My Stolen Life - Steffanie Holmes Page 0,37

the school dining hall and dig in. Across from me, Boudica abandons her bowl to sniff mine. I push her away. “Just remember, until you can master the opposable thumbs thing, you need me as much as I need you. So don’t piss me off.”

When we finish our dinner, I cradle Queen Boudica in my arms like a baby, carrying her into the study to choose a book and a bottle of wine. I carry the cat, wine, and book to the ballroom and curl up in the pile of cushions by the window while Queen Boudica climbs all over the cat jungle gym.

I try to focus on the story, but my mind swims with everything that’s happened since that cop appeared on my doorstep. Noah and his coal eyes filled with hate. Gabriel’s relentless flirting and cocky smile, Eli’s intensity and unrelenting kindness.

Insect legs prickle the skin on the back of my neck. I’m being watched.

I look outside, my fingers reaching for my knife. I start as I notice a figure sitting on top of the wall.

Eli.

I should be freaking out that this guy’s watching me like a creepy stalker, but now I’ve read the diary, I can’t see Eli as a serial killer. He’s a man out of time, a knight-in-shining-armor come to save the maiden in the castle. Too bad he doesn’t realize the maiden transformed into a fire-breathing dragon.

Eli sees me looking at him through the window and waves. His smile makes my heart flip.

The words in the diary rush back to me. Eli, my secret friend, who would keep watching over me even when I was a bitch to him.

But we all have secrets. Even my house has secrets that I now wish I’d never uncovered. Which reminds me, I need ammunition. I need to not feel as though I’m the only vulnerable one. I drop my book and pull up my phone, searching for Eli’s name. It doesn’t take me long to find news reports covering his dad’s trial – Walter Hart, self-made man, owner of a funeral empire, going down for selling corpses on the medical black market. Apparently, civil suits were still ongoing as relatives of his victims sought damages for being given bags of cement instead of their loved ones.

I freeze on a picture of Eli, looking damn fine in a pinstripe suit that hugs him in all the right places, one hand on the shoulders of a woman who’d had too much plastic surgery. His mother, I guess – they had the same golden hair, the same piercing blue eyes. Eli’s other hand pushes on a reporter’s chest, his fingers splayed, shoving the man away from his family. Protecting them.

Just like he protected me. Maybe he’s still protecting me now.

The thought makes my chest tight. Because that girl Eli was protecting, that girl he thought I was – she doesn’t exist. Not anymore. He thinks I’m someone I’m not, and nothing I do or say will make him see that. The dragon will always be Mackenzie to him.

I open the window and toss the book at Eli’s head. He catches it in his hands. Damn athletes.

“Your father’s in jail,” I say.

Eli looks up at me, and I read his pain in those ocean-blue eyes. “I went to visit him today.”

“Nice boy like you, I bet you got the full cavity-search treatment.”

Eli winces. “You laugh, but it’s a very real fear of mine. The guards don’t like me much.”

“That’s odd.” I tap the window. “You’re the Stonehurst golden boy. I can’t imagine anyone not liking you.”

Eli stares down at the book in his hands. The silent night stretches between us, but it’s a different silence than what I’m used to. This silence crackles with anticipation.

When Eli lifts his head again, his eyes shine with hope. That too-pretty mouth tugs into a smile so genuine and beautiful it makes my chest ache. “Does this mean you like me again?”

“If you’re going to sit out there all night, you might as well have something to read.” I nod at the book in his hands. “This is one of my favorites.”

He stares at the book. “Since when have you liked reading?”

I shrug. “I’m not the girl you remember, Eli Hart.”

“Nope.” His eyes bore into mine as he clasps the book to his chest. “You’re so much more.”

18

Mackenzie

Ms. Drysdale walks around the history classroom, slapping papers on top of desks. Students groan. My gaze flickers on Noah at the front of the class. He tucks

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