In the heart of Harvard, Alessia Gilmore is ready to embrace her second year and the independence it brings. After a summer spent reconnecting with friends and discovering herself, she's determined to step out of her twin sister Rory's shadow and ca...
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The apartment was too quiet. Not peaceful—just sterile. Alessia sat on the edge of Logan's expensive sofa, a black hoodie wrapped around her like armor, her fingers loosely curled around a coffee mug that had long gone cold. One of his records played faintly in the background—something vintage, of course, probably chosen by the interior designer.
She stared at the steam-stained rim of her cup like it might tell her something new. Anything to keep her eyes from drifting to the opulent skyline outside, or worse, the framed photo of Logan and Honor from some glossy fundraiser.
He was late. Again.
Something about a last-minute meeting with Mitchum's people. Something about deals and promises and having to "make an appearance." Alessia hadn't asked for details. She'd stopped asking a while ago. It made her feel like a girlfriend. And she still wasn't sure if she was allowed to be that.
She'd laughed when he first called her that—girlfriend—like it was a dare he was pulling off mid-sentence. But he'd said it again. Once. Maybe twice. And every time it tasted like borrowed language in his mouth.
Her phone lit up next to her. A text from Riley.
u alive or is logan's place just a modern prison with better lighting?
She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Alessia tapped out a reply, then locked her phone and dropped it face down. She suddenly wanted to call someone. Anyone. But everyone at Harvard either thought she was too cool to care, or too distant to bother.
The front door clicked.
Alessia sat straighter. Logan stepped in, coat half-off, smile automatic and distracted. He looked tired. Polished, but tired.
"Hey, sorry. Ran late," he said, kissing the top of her head. "You good?"
Alessia nodded. "Sure. I just... yeah. Quiet day."
He didn't ask more. He never did when she gave him that clipped tone.
"Honor wants us to come to some dinner thing tomorrow night," he said, kicking off his shoes. "Big news. Probably engagement-related. You in?"
Alessia hesitated. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to be at Huntzberger family dinners yet.
But Logan had already moved on, pouring himself a drink, eyes on his watch. "No pressure."
And that was the thing. There was always no pressure—and yet pressure everywhere.
Alessia leaned back into the couch, watching the city through the floor-to-ceiling glass.
Something inside her itched. Like a part of her she hadn't needed lately was waking up again. Some messier, braver part.
