is important. I know why my mother hates you so much.”
My steps faltered, and my insides burned with curiosity. Gideon’s arm tightened around mine, and only the pace of his brisk marching kept me from turning around and asking Elizabeth why.
Elizabeth followed us all the way to the academy’s double doors, only stopping when a group of girls stepped out and squealed at the sight of her.
“Well done on rising above the provocation,” said Gideon.
I nodded to the doorman as we passed, muttering, “She probably wouldn’t have told me the truth.”
“If I were an aristocrat with a cupboard full of secrets, the last person I would confide in would be Elizabeth.”
A laugh bubbled up in my chest. “Her impulse control is worse than mine.” I was about to head to the tuck shop for some hot chocolate, but Gideon steered me in the opposite direction. “Where are we going?”
“Maxwell paid for the express service, did he not?”
“The DNA test?” I whispered.
He inclined his head. “Let’s see if the results got set aside by the mailroom.”
My heart flip-flopped. They couldn’t have arrived so soon, but those girls had scared Elizabeth away for now. It was time to get them before they fell into malevolent hands. “Alright.”
We stepped into the mail room, a small chamber lined with wire shelves labelled with the names of every student. Nobody ever sent me mail, but I glanced over at the H column to find my mail drawer empty. On the far-right of the shelves was a small sorting table piled with envelopes that hadn’t been properly addressed.
Gideon explained that one of the administrative staff would open the letters in the afternoons to work out its recipient, place the opened envelope and its contents in a manilla envelope, and place it in the correct slot.
I stood by the door as a lookout, while he picked up the items of mail and examined their return addresses. Butterflies thrashed in my stomach. Part of me wanted the letter to have gotten lost in the mail or the DNA samples destroyed by the testing company. How would I react with definitive confirmation that I was a product of rape?
After picking up a manilla, letter-sized envelope and turning it around, he slipped it under his blazer and headed back to the door. “Do you want to wait until the others are present?”
I shook my head. “Can we go to your room?”
Whenever Gideon and I got together, it was always at Mr. Burgh’s house or in my room. I expected his bedroom to be pristine, with certificates on the wall and books sorted into alphabetical order.
Gideon’s room was chaotic with posters of Beyonce, Jennifer Hudson, Naomi Campbell, Lupita Nyong’o, and a bunch of the actresses from the Black Panther movie. I marveled at the array of gorgeous women, guessing that the room said everything about his personality. Reserved on the outside but on the inside, he was a diva.
My gaze lingered on the neat piles of clothing arranged on most of the surfaces. “What were you doing?”
“Before breakfast, I decided to declutter and meant to continue it in the evening.” Gideon cleared a pile off his desk chair and motioned for me to sit.
I flopped down on the seat, wincing at the palpitations squeezing my heart. Sweat gathered on my palms, and I pressed them on my skirt. The information we would uncover here would either answer several questions or send me into a spiral of depression and shame.
Gideon extracted the envelope from his blazer. “Open it.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “You do it.”
“Are you sure?” Gideon took the envelope.
“My fingers won’t stop shaking.” I held up a trembling hand.
Gideon reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a bronze letter opener with an ornately carved, mahogany handle. My stomach churned so painfully that I didn’t even have the wherewithal to quip that he was too posh to use his fingers.
With a crisp swipe, he sliced open the envelope and extracted a wad of papers. After casting the first set aside, which included a glossy pamphlet that probably explained the results and advertised further surfaces, he read the cover letter.
My throat dried.
Gideon’s brow furrowed, and he dropped down on the mattress, not caring that he’d just crushed a pile of clothes.
“What?” I rasped.
“Did you mix up the samples?”
I gulped. Maxwell collected the first batch of DNA and placed those in envelopes himself. Mr. Burgh and I did the second batch in his quarters, and the third that I stole