Four Of A Kind

Chapter 103: [3.5] My Reading Comprehension Exam is Also a Seduction Tactic

The last place I wanted to be at 3 PM was Hartwell Academy’s library. Specifically, the exact library nook where one Sabrina Valentine had requested my presence. But there I was anyway, walking past shelves of books that cost more than my monthly grocery budget, carrying a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo that I definitely didn’t own.

I’d bought it during lunch break, rushing to the school bookstore and paying with actual cash. Nineteen dollars and change I couldn’t really spare, but the alternative was showing up empty-handed to meet the girl who might have kissed me on the steps of her mansion last night. Or might not have. The uncertainty was killing me.

“This is stupid,” I muttered to myself as I rounded the corner to the secluded reading area tucked into the library’s bay window. “Just ask her directly if she—”

I stopped short. Sabrina was already there, curled up in the massive leather beanbag chair like a cat who’d found the perfect sunbeam.

Her head was bent over a book, those purple eyes moving rapidly across the page. She hadn’t noticed me yet, which gave me approximately five seconds to compose myself and pretend I hadn’t spent the entire morning obsessing over which Valentine sister had pressed her lips against mine.

“Hey,” I said, holding up the book. “I brought Monte Cristo.”

Sabrina looked up slowly, her expression unreadable. “You’re two minutes late.”

“Sorry, I had to buy the book first.”

“Hmm.” She marked her page with a thin black bookmark and closed her own book. “I assumed you already had it, given your interest in the revenge narrative.”

“I borrowed it from the Valentine library. I don’t actually own many books.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Yet you quoted it rather extensively during our first meeting.”

Was this some kind of test? “I’ve read it before. Just don’t own a copy.”

She studied me for a long moment, then tapped the space beside her on the beanbag. “Sit.”

I hesitated. The beanbag was large, but not large enough for two people to sit without significant contact. And after last night, physical contact with any Valentine sister felt like playing with matches in a room full of gasoline.

“Problem?” she asked, her voice perfectly neutral.

“No,” I lied, lowering myself onto the beanbag.

The moment I settled, Sabrina shifted her position, leaning her body against my side as naturally as if we’d been sitting like this for years. Her shoulder pressed against mine, and I could feel her warmth through the thin material of our uniforms.

“Page 247,” she said, opening her copy. “The part where Dantès first reveals himself to one of his enemies. I’d like your interpretation.”

I fumbled with my book, finding the page while very aware that her wine-red hair was now brushing against my shoulder. “Uh, what specifically about it?”

“The psychology behind his choice. Why reveal himself at all? Wouldn’t the revenge be sweeter if his enemies never knew who destroyed them?”

I forced myself to focus on the question rather than the fact that she was sitting close enough for me to smell her perfume—something subtle and expensive that I couldn’t name.

“I think,” I said slowly, “the satisfaction isn’t just in destroying them, but in making them understand why they’re being destroyed. It’s not enough that they suffer; they need to know it’s a consequence of what they did to him.”

Sabrina hummed thoughtfully. “So revenge without recognition is incomplete.”

“Exactly. What’s the point of payback if the person doesn’t realize they’re paying for something?”

She turned her head slightly to look at me, her face now only inches from mine. “And what about you, Isaiah? If someone wronged you, would you want them to know it was you who orchestrated their downfall?”

My mouth went dry. Was this a reference to last night? A warning about what would happen if I told anyone about the kiss?

“Depends on the wrong.”

“Hmm.” She leaned closer, her eyes remaining fixed on mine. “And what constitutes a significant enough wrong to warrant revenge, in your estimation?”

“I don’t generally hold grudges. Too much effort for too little return. Time spent plotting payback is time I could spend on things that actually benefit me.”

“Interesting.” Sabrina shifted again, tucking her legs up on the beanbag in a way that effectively pressed her entire side against mine. “So you’re practical even in your grudges. Or rather, practical enough to avoid them entirely.”

“I try to be practical in everything.”

“Do you?” Her eyebrow arched slightly. “I wonder.”

This was getting me nowhere. If Sabrina was the one who kissed me, she was giving zero indication. But she was also sitting closer to me than necessary, her body language completely at odds with her typical aloof demeanor.

I decided to take a risk. “Speaking of practical, I’ve been thinking about last weekend.”

“Oh?” Her expression didn’t change, but I felt her body tense slightly against mine.

“The dinner. With your mother.”

She relaxed. “Ah. Yes. You performed adequately. Mother was… intrigued.”

“Intrigued is good?”

“Better than dismayed or disappointed. Intrigued means she’ll be watching you more closely.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

Sabrina’s lips curved into the ghost of a smile. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Attention can be leverage.”

I turned slightly to face her better, which only brought our faces closer together. “Leverage for what?”

“For whatever you want.” She said it simply, as if explaining a basic concept to a child. “My mother rarely notices the help. That she noticed you at all means you’ve distinguished yourself. The question is what you’ll do with that distinction.”

I studied her face, looking for any hint, any tell that might reveal whether those lips had been pressed against mine last night. But Sabrina’s expression remained as impassive as ever, her purple eyes giving nothing away.

“What would you suggest I do with it?” I asked.

“That depends on what you want.” She tilted her head slightly.

“What do you want, Isaiah?”