Grant

It had been a week.

A week of Aria pacing, overthinking, and threatening to combust every two minutes.

A week of me pretending I wasn’t just avoiding my mother and half the Pembroke estate entirely.

Mostly, it had been a week of listening to Aria try to talk herself out of her dreams.

"I don’t think I have the brain for school anymore," she said for the hundredth time, sprawled across my bed, arms flung over her head, her hair a mess against my sheets as I buttoned up my shirt ...