not going to ruin this day for Lydia," Sutton says resolutely. He looks as if he would grab my father every second and drag him out of the garden with his own hands.

A tingling sensation in my neck causes me to turn to Lydia. She stares at Dad and Graham with wide eyes, then her gaze finds mine.

Do something, she tells me without words. Please.

Without thinking, I put down the plate I just loaded up at the buffet and go to my father.

"What do you want here?" I ask.

Dad calmly lets his gaze glide over the balloons, the peonies on the elongated garden table, the canvas with fingerprints and finally the buffet. A mocking smile appears on his face, which instantly makes my pulse shoot up.

"I'm here to talk to you," he says so quietly that only the two of us can understand it. In the garden, it has become eerily quiet in the last few minutes. It's as if everyone is holding their breath and waiting to see what happens next. "You don't respond to my emails."

"What gives you the idea that I want to talk to you?" I ask coolly.

Something flashes in his icy eyes that I know all too well. It is the unbridled anger that has made him raise his hand against me every time. I've made up my mind never to hit anyone again – but that doesn't mean that I don't know how to defend myself if they try.

"Come with me. Graham is right. You won't ruin Lydia's day," I say, nodding in the direction of the house. I turn around and walk ahead without checking if he is following me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ophelia get up and walk towards us.

"Mortimer," she says, as we are about to step through the door of the conservatory. "Did you have to come here today?"

Dad doesn't even look at her. "This is a matter between me and my son," he says and walks past her into the house. "Stay out of it."

"You made it my business when you brought your daughter to me," Ophelia replies. Her tone is ice-cold. I've never heard her speak like that before.

I can see Dad's shoulders tense. Slowly he turns to Ophelia.

Just then, Ruby, Wren and Alistair enter the conservatory. They come to an abrupt stop, their expressions worried as they see how tense the situation is.

"It's okay, Ophelia," I say.

I have to do everything I can to get Dad out of here as soon as possible so that he doesn't get too close to Lydia or Ruby. I wouldn't forgive myself for that.

"We'd best go to the dining room," I say.

Dad follows me as I leave the room. Arriving in the dining room, I close the door behind us and then slowly turn to him. I've been so open about my feelings in the last few weeks that he has to be able to read every emotion from my face at this moment.

"What can be so important that you have to show up at Lydia's baby shower of all places?" I ask, trying to keep my voice reasonably calm.

"I didn't know that a schoolgirl's pregnancy is a cause for celebration these days. Besides, they don't inform me about Lydia's leisure activities."

"As if you had come if Lydia had invited you."

In contrast to mine, Dad's mask fits perfectly, his gaze is impenetrable. I realize that I won't get an answer to my taunts – that's how it is with Dad whenever something seems beneath his dignity.

"What do you want, Dad?" I ask, my voice trying to be calm.

He pushes his shoulders through. Although it's Saturday and the sun is shining much warmer than usual for a day in May, he's wearing a black suit, complete with shirt, tie and jacket. He is – as always – the perfect businessman.

"I dismissed your exit from the company as a childish rebellion," he begins, "but more than five weeks have passed."

"And?" I say simply.

The corners of Dad's mouth move minimally. "I'm now wondering when you'll finally realize that you can never sell your Beaufort shares."

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "According to the contract, all I have to do is find a suitable partner and introduce him to the shareholders."

"Do you really think you'll get a majority on the board of directors that approves the sale to Fiona Green?"

My heart leaps downwards. I feel my mouth suddenly become completely dry, while my father looks at me penetratingly and a knowing look enters his eyes.

Wherever it comes from, Dad knows about my conversations with Fiona. He knows about my concrete plans. He knows that Fiona's ideas for the company coincide with Mum's – and at that moment I have a terrible premonition.

I swallow hard. "What do you mean to tell me?"

"I think you know what I want to tell you."

I look at him stunned. At his words, my hope that I will soon be able to completely free myself from Beaufort, as well as the knowledge of handing over my mum's inheritance to good hands, vanishes into thin air. I can only let out a bitter laugh. "I ought to have known."

"You should have known what you were getting yourself into."

Shaking my head, I look Dad straight in the eye. "You're really incredible."

"I'm trying to save our family's legacy, while you're doing everything you can to destroy it."

"It's not our family's inheritance, it's Mum's family's inheritance. And Ophelias," I say. And I don't destroy anything. I can't do anything with this company. Why don't you understand that?"

"You haven't even tried." He laughs humorlessly. "On the contrary, the moment things got serious, you ran away."

"You almost destroyed my friend's future. You offered money to the man Lydia loves to make him disappear from her life. If you really believe that I can still look you in the face afterwards without feeling sick, then—" I shake my head. "I don't know what else to tell you then."

Dad looks at me silently, his face completely motionless.

One second, two, three – then I can't stand the silence any longer.

"Why are you here?" I ask again.

"To tell you that I'm expecting you for our board meeting at fifteen o'clock on Monday." He straightens his cufflinks.

"Have you just heard a word of what I have said to you?"

"Yes."

"What if I don't come? Will you force me to work with you at Beaufort?"

Actually, this is a rhetorical question – but my father doesn't pull a face.

I stare at him. "You can't possibly be serious."

"I want to end this feud between us, son," he begins. Together. Just as Cordelia and I have planned since you were born."

Hearing Mum's name come out of his mouth makes my stomach make an uncomfortable leap. "I can't believe you really think that this between us could ever be okay again."

"James," my father says, but I just shake my head.

"I won't come back to Beaufort, Dad. Never."

For a moment it is deathly quiet in the room, and we just look at each other, Dad's frown, mine determined.

Then Dad reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and takes out his cell phone. "You leave me no choice."

A queasy feeling spreads through my stomach. "What do you mean?" I ask.

But he ignores me. Instead, he starts typing something into his cell phone.

"What are you doing?" I ask. I hate how scratchy my voice sounds at that second.

My father looks at me. Although we are on an equal footing, he gives me the feeling as if he is looking down on me, always on the verge of shaking his head in disappointment.

"I have tried it in a good way. But you're so obsessed with throwing away your future for no reason that I have no choice but to push you in the right direction."

The threat that resonates in these words is unmistakable. But I will not be intimidated by him. No more.

I take a deep breath. "You don't have to push me in the right direction, I'll find the way all by myself. And if you've only come here to threaten me, instead of congratulating your daughter on her pregnancy and celebrating it with her friends, you can get out of here and leave us alone forever," I say as calmly as possible.

Dad smiles. "Did you know that Helen Bell takes home goods from the small bakery where she works almost every day? Even though it's actually forbidden?"

The blood freezes in my veins.

"Half a cake here, a bag of rolls there..."

"Otherwise it would all be thrown away," I say quietly. "The way you say it, it sounds like she's stealing."

Dad shrugs his shoulders. "Will your new boss see it that way? Do you really want to take a chance?"

I don't dare to move even a millimeter.

"And the hygiene standards in the restaurant where Angus Bell works really do seem to be underground. I know several people who, when asked, confirm that they contracted food poisoning there. Once word gets around—" He shrugs his shoulders. "Unpleasant."

The room suddenly seems unspeakably stuffy to me. I can't breathe properly anymore.

"What do the Bells do when they suddenly have no income?"

"Dad—"

He clicks his tongue. "And then there's your girlfriend. Ruby." He puts so much disregard in his voice when he says her name that I want to jump at him. But the shock of his words keeps me in place, as if I were frozen to death.

"Do you really think she has a chance at Oxford? Not if her scholarship vanishes into thin air at the last second, does it?"

Everything begins to revolve around me.

"What will save her then, eh? Certainly not her letter of recommendation, which was issued by a teacher who was expelled from school six months later because he slept with a student."

"You wouldn't do that," I croak.

"When have I ever made empty threats?" he replies.

My father is crazy, it flashes through my head for the first time. He is completely crazy.

"What did the Bells do to you?" I ask hoarsely.

Dad begins to walk up and down the dining room, his hands folded behind his back. When he arrives at the window, he pauses and looks outside into the garden.

"I've told you before that I'll do everything I can to preserve Beaufort's reputation."

"You would destroy an entire family."

He stays at the window for a while until he finally turns back to me and looks at me closely. "It's in your hands, James."

My head is going on a merry-go-round. I feel like I'm trapped in one of those rides where you stand on the edge and can't move a bit when it starts spinning at breakneck speed and rises in the air.

I know my father. I know that he meant every word of what he just said.

Emptiness spreads through me.

The happiness I have felt in the last few weeks, the hope that I have allowed myself to feel for the first time in my life – everything is gradually repressed until there is nothing left.

Nothing but the knowledge that I've lost.

I feel the mask slide back onto my face as if it had never been gone. Then I ask tonelessly:

"What shall I do?"

26

Ruby

After Mortimer Beaufort has left, the mood is down.

James comes back outside, pale as chalk and with a look in his eyes that makes panic rise in me. But when we ask him what happened, he just waves it off, takes the plate he had previously placed at the buffet and starts eating.

After that, the party soon dissolves. I'm so busy worrying about James that I don't even flinch when Ember gets into Wren's car. He at least has the decency to hesitate and give me an uncertain look, but I just shake my head and raise my shoulders at the same time.

So at least I have the opportunity to talk quietly with James, whose behavior makes me more nervous by the minute.

After we have driven back to Gormsey in silence for a good half hour, I slide over the back seat to James and grab his hand.

"Talk to me," I whisper.

James, who has been looking out of the window, turns his head to me. The next moment he takes my face in both hands and kisses me.

He detaches his lips from mine, but continues to hold my face. When I open my eyes, I can see that he still keeps his closed.

"James—"

His hands are shaking.

"I'm so sorry," he says roughly. "I... I'm so sorry."

"What?" I ask urgently, clasping his wrists. At this moment, I want to keep him as close to me as possible. "James, you're scaring me."

James' breathing is irregular. It kills me what the encounter with his father has done to him.

"What happened?" I whisper, stroking his wrists with my thumbs.

James allows the touch for a few seconds, then leans back in his seat. He runs both hands over his face.

"Dad has—" He seems to be looking for the right words. "Dad won."

The blurred lights of the street lamps rush past us evenly, but it feels as if time has stood still. "What?"

"I'll go back to Beaufort on Monday." He clears his throat. "And back home tonight."

"No," I blurt out. "No, James." I want to grab his hand, but he withdraws it from me. My heart leaps downwards. "No matter what he said," I say urgently. "We'll find a way."

"There is too much at stake. The risk is too great."

I shake my head.

"Ruby—"

"No! No matter what he threatened you with, it's not worth giving up your future for."

He looks at me, for a long time, without saying anything. Then he sighs. "Yes. Yes, it is."

"What is he blackmailing you with?" I ask, barely audible.

James shakes his head, but I won't let him get away with it. "We swore to ourselves that we would have no more secrets."

"Ruby—"

"You promised!"

"He's going to destroy your family," he finally says. "Not just Oxford, but everything that matters to you."

I feel like I can't breathe anymore.

"You have done so much for me," he continues. "I can't let that happen."

"We—" My voice fails, and I have to clear my throat. "We'll find a way. He won't get away with it."

"Ruby, listen to me—"

"I don't think of it at all! I won't let you throw your plans overboard, James. Our plans."

"It's not your decision," James replies almost unbearably gently. He raises his hand and strokes my cheek with his knuckle.

I shrink back from him, my forehead furrowed.

"How can you let him do this to you over and over again?" I ask, stunned.

James presses his lips tightly together.

"Woe betide you if you keep quiet about me again," I hiss. "We are a team. You can't just... You can't just leave."

He audibly lets out his breath. "The time with you—the time with your family—was the most beautiful I could have ever wished for. That was the only thing that kept me on my feet. You have to believe me," he asserts. But I... I have no other choice."

"You always have a choice!" I say energetically. "I can't let you sacrifice your future for mine."

The sad smile that appears on his face at that moment robs me of the air to breathe. At that moment, I know that I have no chance of convincing him.

He has decided.

My eyes start to burn, and I have to blink because my vision blurs. "What did he threaten you?" I whisper.

"I hope," he begins in a raspy voice, "I hope you accept my decision and don't hate me for it."

I shake my head. His words hit me right in the heart. I want to scream or break something – just to get rid of this feeling of powerlessness that is spreading throughout my body. But instead I sit still and look at James.

A tear frees itself from the corner of my eye and runs down my cheek. James catches it with his thumb. "I could never hate you, James."

He pulls me to his side and buries his face in my hair.

When we arrive in Gormsey an hour and a half later, I feel completely exhausted physically and mentally. James and I spent the rest of the trip arm in arm without talking. I've tried to reassure myself by telling myself over and over again that I won't lose James because of this, but it's hard for me to believe that when I see the blank stare in his eyes. Mortimer Beaufort took a part of him from me today, and I hate him more for it than I have ever hated anyone in my life.

I fight back tears as I watch James get his bag out of our living room and say goodbye to my parents, who look back and forth between us in dismay, thinking we had a fight. Only when Ember, who arrived home shortly after us, whispers to them that James' father has shown up at the party, Mum takes James in his arms.

"You're always welcome here," she says.

James closes his eyes tightly for a moment. "Thank you," he says roughly. Then he shakes my dad's hand and walks towards the front door.

I accompany him outside, through our front yard to his car. Since it was still with us, Percy drove back alone with the Rolls-Royce after dropping us off here. James opens the trunk and stows his bag.

Then he turns to me. "Okay." He clears his throat.

"Okay," I whisper.

James bites his lower lip and looks at me. "I'll write to you tomorrow."

I'm afraid I'll start crying if I say anything else, so I just nod. He leans forward and gives me a soft kiss. When he wants to lean back again, I grasp his upper arms and pull him closer to me. He makes a surprised sound on my lips, but does not interrupt the kiss. Instead, he buries a hand in my hair and kisses me as desperately as I kiss him.

When we finally break away from each other, we both breathe heavily and quickly. James raises his hand and carefully brushes my hair out of my face. "I love you," he says in a hoarse voice, then turns around, opens the driver's door and gets in.

Motionless, I watch as he drives off and finally disappears around the street corner. My heart hurts. For him, for me. For us.

"Ruby?" Ember's hesitant voice reaches my ear.

I turn to her. She stands irresolutely at our garden gate.

"Is everything okay?" she asks.

I open my mouth to answer her, but not a word comes out – but instead a sob that surprises me at least as much as Ember, who opens her eyes in alarm and immediately comes to me to take me in her arms.

"Oh, Ruby," she says, stroking my back as I allow the tears.

James

Although I don't exceed the speed limit, it seems to me that the houses of Gormsey pass me far too fast. At the same time, it feels like I've been sitting in this car for an eternity, even though no more than five minutes have passed since I left the Bells.

It's in your hands, James, my father's voice echoes in my mind. It's in your hands.

If the decision is in my hands – why doesn't it feel like it at all? Why does the world turn so fast, why is there this pressure on my chest that is getting stronger and stronger?

My vision blurs. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve, but it doesn't help. I slow down the car and steer it to the side of the road. Then I switch off the engine and lean my forehead against the steering wheel.

In my head, my father's voice gets louder and louder until at some point I can't take it anymore and feel the instinct to press my hands on my ears. All this makes me so incredibly angry. I hate losing control like that, I hate that my father made me leave Ruby and her family.

Blindly, I hit the steering wheel. I can't take it anymore. I just can't take it anymore. Again and again I let my fist crash down on it, until I have no more strength and let my head sink back against the headrest. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, and at some point the world doesn't turn so fast anymore. My vision is also no longer blurry, although the burning sensation in my eyes is still there.

I let my gaze glide along the street and think about what will happen if I drive back to my father now. How that would feel.

I turn the engine back on. My body works as if on autopilot as I steer the car onto the road, and before I really realize what I'm doing, I turn left. The route has now become second nature to me – I could probably even drive it blind.

I park directly behind Wren's car, get out and walk the short way through the front yard to the Fitzgeralds' front door. Without thinking, I press the round bell.

A minute passes in which nothing happens, then Wren opens the door. His eyes widen a bit when he sees me. Then he frowns.

"Are you here to give me hell because of Ember?" he asks.

The words get stuck in my throat as I realize what he just asked. "Why would I want to give you hell because of Ember?"

"Ember is the girl I told you about. I... I thought Ruby had sent you. She saw us together to-day."

I have no idea what to answer to that. The questions come thick and fast in my head. Wren and Ember? How do you think Ruby reacted when she found out about it?

When I think of Ruby, a painful stinging runs through me, reminding me why I came here in the first place.

"I'm not here for Ember."

Wren nods slowly. "Because of your dad?"

Now I'm the one who nods. "He's waiting for me at home, but I really can't do that right now."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks quietly.

I shake my head. "I just can't go home right now."

Even as I say the last words, Wren takes a step to the side. "Come in."

I step over the threshold and then go upstairs with Wren to his room.

Wren's old house has always been something like my second home – I wonder if this house will be the same one day.

"Sit down," Wren says, pointing to his bed as he walks to his desk and takes a seat there. My gaze falls on the screen of his computer. The squiggly headline of the website is more than familiar to me, just like the picture on the right. In a flash, Wren closes the laptop, but it's too late – I would have recognized Ember's blog among hundreds.

"Wren?" I ask as I sit down.

He turns his head to me.

"Yes?"

"Ember has become something of a sister to me in the last few weeks. If you hurt her, I'll hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

One corner of Wren's mouth lifts slightly, but the look in his eyes remains serious. "Sure. Even if I don't intend to, just by the way."

I lower my gaze to my hands and look intently at the lines on my skin. "Sometimes you have no other choice. Sometimes others make you hurt someone, even if that's the last thing you want."

After that, silence spreads between us. I clench my hands into fists and loosen them again. My thoughts go to Ruby and Dad and finally to my mum. I wonder what she would do if she were still alive. Would she understand that I can't do anything with the company? Would she allow Dad to threaten Ruby's family? I don't think so. But unfortunately, she's no longer there to stop him – and I feel more useless than ever.

Wren pulls me out of my thoughts as he sits down next to me. He holds out a generously filled whiskey glass to me – one of the glasses we gave him for the inauguration. I gratefully accept it and swirl the brown liquid back and forth in it.

"No matter what your dad is up to, you can do it. We'll do it."

I cling to these words as I bump my glass against his.

Ember

I don't know how much time has passed when I finally let go of Ruby and we go back into the house. She dodges our parents' questions and only mumbles that she is too tired to talk and would like to lie down. Then she goes to her room and lets herself fall onto her bed without a word. I see the fact that she has not closed the door behind her as an invitation to follow her.

When I sit down next to her, she straightens up, leans her back against the headboard of the bed and looks at me. I return her gaze and wait to see if she is the first to say something. She really hurt me with her behavior with Lydia's aunt, and even though I don't want to leave her alone now, I can't forget it.

"I'm sorry I freaked out so much earlier," she finally begins. Her eyes are still red and her voice is scratchy, but she stopped crying quite a while ago. "Seeing you together was only the last thing I expected. Since when have we not told each other such things, Ember?"

I take a deep breath. "I wanted to find out for myself what it was between me and Wren before I told anyone else about it. Besides, I knew exactly how you would react."

"Did I really make you feel like you couldn't trust me? I only want the best for you. Nothing more."

"I know," I answer quietly.

"I'm sorry I was so patronizing. I—" She shrugs her shoulders. "I want to know everything about the things you do in your free time. And I want us to be able to tell each other everything. Just like always."

At her words, a lump forms in my throat. "I want that too."

"I definitely don't want to be a big sister who you can't talk to and who you have to worry about judging you." She hesitates. "Only... Wren and I have a past that really... I don't know exactly what kind of person he is now, but at the time I thought he and his behavior were terrible."

"I understand that," I say. "I think it's terrible, too."

"Nevertheless, you got into the car with him earlier."

I'm looking for the right words. "We haven't spoken to each other for the last few weeks and only got along again today. I wanted to give him the opportunity to explain it to me. I have to say that I got to know him as a completely different person. He stands by what he did back then. Isn't it?"

Ruby takes a deep breath and finally nods curtly.

"I really like him, Ruby. I have the feeling that he understands me. We kind of ... clicked."

"Mh," she says. "It may be that he has changed."

"I'm careful. But this is an experience that I have to make myself. You can't protect me from that."

Ruby is silent for a moment and traces an imaginary line on her mattress with her index finger, apparently lost in thought. Finally, she sighs and says more to herself than to me: "No. That's true."

"Would you like to tell me what happened between you and James?" I ask cautiously.

Ruby swallows hard. Her gaze wanders around the room and lingers on her desk. "He's going back to his father. And back to Beaufort."

I hold my breath. "What?"

Ruby says nothing more. Minutes pass in which she just stares straight ahead. She looks like she's not really present, and her eyes are so empty that it gives my arms goosebumps.

"Wren told me on the way back that he wouldn't be surprised if James' father resorted to unfair means to get him back," I say cautiously. Do you think that happened today?"

This tears Ruby out of her trance. Her gaze sparks as she looks at me. "The bastard is blackmailing James."

I exhale haltingly. So it's like Wren said.

"What is he blackmailing him with?" I ask.

Ruby swallows hard. She opens her mouth, closes it again. Finally, she clears her throat and starts again. he said he was going to destroy our family."

My eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"James didn't tell me more, but he doesn't need to. We both know that Mortimer Beaufort does not make empty threats." She rubs her eyes with one hand, which have become moist again. "Just the idea of what exactly he might have said to James makes me incredibly angry."

I think feverishly about what Ruby has just told me, and wonder if there could be any reason to justify James's father acting this way. But I can't think of anything with the best will in the world. Our dad would never inflict such suffering on us – no matter what situation he himself was in. "I don't understand how you can do such a thing to your children."

Ruby grabs one of her pillows and pulls it onto her lap. She hugs it tightly and seems to be clinging to it.

"He has taken it into his head that he will only continue Beaufort with James. He is only concerned with his reputation – with the effect it has on others when James sits next to him at meetings and negotiations. I feel sick when I think that James has to do everything he asks of him from now on. I'd like to help him so much, but I don't know what I can do." Her voice breaks, and she has to clear her throat again.

I reach forward and grasp her arm, which is tightly wrapped around the pillow. "You're helping him, Ruby."

"How? By sitting here and just letting him leave?" she replies.

I shake my head and squeeze her arm gently. "You're there for him. And I think that's exactly what James needs from you right now."

Ruby swallows hard and sniffles. I realize that I don't want to leave her alone in this state under any circumstances. Without further ado, an idea comes to me.

"What do you think about me sleeping here today?" I ask cautiously.

Ruby thinks about my question for a moment. In the next second, she slides about half a meter to the side and sinks backwards. She hands me the pillow from her lap, and I place it on the vacated half of the bed. Then I lie down, turn to the side and look at Ruby.

"Thank you for being here, Ember," she whispers.

I reach for her hand. "Always."

27

Ruby

On Monday, I feel like I'm wrapped in cotton wool. The morning passes me by without really noticing anything, because my thoughts are only with James and the fact that he has left a painful hole in my family with his departure.

On Sunday I wrote to him how he was doing and if he wanted to talk, to which he replied that everything was fine.

Late in the evening I received the notification that a first post had been uploaded to Beyond Beaufort.

I spent most of the night reading James' words over and over again. He wrote about dreams. About how important they are and that you have to allow them, no matter how bad you are or how hopeless a situation may be. About the fact that you should surround yourself with people who encourage you to pursue these dreams, and that there is nothing better than finding a person who shares your dreams. And he wrote about how for some dreams there is simply not yet the right time and yet you must not give them up, even if it costs you more strength than anything else to continue to hold on to them.

His words made me cry again, and I couldn't stop thinking about them.

It drives me crazy that there's nothing I can do for him. Even if Ember thinks it's enough to be there for him – that's not enough for me. I'd love to go to London and confront James' father, but I can imagine what James would think of that.

So I sit in class on Monday morning and force myself to write down notes, but with the best will in the world, I don't have the strength to sort things away neatly, let alone pick up a single colored pen. Not even my bullet journal can give me the feeling that I have my life under control.

During my lunch break, I listlessly poke around in my food while I raise my head every now and then and look for James. I haven't seen him yet. I had hoped that he would be waiting for me at the bus again in the morning, and had to swallow the disappointment like a heavy lump when that wasn't the case.

"We're so lucky, Ruby," Lin says quietly.

I look up from my rice dish and look at her questioningly.

"Because we have parents who don't force us to do anything. I mean, sure, my mum and my grandmother always wanted me to go to university – but they never pushed me to do anything I didn't want."

"That's exactly my problem. Because I know what it can be like to have a loving, supportive family, it somehow makes the situation even more unbearable."

"Unfortunately, you won't be able to do anything about that at the moment," Lin says, taking a sip of her iced tea. Then she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's not in your hands what James's father does. And I believe you that it's incredibly hard to watch and not be able to intervene. But the worst thing you can do to James right now is to make your relationship suffer. I'm sure he's dirty enough with his decision."

"I know," I whisper and finally put the fork aside completely. I don't even want to imagine what Mortimer Beaufort would have done if James had refused to come back. What he would have done to my family.

At this moment, James enters the cafeteria. Wren and Cyril walk next to him, Kesh and Alistair are close behind them. They talk, Wren nudges James in the side with his elbow and grins broadly. Cyril only rolls his eyes at his words, but has to grin as well. And James? James struggles to smile as well, but even from this distance I can see how upside down and artificial it looks. It has nothing in common with the smile that spreads across his face when my dad makes a joke. It has nothing in common with the smile he wears when he talks to Lydia. And it has nothing at all in common with the smile he gives me every time he kisses me.

As if he had read my mind, he looks at me. The boys come in our direction, probably to sit down in their usual place by the window. James stops in front of our table. Now I can see how pale he is and how deep the rings are under his turquoise blue eyes.

"Hey," he says, raising his hand to my cheek. As his knuckles brush my skin, a tingling sensation spreads through me. His smile is hesitant, as if he wasn't sure how I would react to his touch.

At that moment, one thing becomes clear to me: James is giving everything to be strong. For Lydia, for my family, for me. The way I behave, I don't help him. On the contrary, I only put an additional burden on him. My behavior towards him is not really fair. He makes a huge sacrifice for my family and me. And instead of giving him the support he needs right now and that his friends clearly give him, I criticize his decision and possibly make him feel guilty. I should be there for him instead of making his life more difficult.

"James?"

He looks at me questioningly. "Yes?"

"Do you have any plans after dinner?" I ask.

"I've got half an hour until Percy comes to pick me up." He tilts his head slightly and squints his eyes. "Why?"

I smile at him. Then I lean forward and whisper something in his ear, hopefully so quietly that no one else can hear it. As I lean back again, I see something flash in James' eyes. And I like that so much better than seeing him sad.

The lunch break is not quite over yet, so it is pleasantly empty when I arrive at the library. Instead of going my usual route to the printer, the lending desk and finally to the group rooms, I turn right and cross the room almost to the very back, where there is a small table in a corner between two shelves with heavy illustrated books and old history books.

I put my bag on the floor, then I sit down on the table and lean back on my hands. My heart is pounding like crazy, and I feel like I'm doing something unspeakably forbidden – but I'm just waiting for James.

I have written him precise instructions on where to find me, and it takes less than five minutes for him to appear between the shelves and step up to me. Although my heart feels heavy, I can't help but smile at him. "There you are."

James comes to a stop close to me. "As if I could refuse a secret meeting with the most amazing girl in Maxton Hall."

His words warm me. I reach out for his, and he gently embraces them.

"I'm sorry," I finally begin, looking at our intertwined fingers.

"What are you sorry for?"

I run my thumbs over the backs of his hands. "How I reacted." I look up again and look James firmly in the eyes. "In case I haven't said that clearly enough, I support you in everything you do. And we will also manage this here. We must not allow your Father to stand between us again. Okay?"

James seems to have held his breath at my words. He stares at me and needs a few seconds to react.

Slowly he raises my hands to his mouth and kisses them briefly. "Thank you," he says in a hushed voice.

I lean forward and pull him to me for a hug. I spread the legs so that he can stand between them. We hold on to each other for a minute. I breathe in his familiar smell and run my hands over his back.

"Why did you want to meet me here?" James asks at some point, close to my ear. His hand is on the back of my head, and he holds me close to him. Nevertheless, I detach myself from him a bit and take a deep breath.

"I wanted to show you that even on a day like today, when you have to go to London, great things can still happen. That's why I thought I'd finally give you your kiss of desire."

James's brows are contracted, but at my words his thoughtful expression clears, and a lively sparkle enters his eyes. His hand moves down my back until it almost reaches my tailbone. Then he pulls me forward until I am almost sitting on the edge of the table and have to support myself with one hand on his chest.

"You have great ideas, Ruby Bell," James murmurs.

I don't know which of us will move first. The next moment, our lips merge together. I hold on to him, and he presses against me, his mouth feverishly on mine. James holds my neck in his arms and I surrender completely to the feeling he triggers in me. I notice that nothing has changed between us.

And I firmly resolve that it will stay that way in the future – no matter what his father comes up with next.

James

It's really hard to focus on brainstorming for the new Beaufort catalogs or the new EU labeling regulation when I can't get Ruby out of my head.

"James?" asks Edward Culpepper, his voice shattering the picture of her on the table in the library.

Just like everyone else in this room, he addresses me by my first name. After all, there cannot be two Mr Beauforts. The members of the board try to treat me equally, but I still feel the scepticism that is shown to me. And that's despite the fact that I don't even know two-thirds of the people in this room – Dad must have replaced a large part of the board in the last few weeks.

"Yes?" I ask, leaning forward with both elbows on the conference table to feign interest.

"I asked if you had anything else to add."

I stare at him. My throat feels dry as dust when I realize how quiet it has suddenly become in the room. I look into the critical faces of the men and women sitting around the table. I bet they think I have no idea what they were talking about. But my dad has been drumming this stuff into me since I was a kid. I could take over a fiscal year plan for Beaufort in my sleep. I know how this company works, even though a lot has changed here since Mum's death.

"Yes. I would like us to evaluate the key figures monthly from now on, no longer every six months. This will allow us to react more quickly if a development becomes apparent that we did not expect. And I think the board should then be present, not just the department heads."

Culpepper's mouth has opened slightly, but he immediately closes it again and nods curtly. Then he makes a quick note on his iPad and looks at my father at the head of the table. He takes the floor and mumbles something about the measures taken so far. A slide of numbers and a graph is thrown onto the screen in front, and I spend the next forty-five minutes pretending to listen and take notes. But only wild circles appear on my sheet. The pen in my hand feels like it weighs a thousand times as much as I even try to write down some of what Dad and the others are discussing. Once I catch the old guy next to me taking a look at my open notebook and then twisting the corners of his mouth in disapproval. I close it and stare forward from then on without touching the pen again.

The longest hour and a half of my life ends at some point. Two board members walk up to Dad and engage him in a conversation while I stand up and extend my arms above my head to somehow get the stiffness out of my limbs. My father gives me a stern look, and I let it sink again. Then I wait for him, with my back arched, my notebook in my hand. My father indicates to his colleagues to wait for a moment. Then he comes to me.

"You're going home with Percival. I have another business dinner with Edward and Bancroft. It's getting late, I'm staying in London overnight," he says, nodding curtly at me.

With that, I'm dismissed. I say goodbye and take the elevator down the twenty floors. An incredible relief comes over me as I step outside through the revolving doors and inhale the fresh evening air. Percy is already leaning against the Rolls-Royce and straightens up when he sees me. He opens the door for me, and I fall into the back seat. Now that I'm behind darkened windows and no one in this building can see me anymore, I can finally loosen the knot of my tie. She's been ripping my throat for hours.

"Are you okay, sir?" Percy asks me, and our eyes meet in the rear-view mirror.

I can only shrug my shoulders. I don't know what to answer to this question. It feels like after months of vacation, I've returned to a life that deeply depresses me from morning to night.

I lean my head back and close my eyes. When I open them again at some point, they feel dry and tired. I must have dozed off. I rub my face with both hands and look outside. We are just passing the Pemwick town sign – but instead of taking the exit, Percy drives past it.

"You missed the exit, Percy," I say roughly, leaning over to the minibar to take out one of the small water bottles. I empty them in one go, hoping that my throat won't feel like a grater afterwards. Then I look outside again. At the next exit, Percy exits, but then turns directly left. There are two more junctions that clearly do not lead back to the main road.

"Percy," I say again and check the light on the ceiling of the Rolls-Royce. It's glowing, so he must be able to hear me.

Nevertheless, I don't get a reaction. Instead, he steers the car into the parking lot in front of a small pub. Frowning, I look at the yellowish light that shines outside through the windows.

I want to ask Percy where the hell we are here, but he beats me to it:

"I must speak to you, Mr. Beaufort."

The pub is small with narrow aisles that inevitably make me wonder how the waiters are supposed to get away with the trays. Apart from Percy and me, there are only two other men present, sitting in a corner watching a football match on a small TV on the wall. Percy points to a table on a wall hung all over with old plaques and framed retro-style movie posters. We sit down, and a little later a waiter places cards in front of us. Neither Percy nor I touch them.

"What I'm doing here will probably cost me my job," Percy says after a few minutes. His voice is calm, as if he has already come to terms with this fact.

I look at him, waiting.

Percy clears his throat and opens his mouth, but at that moment the waiter appears at our table again and asks us what we would like to drink. Without taking my eyes off Percy, I order a large water bottle with two glasses. Then we are alone again.

"At the end of last year ...", he finally begins, "... I overheard a telephone conversation from your father."

I open my mouth, but Percy seems to know what I'm going to ask him.

"The loudspeaker in the Rolls-Royce was switched on." He hesitates. "I didn't think anything of it at first—your father is talking all sorts of things in my presence. But I couldn't stop thinking about it either."

I swallow hard and look at Percy expectantly.

He looks at the table and is silent for a few seconds. Then he takes a deep breath. "I couldn't stop thinking about his words, because he said, 'Cordelia is dead. I need your help.'"

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "How did the conversation continue?"

"He said he would be there in twenty minutes, and asked his interlocutor to receive him alone."

My thoughts whirl around, my heart beats faster and faster.

"Where did you drive him?" I croak.

"To Clive Allen."

"Why would Dad meet with our lawyer in secret?"

Percy opens his mouth, but is interrupted by the waiter, who returns to the table at that moment and puts the glasses and water in front of us.

"When was that?" I ask further.

"The night after your mother's death."

My stomach makes an unpleasant leap, and a thought flares up in my head. What if Mum's death wasn't a coincidence? What if Dad was involved? But then I think of the night I saw him in front of the family portrait in the dining room.

I will never forgive you. Now I'm alone with the two of them and I'm doing everything wrong, and it's your fucking fault!

That can't possibly have been played. He looked as if he knew that he was making mistakes. And he cried, in front of my eyes. Although I believe that my father is capable of many things, he loved Mum.

"The first time after that I myself was too . . . to think about it. But the conversation didn't let me go. And when I talked to Ophelia at the weekend, I knew I had to talk to you about it."

"What did Ophelia say?"

"She told me that there have been worrying developments at Beaufort in recent months. Your father dismissed part of the board."

"He didn't dismiss them, they left at their own request. That's what they talked about in the meeting today," I say, but at the same moment it occurs to me that this is probably just the official version of what really happened. A queasy feeling spreads in my stomach.

"Ophelia said that while she didn't always agree with the way her mother ran the company, she at least knew that the spirit of Beaufort and her family's traditions always came first for her. Now that seems to be slowly changing."

I had a similar thought while sitting in the meeting with my father today. In the past, when I visited Beaufort's headquarters with Lydia and watched Mum at work, I always felt the passion with which Mum and her colleagues made decisions. Beaufort had a heart. In contrast, the mood today was cool and tense, the speeches emotionless and phrase-like.

"I know what she means," I say quietly.

"Ophelia doesn't think your mother would have shared Mr. Beaufort's visions."

I frown. "My mum and dad have always worked hand in hand."

"That only worked because your mother's word always counted more than your father's. She could control what he was doing because, strictly speaking, he was her employee." He clears his throat. "I think your mother suspected that something like this could happen if something ... should anything happen to her."

"Percy," I say slowly. "What do you mean to tell me?"

Percy just looks at me for a moment, then he exhales jerkily. He reaches into the collar of his shirt and pulls out a narrow silver chain with a pendant. Carefully he pulls it over his head and then holds it up so that I can take a closer look at it. What dangles from the chain is not a pendant – but a small key.

"A few years ago your mother gave me this key. She said I should protect him with my life." He looks at the small teeth and runs his finger over the tarnished metal. He almost seems to be in a trance. Then he shakes his head, as if to tear himself out of the dream he has just been in, and releases the key from the chain. He pushes it across the table in my direction before he slips the chain back over his head and lets it disappear under his shirt.

I take the key in my hand and turn it back and forth a few times. "Why did she entrust him to you?" I ask in a hoarse voice.

Percy swallows hard. "We were something like friends."

Thoughts are running fast in my head, but I try to suppress them. All that matters now is the fact that Mum had a secret. A secret that she didn't want to confide in Dad or Lydia or me or Ophelia. A secret to which I hold the key in my hand.

"She never told me what he was for," Percy says deliberately. "But I think you ought to have it."

I look up and look at Percy, and all of a sudden I notice how sad he looks. I remember what Ruby told me. That all this certainly couldn't have been easy for Percy – both Mum's death and Lydia's and my moving out. Even though he is our employee – he is part of this family. And he obviously meant so much to my mom that she trusted him unconditionally.

"Do you think the key and Dad's strange call are related?" I finally ask.

He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. But what I do know is that your father has something to hide."

I turn the key in my hand. Then I take out my wallet, open it and slide it right behind Ruby's list. Resolutely, I look Percy in the eye. "I'll find out what it is."

"I was hoping you'd say that, Mr. Beaufort."

28

Ruby

I sit on the cold steps in front of the Beauforts' house and look at the clock. James wrote to me over an hour ago that he was on his way home and asked me if I would like to come over. I didn't hesitate for a second.

I meant what I said to him at noon today. I want to be there for him and support him – and if he has survived a terrible meeting at Beaufort, I want to at least spend a nice evening with him before the whole cycle starts all over again.

I don't have to wait long to spot the Rolls-Royce in the driveway to the house. I stand up and stroke my skirt to remove any traces of dust. Percy stops with the car right in front of the entrance, and a little later James gets out. Although I know he's far from comfortable in it, I can't deny how well the gray checked Beaufort suit he put on for the meeting suits him. It looks like it was made especially for James' body, and I swallow hard when I look up again and see the ambiguous smile on James's lips.

The next moment he comes to me and hugs me tightly.

"Hey," he murmurs in my ear and immediately presses a kiss on my head.

I hold him for a moment before I lean back to look him in the face.

"How was it?" I ask cautiously and stroke his neck with my hand fleetingly.

"Come on," says James and nods in the direction of the front door. "I'll tell you everything inside."

He glances at Percy, who is just getting out of the car and saying goodbye with a nod, then he takes me by the hand and walks up to the house with me. He opens the door for me, but before we have even set foot in the house, Mary comes up to us and looks at us questioningly.

"Mary, Ruby and I want a little privacy tonight," says James. "It would be nice if no one came upstairs."

I feel heat shoot into my face – just like the housekeeper, whose cheeks are flushed slightly. James' words have completely thrown me off my game, and I feel dazed as he pulls me up the stairs and turns left towards his room. He glances over his shoulder when we arrive in his room, and then closes the door behind us.

I expect James to push me against the wall and kiss me unconsciously, but instead he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet.

"I have to show you something," he repeats the words he has already written in the text message.

I look at him questioningly. "What's the matter?"

"After the meeting, Percy picked me up and wanted to drive me home – but he made a small stop at a pub. And then he told me something about my father. Something that could change everything."

He opens his wallet and takes out something – a small key. He holds it out to me, and I turn it back and forth in my hand. It doesn't look special, but like a normal little key.

"What is it for?" I ask slowly.

"Mum entrusted Percy with this key years ago," James says quickly. His words almost come thick and fast. He pushes himself away from the door and takes off his jacket as he walks. He drops it on the sofa, then loosens the knot of his tie and looks at me again. He said it was urgent, and asked for discretion."

Without realizing it, I hold my breath. "What does that mean?"

James also drops the tie on the sofa. Next, he unties the cufflinks of his shirt and rolls up his sleeves loosely up to his elbows. "That means we have to find out what Mum was hiding from Dad. Maybe the key is related to Dad's secret. Perhaps—" His words fade away, and he presses his lips together into a thin line.

I shrug my shoulders and walk towards James. I grasp his hot cheeks and stand on my tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. Then I break away from him and look at him seriously. "We'll find out what the key is for."

James swallows hard and nods. He takes the key back and puts it in his suit pants. "Dad is staying in London tonight. There's no better opportunity to look over Mum's things than now."

James takes off my jacket, and then we leave his room again. We go back and past the stairs into the part of the house that I have never entered before. The hallway is at least as long as the one where Lydia and James' rooms are, but there is only one door here. We come to a stop in front of it, and James takes a deep breath. Then he turns the knob around and pushes the massive wooden door inwards.

There is something forbidden about entering the room, my own heartbeat seems much too loud to me. Breathless, I look around as James closes and locks the door behind us. We are in a narrow hallway where there is a wardrobe with an integrated illuminated mirror on the right. To the left is a door that leads with certainty into an en-suite bathroom. James walks past it into the bedroom, and I follow him.

"I don't remember the last time I was in here," admits James. He whispers as if he, just like me, is panicking about being caught at any moment. He walks across the room to a desk near the window.

"Mum always liked to look outside while working. Every time she was in my room, she turned up her nose at the fact that my desk was against the wall." He looks at the papers lying on the work surface and fans out the pieces of paper. He skims over their contents. "In the meantime, I just want to look outside. If I ever have my own apartment, I'll do it just like them."

I step over to him and gently stroke his back. "Shall we begin?" I ask.

James lingers with his hand on the leaves for a moment before finally taking a deep breath and nodding. "Yes. Let's get started."

"While we're standing here—" I say, leaning down to the drawers of the desk. I look at James questioningly.

"Don't force yourself."

I gather all my courage and open the first drawer. It contains lots of Beaufort notepads and the matching pencils. I take everything out, put it on top and then feel the floor. I tap on the small plate, but the sound doesn't sound hollow, but quite normal.

"You look like you've done that umpteen times before. Is there anything I should know about?" asks James from the other side of the desk, where he is in the process of clearing out the small cabinet.

"I've seen enough movies," I reply, shaking the drawer. Nothing happens, so I put the things away again, making sure that everything is exactly as it was before, and push them back in. Then it's the turn of drawer number two.

"I don't know if I'm supposed to find it frightening or rather hot."

I grin and pull out the folder that is in the second drawer. I flip through it, but find nothing that looks suspicious, let alone something that the small key could fit into.

So we work our way forward until we have looked through the entire desk. In the end, we even move it to the front to see if there might be something hidden behind it – but to no avail. Then we go to the bedside cabinets. At this point, at the latest, we both lose the desire to make jokes to lighten up the situation. I feel shabby when I open Mrs Beaufort's and rummage through hand creams, a few pieces of jewellery and an English classic. I also find an old magazine with a photo of Cordelia Beaufort on the cover. For a moment I am surprised that she keeps it in her bedside table, but I probably wouldn't have done it any other way. Maybe I would have even hung such a cover picture over my desk.

"There's nothing here. Not even under the bed," James says in a muffled voice. He gets up again, his shirt is now totally crumpled.

"Not here either. Off to the wardrobe?" I ask.

"Yes."

When he opens the door to his parents' walk-in closet, it takes my breath away. The room is huge.

To the left and right are clothes rails on which neatly ironed suits and blouses, suits and shirts hang, and shelves in which countless pairs of shoes are stored. The left side of the cupboard must have belonged to Mrs. Beaufort, and I really start to sweat when I see her things. At the same time, it flashes through my head that my sister would give her right hand to be able to swap places with me now. She has a soft spot for walk-in closets, and I know this would be a dream come true for her. Instantly, I am ashamed of the thought and push it out of my head to focus on the task ahead.

James takes a few steps into the room and lightly strokes the fabric of his mum's costumes.

"It even smells like her," he murmurs hoarsely.

I approach him from behind and touch his shoulder lightly. "If you want us to stop, all you have to do is say something."

He immediately shakes his head. "No."

I nod and stand at the first shelf. Carefully, I start to push the individual T-shirts apart to see if something has been hidden between them. Unfortunately, this is not the case. James takes care of the upper compartments, which I can't reach, as well as the shoe racks, but he doesn't succeed either.

"Here too?" I ask, pointing to the white-lacquered chest of drawers further back in the room. James nods, and I press the pressure door opener.

Again I hold my breath. I am literally dazzled by jewelry. Everything shines and sparkles – brooches, necklaces, earrings and some fascinators that are made for weddings or a visit to the Grand National.

"Wow," I murmur.

James comes up to me and squats down next to me. "I remember many of these pieces. I can even remember the exact occasions she wore them on. Is that strange?"

I shake my head. "Not at all."

We look at the fans lined with black velvet and lift them out as well to see if there is anything underneath. The bottom compartment contains hair clips and lots of extravagant odds and ends. I recognize some accessories because I saw them on Lydia when she was still sitting in front of me in class.

"Why is that only half a subject?" asks James suddenly.

I've been too busy inspecting a glittering spider and wondering what occasion you should wear something like that for me to notice. The next moment, James leans forward and pulls the drawer out as far as he can. Then he pushes his arm into the space between the bottom drawer and the back wall of the cabinet. His eyes widen.

"I think there's something," he says, leaning forward a little further until his arm has disappeared completely into the cupboard. I hear a soft scraping as James reaches for the object. I hold my breath as he finally makes it and his arm reappears. Then I frown.

"What's that?" I ask quietly.

James looks just as surprised. The item is a small box. It is covered all over with small beads and craft stones - in all kinds of colors. The box is so colorful and so shrill that it doesn't fit in at all with the other things in Cordelia Beaufort's closet.

"Looks like a jewel box. But... I don't think Mum heard that. It looks kind of strange."

I nod. The stones are all glued on so crookedly that it gives the impression that a small child has let off steam on them. "Did you make something like that in kindergarten?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "And if I had, my father would have thrown it away."

"James," I say suddenly. "Turn it over."

He complies with my request and freezes. A small keyhole can be seen at the front of the box.

"Do you have the key?" I ask, but James has already reached into his trouser pocket and pulled it out. I think we both hold our breath as he puts it in the keyhole – and turns it over.

We exchange a glance, then James opens the lid of the box. I lean forward.

In it lies an envelope bedded on dark blue velvet. James takes it out and places the box next to him on the floor. Then he slowly tears open the letter.

I watch James read. He doesn't make any emotion. But I try to wait and not let it show how restless I am.

After two minutes, James looks up from the letter.

"And?" I whisper.

"We must call Ophelia at once." He holds up the letter. "This is my mother's will."

29

Lydia

… in addition, I bequeath my shares in the Beaufort Companies to my younger sister Ophelia. In the event of my death, she will take on the role of creative director and first chairwoman of the board until my children have completed their studies.

While Ophelia reads aloud, I slap my hand in front of my mouth. My aunt rubs her eyes as if she can't believe what is written in my mother's will.

"That's not all," Ophelia says and passes it on to me. With my free hand, I claw into Graham's leg. He sits next to me in the conservatory and has an arm around my shoulder. He squeezes her briefly while I accept my mother's letter with trembling fingers. I skim the will to the passage that Ophelia read aloud. When I see my name, I lift the paper higher.

I, Cordelia Beaufort, my daughter Lydia Beaufort and my son James Beaufort, hereby appoint as my heirs, with equal shares of the inheritance. May they always believe in themselves and put their vision into practice.

A thick lump forms in my throat. "I don't think so," I whisper. "She signed over shares to me. James and me."

"Because she believed in you," Graham says softly.

Tears welling up in my eyes, blurring Mum's words in front of them. I hastily hand the letter back to James, who sits to my right and has been surprisingly quiet the whole time.

"I can't believe she kept this item," Ophelia says quietly, running her fingers over the jewelry box. "I gave it to her for her thirteenth birthday."

I swallow hard. "If she hid this will with such care, it would mean—" I begin in a hushed voice.

»… that the other will is forged," James ends the sentence. The one in which Dad is named as the sole heir to the company."

"Cordelia's will has been kept in the office," Ophelia interjects. "I was there when Clive Allen read it. It was all right."

"But this will was not authenticated by Clive Allen," Graham says suddenly next to me, pointing to the paper in my hand with a frown. "But from a Fergus Wright."

James and I exchange a look.

"That was our previous lawyer," my brother says slowly. "And that of our grandparents. He died a few years ago, after which they hired Allen." He lets out a stunned laugh. "I don't think so."

"What?" I ask, wiping the corners of my eyes.

"Percy drove Dad to Allen the night after Mum's death. He has asked him for help and discretion. Surely they forged the will."

"Do you think Dad knew that Mum wouldn't bequeath Beaufort to him?"

Ophelia gets up from the rattan chair she's been sitting on all this time. "He must have suspected at least something."

I glance at James. He seems just as overwhelmed by the situation as I am.

"But... if Mum knew all along that she would bequeath the company to Ophelia at some point – why didn't she stop Dad from ostracizing her like that?" asks James thoughtfully.

"Because she wanted to protect me," Ophelia says quietly. She brushes a rust-red strand behind her ear and swallows hard. "I'll contact my lawyer. He should see to it that the right will can come into force."

I reach for my brother's hand, just as he reaches for mine. While Ophelia makes the call, we cling to each other. I think we both know that we have to stick together even closer than ever before.

James

Lydia wears a black costume in which she looks frighteningly similar to Mum. We all dressed for the occasion: Ophelia wears a mint green sheath dress and I wear a Beaufort suit.

It takes a while for Dad's assistant to meet us and ask us to follow her. She opens the door for us, and one by one we enter the office. An oppressive feeling spreads through my chest when I see my father.

"How did I deserve this surprise?" he asks mockingly. He doesn't even bother to get up from his desk.

Ophelia walks through the room with a serenity that I have never seen in her before. At this moment, she looks as if she has the upper hand. Probably because she knows that this is the only way to get through to Dad.

"We need to talk, Mortimer," she says, taking a seat in front of the desk. Lydia sits down on the second chair. I stop behind her and lean on the backrest.

Dad looks back and forth between our aunt and us. I can't classify his gaze. Does he know what to expect?

"We found this," says Ophelia, opening her black briefcase. She takes out a copy of Mum's will and pushes it across the desk to my father.

I watch his facial expression very closely. At first he blinks perplexed. The next moment, all blood leaves his cheeks. He pulls the copy closer to him and skims over it.

"What's that supposed to be?" he asks, looking up.

"That's my sister's will," Ophelia replies calmly. "Which raises the question of which will was read out in December."

Dad's left eye begins to twitch. He raises his hand and strokes his gelled hair with it. Then he swallows hard and presses his lips together into a fine line.

That says it all. Nevertheless, I need certainty.

"Did you forge Mum's will, Dad?" I ask, surprising myself with how ice-cold and emotionless my voice is.

My father looks at me. He opens his mouth and closes it again. Apparently, he was speechless.

"I asked you something." I look at my father more closely. In the meantime, fine beads of sweat have formed on his forehead, even though he is still chalky white in the face. "Did you forge Mum's will to take over Beaufort?"

"I had no other choice," he says finally.

Lydia takes a sharp breath. I, on the other hand, clutch the back of the chair so tightly that the leather crunches under my fingers.

"Why?" I ask calmly.

My father looks at Lydia first, then at me. "I haven't worked all my life for this company only to end up empty-handed."

"Cordelia would have bequeathed you some of her shares if she hadn't known exactly how greedy you were," Ophelia says energetically.

"You have no idea what you're talking about!" hisses Dad. He has clenched his hands into fists, so tight that his knuckles stand out white. "We always had a plan that we worked on together. The children were to go to Oxford, and James was to take over the company afterwards. We needed structure, strategy – and then suddenly she started wanting to integrate you back into the company, even though I got rid of you years ago. It took ages to talk her out of it."

I can't believe how he talks about our family – about Mum.

"Then it wasn't Cordelia's idea at all to keep me out of the main company," Ophelia says slowly.

"Of course not. Your sister has always struggled to act consistently. Unlike Cordelia, I had a vision for Beaufort. And for them you stood in my way."

Lydia's shoulders tense more and more. I can feel that she would like to get up and walk out of the room, probably to keep the last good memories of Dad that she still has. I feel the same way. At the same time, I know that we have to get through this. Otherwise, we can never look to the future with peace of mind.

"And why did you want to chain me to the company at all costs?" I ask.

Dad snorts contemptuously. "Because you always did what I said. Because it only took a little bit of violence to steer you in the right direction. It would be better for me and the company if you filled Cordelia's void and not someone who has a will of his own and is constantly trying to push it through."

Despite everything Dad has done to me over the past few years, I feel a painful stab in my chest as the meaning of his words sinks through to me.

They show me that he never saw in me more than a tool for his success. They show me how little he has to love Lydia and me.

And although I thought I had finished with my father a long time ago, something in me tears apart when his gaze crosses mine.

"You're a disgrace to this family, Mortimer," Ophelia says in a deadly low voice. "You don't deserve to follow in Cordelia's footsteps."

Then he says nothing more.

"Aren't you ashamed at all, Dad?" asks Lydia in a trembling voice.

"I only did what I thought was right."

"Then your moral compass is pretty wrong," Lydia replies.

"Mum would be ashamed if she saw you like that," I add.

"That's all well and good. I just wonder what you're going to do with this information now." He raises an eyebrow, but his arrogant gaze has lost its effect. It's as if the image I always had of my father has finally burst and as if I now see what was really hidden behind his façade. I recognize his true self – and it's not a pretty sight. On the contrary. I wonder how I could have believed in him for so long.

"We have several options now, Mortimer," says Ophelia. "The first: You withdraw from the company and hand over the management to me. Just as Cordelia intended."

The room is filled with silence. I can see it working behind Dad's eyes.

"Unfortunately, that's not an option for me," he says after half a minute.

"Very well, if that's the case, then my lawyer will initiate proceedings for the re-execution of the will. He has already spoken to Clive Allen, and he is willing to testify against you if we refrain from reporting him in return. He will say that you blackmailed him and forced him to read the false will. Your chances of winning the case are almost zero due to the burden of proof, Mortimer. And you can imagine what happens when the press gets wind of it."

Dad lowers his gaze to the desk. He swallows hard and loosens his hands until they lie flat on the dark blue surface. When he looks up again, I arm myself for anything. Even in case I have to fight. But when he looks first at Lydia and then at me, I almost think I can detect something like regret in his gaze.

"I would welcome it if we could keep the press out of all this," he says finally.

At that moment I know: We have won.

30

James

The sun is beating down on the pitch, but I enjoy the feeling of the protective gear around my body and the white 17 on my back. I don't think. All I have to do is run, catch the ball and put it in the goal.

For a moment, I close my eyes and focus on the sounds around me: the stomping footsteps, the shouts from the audience, the whirring of the ball...

"Beaufort!" roars Coach Freeman. "Stop sleeping, damn it!"

I open my eyes again just in time to see that Alistair passes the ball to me. At the last moment, I catch it with the stick – and then three players from the other team run towards me at the same time.

My body shifts as if by itself. I sprint off without hesitating for a second. One of the opposing players rams me. I lose my balance for a moment, but I can catch myself again. I look around for my teammates and discover Wren, who has rushed forward with me. I pull the racket back and pass the ball to him powerfully. He has to jump up to get it into the pocket of his racket, but he succeeds. He takes three steps, but a defense lawyer stands in his way. Without hesitation, Wren hands it back to me. I dodge the defenders, run as fast as I can. Then I jump and shoot. The ball whizzes past the goalkeeper and lands in the net. The next moment, the referee blows the whistle for the break.

Wren is the first to come up to me and give me a high-five, the other crew members follow. Adrenaline floods my body. I'm on a high that I never want to come down from.

I pull the helmet off my head and immediately look for a head of brown hair.

Ruby sits in a seat in the front row, next to her is her sister and the entire event committee.

I memorize everything. The feeling of the turf under my shoes as I walk towards the stands. The creaking of my gloves as I grip the stick tighter. Ruby's gaze, which hits me even from a distance with an intensity that seems even more intense to me than the intoxication in which I find myself through the shot goal. When I arrive at her place, I can't help but grin.

"Hey," I murmur and lean down to her. The kiss was supposed to be fleeting, but when I feel Ruby's lips on mine, I suddenly can't stop.

Ember lets out a strange noise next to us, and shortly afterwards Ruby leans back laughing.

"Well, if he plays like that, I can forgive him for skipping our meeting once a week," Lin tells me.

"I know," Ruby replies, smiling, without taking her eyes off me. "He's doing quite well, isn't he?"

My heart beats even faster.

"Hey," Wren says, standing next to us. "I would also like to be praised, please."

"Fishing for compliments is uncool, Wren," Ember replies. Although her tone is serious, the corners of her mouth twitch. I look at Wren, who is looking at Ember with an expression on his face that I have never seen on him before: lighthearted, open and full of affection.

I wonder if I look at Ruby like that, too.

"Did Lydia write to you again?" I ask Ruby shortly afterwards.

She shakes her head. "Not since you last asked. Which, by the way, was only half an hour ago."

I bend down to her. "Don't grin like that. I guess I'm allowed to be a little excited. After all, you don't become an uncle every day," I say so quietly that only Ruby understands. Lydia wrote to her half an hour ago that she has had irregular contractions for some time, but her doctor says that she should wait before going to the hospital because it may just be a false alarm.

"I'll give you a sign as soon as she gets in touch again. As we agreed," says Ruby. There is still that meaningful smile on her lips that makes me want to kiss her for hours.

"Promised?" I ask.

She nods and sits up a bit. Then she grabs my face with both hands and pulls me down to her for a kiss.

"Come on, Captain," Wren says, bumping his shoulder against mine. "The break is over. I'm sure there's more to come."

I smile at Ruby again before turning around with Wren and jogging back towards the field. Meanwhile, I think back to the beginning of the school year. The day Lydia stood in front of me and asked me to keep an eye on Ruby.

Since then, my life has turned a hundred and eighty degrees. Everything I thought I would experience in the future has vanished into thin air. Instead of going to Oxford and sitting on the board of Beaufort, I had the courage to decide against what my parents wanted for me and listened to my heart.

Ophelia has taken over Beaufort and has already begun to carefully renew the company. Lydia will join her as soon as the twins are big enough.

I have learned that it makes little sense to desperately hold on to any plans. At the beginning of the school year, I felt it was all like a countdown to the end of my carefree life, but now... now it feels like a beginning. Even though deep down I will always struggle with what happened, my perspective on life has changed fundamentally.

I know Wren was referring to the score of our last lacrosse game, but I grin at him from the side.

"And how much more can be done there," I say, and I mean it with all my heart.

Epilogue

Three months later

Ruby

My life is divided into colors:

Gold Seminars

Silver – Examinations

Bronze – Clubs and Extracurricular Activities

Green – Best done immediately

Turquoise – Leisure

Purple – Family

Orange – My Second Family

Purple (talking to Ember on the phone), orange (wrapping christening gifts for Rosie and Henry (pretty!) and bronze (attending the freshmen's breakfast and talking to at least one person) I have already ticked off today. All that's missing now is green (unpack the last boxes, print out pictures of Thailand and hang them up), orange (test read James' travelogue) and turquoise (meet Lin for a coffee and find out where it tastes best).

"How about here?" asks James.

I turn to him on my rickety desk chair. He stands between the bed and the small wardrobe and holds a photo of us to the wall. It's the first one we did during the two weeks I accompanied him to Thailand. We were standing in the middle of a street market, and hundreds of people were bustling around us. But you don't notice that in the picture. We both beam into the camera, happy and carefree.

Every time I look at the photo, I feel transported back to the two most beautiful weeks of my life – which is also the reason why I really want to have it hanging in my dorm room.

"I think the place is great," I answer a little belatedly.

James nods and glues the picture to the still barren wall with a first strip of scotch tape. "I think it's really stupid that you're not allowed to hang frames here."

"It doesn't matter. The main thing is that the pictures hang," I reply and put a small cross in front of the completed task.

"I still have something for you," says James. I can hear him step next to me at the desk and look up at him. In his hand he holds a gift wrapped in brown paper and with a white bow.

Surprised, I accept it. "What—?"

"Open it," he says with a smile.

Slowly I pull the bow open and unfold the paper. A small wooden picture frame comes to light, in which there is another photo.

My heart makes a leap. "That's from your farewell party!"

"I thought you might put that on your desk. Then we can all watch you learn."

I can't tear my eyes away from the photo. It was made in our garden at the beginning of the summer holidays, the night before James and I flew to Thailand. My parents are standing on the sidelines next to Ember, Wren, Alistair, Kesh and Lin. Lydia and Graham are smiling broadly into the camera, right next to them is Cyril, holding baby Henry in his arms. Unlike the others, he doesn't look at the camera, but looks at Henry, who holds his finger in a clutch. On the other side, James is standing with Rosie in his arms and I am right next to him, one arm wrapped around his waist, my face leaning against his shoulder.

"Unbelievable," I murmur, holding the picture a little closer to my eyes. "That was only two months ago, and Henry and Rosie felt like they'd grown twice as big."

"Lydia also keeps saying how creepy she thinks it is. I think it's kind of cool. Soon the boys and I will be able to play lacrosse with the two of them." He tries to keep a relaxed tone, but I can see his gaze suddenly darkening. "When I come back, I am sure they won't recognize me."

"Such nonsense," I say and place the picture on the table. Then I stand up and stand in front of James. I put my hands on his hips and stand on my tiptoes to poke his nose against his. "You've only been away for four weeks. You can also Skype or Facetime."

In three days, James will fly to Bali, where he will attend seminars for journalistic writing and professional photography. He has built up a small readership in recent months, and even though the development of his site is progressing slowly, he is having a lot of fun doing it. Every time we talk about it or tinker with entries and new layouts together, his eyes literally light up.

I've never seen him like that before. And even though it hurts incredibly to be away from him for so long over and over again, I'm incredibly happy about how much he enjoys his work.

It feels as if we have both arrived and yet are on a journey at the same time – he in the world and I in Oxford. Exactly where I always wanted to be, and exactly as I always dreamed it would be. Only better because I have James by my side.

"I'll bring you something," he says, pulling me close. "Or maybe I'll carve something for you this time."

I have to grin. "Something with lots of details and patterns, please."

"I see what can be done," he murmurs. Then he leans forward to gently place his lips on mine, igniting a firework of emotions in me.

I wonder if that will always be the case when he kisses me.

When he breaks away from me, I recognize a whole series of promises in his eyes, all of which he will certainly keep before he starts his journey.

My lips form a smile on their own.

"My James," I whisper before pulling him back down to me and kissing him. He sighs on my lips.

We have fought for so long to finally be able to be here. So much has happened in the last few months: shattered wishes, hopeful dreams, and more love than I ever thought possible.

We fought and saved each other. And that is exactly what we will continue to do in the future. Every hour, minute, second.

Thanksgiving

I can't believe that we're actually at the end of the Maxton Hall trilogy. The past eighteen months of writing have been the most turbulent to date, and now I look back on this time with one laughing and one crying eye.

First of all, I would like to thank my husband Christian, without whom this book would never have been finished. On some days, writing is associated with great overcoming, especially when the self-doubt becomes deafeningly loud and wants to wrestle you down. Thank you for motivating me non-stop, being my biggest cheerleader and always listening to me.

Thanks go to my editor Stephanie Bubley, who sat with me morning to night on the finishing touches of the books and makes me a better author. After working so Ruby, James & Co., we both deserve a (long) wellness holiday, a mountain of chocolate and lots of wine. I am very proud of us!

It is also time to thank all the other people at Bastei Lübbe/LYX who work tirelessly on the books:

Sandra Krings from production, who makes all appointments possible and thanks to whom there is a printed book. Ricarda Witte-Masuhr, Simone Belack and Angie Timplan, who took care of the great marketing. Barbara Fischer and Anna Fohs from the press as well as Christian Stüwe, thanks to whom my stories are also published abroad. Torsten Gläser and Andrea Ludorf on behalf of the entire sales department of Bastei Lübbe/LYX, who bring the books to bookstores and thus to you readers. I would like to thank Jennifer Schock for the best reading tour I could have wished for, Ruza Kelava and Simon Decot for their trust in my stories and Katharina Schmidt, who always steps in as a substitute when you need her.

I would also like to thank my test readers Lisa, Robert and Laura for their valuable comments, Sarah Saxx and Tina Köpke for the conversations about writing and my friends Elisa, Jasmin, Jenny, Lucie, Maren, Wiebke and Anna for their always open ears.

And finally, I would like to thank all readers. I hope James was able to show you that no dream is too big or small. I hope Ruby was able to encourage you to always stand up for yourself. I hope Lydia was able to give you the courage to surpass yourselves. And I hope you all take a leaf out of Ember's book, because a little more self-love never hurt anyone.

Thank you for traveling to Maxton Hall with us.

Return to Woodshill...

Everly and Nolan's story

June 28, 2019

The Author

© Mona Kasten

Mona Kasten was born in Hamburg in 1992 and studied library and information management before devoting herself entirely to writing. She lives in Lower Saxony with her husband and her cats as well as an infinite number of books, loves caffeine in any form, long walks in the woods and days when she can only write. For more information, please visit: www.monakasten.de

The novels of Mona Kasten at LYX

The Maxton Hall Series:

Save Me

Save You

Save Us

The Again series:

Begin Again

Trust Again

Feel Again

Further novels by the author are in preparation at LYX.

LYX.digital at Bastei Lübbe AG

Original edition

Copyright © 2018 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Cologne

Text editing: Stephanie Bubley

Cover design: Sandra Taufer, Munich

Cover image: © Shutterstock/Shebeko

Typesetting and e-book: Greiner & Reichel, Cologne

ISBN 978-3-7363-0675-2

You can find us on the Internet at: www.lyx-verlag.de

Please also note: www.luebbe.de and www.lesejury.de