This time it was easier for Fleur to get through the story. Her voice shook, but she kept her composure. When she’d finished, silence filled the table.
“What are you going to do?” Mya finally asked.
“I don’t know.” She ran a hand through her hair, and I was struck by how lost she seemed. Her customary confidence was gone, and without the façade of strength she seemed like another person entirely—a little vulnerable, a little scared.
“Are you going to pay?” Mya asked.
Fleur toyed with the empty glass. “You know, I’m not.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah, I am. If someone wants to judge me for the fact that I was pregnant and had a miscarriage, then go for it.” She grimaced. “I’m not going feel bad about what I did with Costa. I loved him. At least I loved who I thought he was. And I thought he loved me. Anyone who has a problem with my choices can go fuck themselves.”
“Are you sure you’re ready to face the gossip and stares?” Mya asked. “People may be more vicious than you think.”
Fleur nodded. “Bring it.”
I almost choked on my drink. “Can I be you when I grow up?”
Fleur laughed. “Funny. I think I’d rather be you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Maggie
DESPITE FLEUR’S OUTWARD confidence, I knew the first day of class was going to be bad. We walked down the hall, Fleur flanked by me and Mya. Everyone stared at us. Part of me was used to the stares—hanging out with Fleur and dating Samir meant people constantly watched us. It had been weird at first, but by now I was mostly used to it.
These stares were something else entirely.
These stares were accompanied by whispers just loud enough for us to hear—
“...got exactly what she deserved...”
“...such a bitch...”
“I wonder how many guys have naked pictures of her on their phone?”
I flinched, my temper flaring. I wanted to respond, to strike back at everyone treating Fleur like she was trash. But she’d made us promise not to engage, so instead I walked through the hall next to her, my head held high, my eyes ice. I didn’t know how she did it. None of the gossip was even directed at me and yet I felt like crumpling underneath the scrutiny and scorn. Fleur acted like she didn’t hear any of it, like their words were so far beneath her notice she couldn’t be bothered to respond. Her self-preservation carried her through, and while it was probably the reason she got labeled a bitch, it was also her greatest asset.
Suddenly the whispers stopped. People turned away, shuffling into classrooms and moving down the hallway. I looked up and saw him walking toward us, anger etched across his handsome face.
Samir wrapped his arms around me, his lips meeting mine in a fierce kiss. He pulled back, studying me carefully.
Neither one of us spoke. It had been a week since we had last seen each other and the texts and phone calls hadn’t nearly been enough.
“I missed you,” he whispered, soft enough so only I could hear.
“I missed you, too.”
His gaze shifted from me to Fleur. For a moment, her expression wobbled and she looked like she would break.
Samir released me, giving Fleur a hug, worry all over his face. “Omar told me what happened. Are you okay?”
Fleur nodded.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“It’s not worth it. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have taken the picture in the first place.”
“You were his girlfriend. He never should have showed it to anyone.” He reached out, linking his fingers with mine while he said hi to Mya. “What can I do to help?” he asked, turning his attention back to Fleur.
“Create a bigger scandal than I have, so everyone’s attention will move from me onto you,” Fleur answered dryly.
“Sorry, but I think my scandalous days are behind me.” He flashed me a wicked grin. “Although I could possibly be persuaded to get naked with Maggie in the hall if she’s up for it.”
I elbowed him in the side, grateful for the smile on Fleur’s face.
“What?” His expression was all innocence. “I’m just doing what I can to help.”
“Ha ha.” I glanced at my watch. “Class starts in five, we should probably get going.”
Samir sighed. “Why do I already know the answer you would give if I asked you to skip class?”
I kissed him. “Because you know your girlfriend cannot possibly miss the first day of class.” I leaned closer, my lips grazing his ear. “But if you give me an hour or two, I’ll definitely take you up on the getting naked thing.”
Samir groaned. “Have I ever told you my low opinion of delayed gratification?”
“Poor baby.”
“Definitely, poor baby.”
“See you in your room?”
He nodded. His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me up against him.... He was already hard.
“We’re in the hall. And we definitely have an audience.” I motioned to where Mya and Fleur stood behind us.
“Don’t care. Not even a little bit. That’s what a week away from you has done to me.” He leaned forward, not giving me a chance to protest, capturing my mouth in a delicious kiss. His hands roamed over my body as his lips plundered mine, his hand moving down, resting just above my ass, his touch possessive and triumphantly male. It was a totally inappropriate kiss for school and it was also a claiming of sorts. The feminist in me should have been horrified. I was too turned on to care.
“See you later, babe,” he whispered against my mouth. He walked away, leaving me there, frustrated beyond belief.
“Girlfriend?” Mya asked.
Fleur sighed. “I can’t even.”
I flushed. “Come on. Class. Now.”
* * *
I SANK DOWN into one of the few remaining seats, next to Max. Luckily Fleur and Mya had class together so at least Fleur would have some moral support. She kept saying she was fine on her own, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave her alone.
Max smiled at me. “Hey. How was your break?”
“Good. Yours?”
“Can’t complain.”
“Where are you from again?” I thought somewhere in the Midwest, but I couldn’t remember exactly where.
“Chicago.”
“Nice.”
“It has its moments.”
I wondered if he’d talked to George, if George knew his girlfriend’s naked body had been seen by a large chunk of the student body. Fleur hadn’t seen him yet, and I knew she was dreading the conversation.
Our professor was late. Normally I wouldn’t have minded, but I was all too aware of the low buzz going around the room, and the not-so-subtle looks being thrown my way. Apparently some of Fleur’s notoriety was rubbing off.
“Is she okay?” Max asked, his voice low.
My head jerked up, surprised by the concern in his tone. “Fleur?”
He nodded.
“Yeah, I think so. I mean she’s pissed, but she’s hanging in there.”
I hesitated, unsure of how involved I should get. It wasn’t really my business, but I couldn’t help but wonder if George was going to break up with her over this. I wasn’t sure she could handle it right now, not on top of everything else.
“Does George know?”
Max paused a moment too long before answering. “Yeah.”
I wanted to ask more, to find out what George knew or thought of it. I wanted to know if George had seen the photo. I wanted more details because she was my best friend and I was worried about her. Especially after last year.
But for one moment Max’s expression met mine and a flush covered his cheeks. It hit me then that he’d seen the picture. He looked uncomfortable, and I definitely was, and the last thing I wanted to do was talk about my roommate’s naked body with her boyfriend’s best friend.
I breathed a sigh of relief when our professor finally arrived.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Samir
I COULDN’T BELIEVE it was my last semester of school—in both a good and bad way.
Four months stood between me and graduation. Four months left in London. Four months left with Maggie.
She sat next to me in class, her elbow grazing mine. It was such a small thing—touching elbows. I never would have characterized it as erotic, but I’d been turned on for the last ten minutes.
It was only the second week of classes, and I was already checking out. Our professor droned on at the front of the room, and while I could vaguely make out the words he said, my attention was solely focused on the girl next to me. Last year, I’d learned the hazards of sitting next to her in class. I’d been forced to sit next to her, desperately wanting to touch her, taste her. She’d been so close and yet tantalizingly out of reach.
This year was a different kind of torture. Because I knew in an hour I’d have her back in my room, legs spread, my head between her thighs, her naked body laid out like a feast on my bed. I adjusted in my seat.
“What are you doing?” Maggie hissed. “You keep staring.”
“Just thinking about how I’m going to get you naked later,” I murmured, nudging her foot with mine.
She glared at me. “Well, stop it. It’s distracting.”
I grinned. “Really?”
“Mr. Khouri.”
Maggie kicked me under the table.
I jerked my head up. Our professor stood at the front of the room, his arms crossed in front of his chest, a pissed-off expression on his face.
“Sorry.”
“This is a classroom, Mr. Khouri, not a nightclub. You would do well to remember that. See me after class.”
Not how I’d planned on spending the rest of the day.
Maggie cast me a worried look. Sorry, she scribbled on her piece of paper. My lips twitched. It was seriously adorable that she had both a notebook and her laptop out in class. I wasn’t sure what she was worried about, running out of pens—she had three—or her computer mysteriously crashing.
The weird thing was, I liked that she was smart. I’d never been a big fan of girls who were airheads; contrary to popular belief, most of the girls I dated were passably intelligent. But with Maggie it was totally different. I fucking loved how smart she was. It was one of the things that turned me on. Last night, she and Omar had gotten into a debate about Palestine, and I’d just sat back and watched her, completely in awe. She made me feel inadequate—not in a bad way, but like I needed to be more to keep up with her.
Her mind was a fascinating challenge, her moods ever changing. She was unpredictable, like the weather, always forcing me to readjust and struggle to keep up. She was constantly surprising me, constantly pushing me. I loved it.
The hour went by with agonizing slowness. I tried to concentrate, but it was difficult with Maggie right there. When she flipped her hair, the scent of her perfume wafted over me, instantly calling to mind the image of her hair fanned out over my pillow. Or the sensation of winding it around my hand, her silky length curling around my fingers, while she took me in her mouth.
We needed a seat between us.
She shifted in her chair, stretching out, her tits thrusting forward in her tight sweater.
Maybe two.
“Did you pay attention at all?” Maggie asked as she gathered her stuff when class was finally over.
“Someone kept distracting me.” I leaned over and stole a kiss. “You’re beautiful.”
She flushed. It was kind of cute how embarrassed she was when we were affectionate in public. It kind of made me want to do it more. Hell, who was I kidding, I’d take about any excuse to have my hands all over her.
“You have to go talk to Dr. Abbott,” she reminded me.
“I know.” I reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It had been driving me nuts all class. “You’re very stern.”
“How do you make that sound sexual?”
I grinned. “It’s a gift. Besides, stern is sexy. On you. Everything is sexy on you.”
“Mr. Khouri.”
Maggie laughed. “Somehow I don’t think stern is going to be sexy on Dr. Abbott. Good luck.”
She walked out of the room, hips swaying from side to side, tossing a final glance over her shoulder at me.
Resigned, I turned away, walking up to the front of the classroom.
Dr. Abbott stared at me, a speculative look in his eyes. “So you and Ms. Carpenter are dating, I presume?”
I nodded.
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have pegged that one.”
I had to smile. “We get that a lot.”
“I would imagine.” He leaned back in his chair, his gaze pinning me. “What are your plans after graduation?”
I hadn’t been expecting him to lead with that. I’d figured something along the lines of “change seats,” or “don’t talk in class.”
I shrugged. “I’m going back to Lebanon. My father’s campaign is kicking off.”
I didn’t have to elaborate beyond that. He taught Middle Eastern politics. He knew who my father was.
He considered this for a moment, his gaze unwavering. It was almost enough to make me uncomfortable. Almost. But I’d been raised around formidable political figures my whole life.
I’d had a few classes with Dr. Abbott. He mainly taught upper level IR. Because Maggie had a bit of an academic crush on him (the guy was like sixty—I wasn’t worried), I knew he was a graduate of the London School of Economics. Maggie thought he was a genius. Privately, I agreed. He was British, but it was clear he was passionate about the Middle East. I could respect that. I actually agreed with a lot of his views.
“Do you share your father’s political plans?”
I hesitated. We were entering quicksand. Publicly, I supported my father. We all did. Privately...well, honestly, no one had ever asked me before.
I settled for the standard, safe answer, a few buzzwords thrown in. “My father’s vision for Lebanon is one we all share.”
“Bullshit.”
My eyes narrowed. “You know who my father is. Do you really think I’m going to publicly or privately disagree with him?”
Dr. Abbott smiled. “Funny, I thought you prided yourself on being too cool to respect authority.”
He surprised me. People rarely surprised me.
“You’re too smart to go back to Lebanon and disappear into your father’s little cult of sycophants.”
Harsh, but fair.
“He’s not the devil.”
“No, he’s not, but I’ve been reading your papers for three years now. You’re a lot more moderate than he is. It’s not a bad thing. That may be what Lebanon needs.”
It was stupid, but this conversation felt like treason. I shifted my weight back and forth on my heels, wishing he would just tell me to stop talking in class and be done with it.
“Have you thought about furthering your education?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should. You could do a master’s. Maybe a PhD down the road. You’ve received one of the best educations money can buy. You have a fresh perspective to bring to things. You’re political royalty in Lebanon, and you have an opportunity to use your legacy to do some good. I’ve read your papers—you have a knack for getting at the heart of the problem.” He sighed. “There’s an instinct to IR. It can’t be taught. Some people get it. Lots don’t. It would be a shame for you to waste your talent. You said it best—we both know who your father is. Do you really think he’s going to give you a chance to implement any of your ideas if you just go home again?”
Of course not. I would be expected to toe the line—to follow his rules, his wishes. My father wasn’t my biggest fan, had never taken me seriously. There was no way he was going to listen to any of my plans or ideas. No way he’d stand for me jeopardizing his campaign.
“You’re too smart not to think about your future. You can spend the rest of your life screwing around, claiming you’re helping your c
ountry from the comfort of your fancy house in Beirut or your vacation home in St. Tropez or you can grow up and realize there’s more to life.” He nodded toward the door. “You can go now. I can tell you’re dying to catch up with Ms. Carpenter. But think about the master’s. I’m always happy to write a letter of recommendation or discuss your options.”
I nodded, turning and heading for the door.
“And Mr. Khouri?”
I stopped.
“Stop talking in class.”
* * *
OUR CONVERSATION PLAYED in my mind the entire way back to the dorm. I didn’t agree with a lot of the policies my father wanted to implement, but he’d spent most of his life in politics. I respected that. Compared to him, I knew nothing. Had I thought about what I would do in Lebanon if I had a shot? Sure. But as long as my father was alive and in control, that’s all they were—thoughts.
I punched open the code to my room. Maggie lay on my bed, her legs curled up, a book in her lap. For a moment I just stood there, watching her.
She looked up and our gazes collided. Her smile lit up the freaking room.
“What are you reading?”
“On War. Clausewitz.”
Yeah, there was definitely something sexy about a girl who read.
“How was the meeting with Abbott?”
I sat down on the bed next to her, tucking her body against mine. I ran a hand through her hair, watching the light highlight the different shades of brown.
“It was okay.”
“Was he pissed about us talking?”
“I think he was more amused that you were dating me.”
Maggie groaned. “I don’t want Dr. Abbott thinking about our sex life.”
She said his name like he was a god.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. He was kind of cool, actually.”
“What did you guys talk about?”
“My future. My dad. Lebanon.”
She stiffened beside me. “What did he say?”
“He has different views on the political situation.” I was almost embarrassed to add the rest. “He mentioned that I should think about doing a master’s or something. Maybe separate myself from my father. Have my own career.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Is that something you would want?” she finally asked.
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