Chapter 9: Briar

brIAR

The rest of the week and weekend passes by uneventfully. Patrick's not home, so I have some time to recover.

Monday rolls around, and I'm nervous. I'm not nervous about classes but about being alone with Xander Grimm. He's much more reserved than his twin or older brother. Xander seems to barely tolerate me. I doubt he's thrilled about spending his Monday afternoons with me.

"You like beef wellington?" Rory interrupts my thoughts as she gets back from the buffet. She flops into her chair and shoves her tray my way. "I got that and sea bass. Choose the one that floats your boat."

"You're not going to pretend you got extra by accident?" I ask, eyeing the beef wellington regretfully. It looks amazing, but I can't keep mooching off them.

"Nope. We're besties now. BFFs can buy each other lunch for no reason." Rory stares me down, daring me to disagree with her.

"I appreciate it, but you really don't need to spend your money on me. I'm fine." I'm not fine, but she doesn't need to know that. Patrick allows me to eat enough not to starve but never enough to be full. I've gotten spoiled by Rory and Ronan giving me full lunches and even dinners on some days.

"Is that what you're worried about, girlie? 'Cause our parents are fucking loaded. Like, wiping our asses with $100 bills loaded. Buying you lunch doesn't even make a dent in the disgusting amount of money we have."

Her family sounds like they're even wealthier than Patrick. My resolve crumbles a little at that. Maybe it's not a big deal for me to accept Ronan's and Rory's generosity. Besides, when I get access to my trust fund, I can pay them back and then some.

Sensing I'm wavering, Rory gives me puppy dog eyes. Sighing, I give in. "Fine, but I'll pay you back. I swear."

"Yay!" Rory pumps her fist in the air, like she won a competition. A smile tugs at my lips at her genuine joy.

"How'd your parents make their money?" I ask, shoving a delicious bite of beef wellington in my mouth. No school should have food this good.

Patrick supposedly made his through his shipping business. I guess ferrying containers to and from China makes a ton of money. I'm not convinced he's not into something shadier like drugs or weapons.

"Hookers and blow, how else?" Rory deadpans.

I choke on a bite of my food at her answer. Holy fuck. I don't think she's supposed to be telling people that.

As I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to figure out what to say, Rory dissolves into giggles. "Oh my God! You should have seen your face! I totally had you goin' for a hot sec!" Even Ronan is grinning at me.

I throw a wadded-up napkin at Rory, while trying to keep a straight face. Rory's laughter is infectious. I can't help but join in. It feels good to laugh. I can't remember the last time I laughed with anyone other than Ava. If I'm not careful, I could get addicted to this whole "having friends" thing.

As our laughter subsides, Rory finally answers me. "Our dad is a mega-successful hedge fund manager. Our mom's super old money. Together they're rollin' in dough."

"What do your parents do, Briar?" Ronan asks me quietly. Calm and quiet seems to be Ronan's default setting.

A lump forms in my throat thinking about my mom. I swallow it down and croak, "My stepdad runs a shipping company. My mom's old money." I need to get it under control. I can't be close to tears every time I have to talk about my mom. I'm trying to seem normal, not pathetic.

Rory and Ronan tear through my walls a little more by not asking about it. With my mom being old money, I shouldn't need any financial help. Rather than questioning it, Rory smoothly changes the topic.

By the time we're done with lunch, I've almost forgotten about my mom and Patrick. It's nice being able to let it all go for a while.

After we put away our dishes, we walk out into the early afternoon sunshine. I tilt my face up to its warmth instinctively. A humid, gentle breeze blows, ruffling the hairs that escaped from my braid. Nothing calms me like feeling the sun on my face and breathing in the scent of nature.

I head toward Wyldhart Hall alone since Rory and Ronan are done with their classes for the day. Malachi Grimm's Latin class is quickly becoming my favorite class.

Who would have thought?

WHU makes all students take four years of Latin. I've been dreading it since I had to sign up for classes in the summer. I've always struggled with speaking and understanding foreign languages. I barely passed my required two years of French in high school. While I didn't plan to take any language in college, WHU changed that.

Latin's a lot different than any other language I've learned. It's a dead language. There's little emphasis on being able to speak it or understand it verbally. Instead, this class focuses mostly on reading and writing Latin. It also covers Rome's history, which is my favorite part.

When I walk into the classroom, I feel Malachi's eyes on me. I resist the urge to look at him until I'm in my seat. I don't want to cause a traffic jam again. Locking eyes with any of the Grimm brothers feels like a punch to the gut.

Why do I react so strongly to them?

Yet another mystery to solve.

My breath wooshes out of me when I meet his gaze. Malachi's navy eyes hold mine until it's time to start class. He looks away, releasing me from his snare.

"Can anyone tell me what this means?" Malachi's growly voice instantly commands the attention of everyone in the room. Glancing at the board, I see he's written Arma virumque cano in large chalk letters.

No one answers.

I look around in disbelief. No one else knows the answer. Everyone is avoiding eye contact with Malachi in hopes he won't call on them. I hate answering questions in class. But if no one else is going to, I will. I raise my hand and wait for him to call on me. "Yes, Miss Wylder?"

"It means ‘I sing of weapons and a man.'" How does no one else know this? The Aeneid is a pretty well-known piece of literature. It's Rome's epic founding story. I would think at least some of my classmates would know what it is.

"Very good." Malachi aims a grin my way. His praise makes my stomach flutter, feeling like a swarm of butterflies taking flight. "Can you tell the class what it's from and what the significance is?"

I answer automatically, "It's the first line of the Aeneid. Weapons refers to the Trojan War and the Iliad, and a man refers to Aeneas and the Odyssey."

My mom read me the Aeneid when I was little. She said it was important to know where we come from. We're not Italian, so I don't know what she meant by that. I have her to thank for my fascination with Roman history. From the time I was in diapers, she'd read me a little bit of the Aeneid each night before bed. I can still recite some passages from memory.

"Exactly." With one last pleased look at me, Malachi launches into an explanation of the Aeneid.

The class period flies by, ending before I know it. I'm slow to pack up my things, wanting to delay the inevitable. I wonder if I could get away with skipping it. I can still pass even with a zero for fifteen percent of my grade.

Malachi cuts my internal debate short. "Do you know where Xander's office is, Briar?"

When I glance up at him, I notice the room is completely empty. I shake my head. "Nope. Where is it?"

I guess I can't put it off any longer. I make my way down the stairs and stop in front of Malachi. I have to tilt my head back to make eye contact with him. What the hell did they feed the Grimm brothers growing up? They're all huge.

"It's across from my office. Come on, I'll show you." Malachi gestures for me to walk in front of him.

When I turn toward the door, he puts his palm on my lower back. I can feel the searing heat of his hand through my blazer and shirt. It's… nice. I'm not used to people touching me, except in anger, anymore. He keeps his hand on the small of my back for the entirety of our short trek to the third floor. We reach his office, and he removes his hand. I miss his touch immediately.

Malachi points at the mostly closed door across from his. "That's Xander's office."

"Thanks for showing me the way," I mumble. I'd literally rather do almost anything else than be stuck in a room with Xander for the next hour.

Malachi chuckles at my sulky tone. He unlocks his office and goes inside, leaving me alone in the hallway.

Something about Xander makes me nervous. It's not the kind of nervous I get around Patrick, though. I just feel pressure to impress him. I don't know why I need his approval so badly, but I do. It makes me even more awkward than normal around him.

I hesitantly knock on his closed door. "Come in," Xander calls from inside.

I push open his door and take in his office. It's smaller than Malachi's. There's only enough room for an oak desk and two black upholstered chairs opposite it. Xander's office also only has one window. He has multiple floor lamps lighting the space to keep it from being dark. Like Malachi's office, Xander's is crammed with books.

I'm surprised to see many aren't about math. Most are medical books.

"I'm here for the alternative participation assignment." I state the obvious, because what else would I do? Say something moderately intelligent around him?

"I know. Take a seat." He doesn't look up as I approach. I sit down in the chair closest to the door and take him in. He's wearing a deep green button-down that makes his eyes look even more striking. Unlike in class this morning, his hair is in disarray. It makes him look younger and less like an intimidating professor.

I try not to fidget, but it's impossible to stop my leg from bouncing. Hopefully he can't see the nervous movement.

After a few moments of typing, he turns toward me. Xander slides a stapled sheet my way. I reach for it, and my hand brushes his. Electricity crackles between our hands, surprising me. My eyes jerk up to his before I hastily slide my hand back, wondering what the heck that was.

"To make up participation points, you'll just need to solve extra problems. During your hour here each week, you can work on them and ask me about any concepts you're struggling with. Any questions before you start?"

I shake my head and pull up my legs so my knees rest against his desk. I can use my legs as a writing surface, which is comfier than leaning over his desk. Xander makes a strangled sound at my movement. I look at him with my brows raised. He shoves his fingers through his hair before answering, his voice rough, "Your skirt."

"Huh?" I look down to where he's staring. My skirt's fallen down, and he can see up it if he leans forward. "Oh, that. Professor Malachi ordered me a longer skirt, so I'm wearing shorts under. Apparently, he's able to add it to my tuition bill."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Xander asks, his tone skeptical. I nod, unsure what he's getting at. After staring at me for a long moment with a muscle ticking in his jaw, he turns back to his computer.

I work on the problems for a few minutes before noticing his earbud. "Whatcha listening to?" He stares at me, not answering for a few beats. I figure he's going to ignore me when he hands me the other earbud from his desk. I hurry to put it in my ear before he changes his mind. When I do, I hear a familiar song. "‘War' by Chance Pe?a? Nice."

Xander raises an eyebrow at me, surprised I recognized the song. I look down to hide my smile. I like surprising and, dare I say, impressing him. It makes my chest bubble with a strange warmth.

The rest of the hour passes easily. We listen to his indie and alternative music, while I work on the problems. I occasionally ask him a question about concepts I don't get. He answers each inquiry patiently.

I'm almost disappointed when the hour ends. I've enjoyed Xander's quiet companionship. He has pretty good taste in music, too. Spending so much time with Rory, Ronan, and even the Grimm brothers this past week has made me realize how empty my life is. Especially with Ava moved out.

There's no one waiting at home for me. No one who cares how my day was. No one to sit quietly with. No one to laugh or share meals with. Just an empty house with a monster lurking in the shadows.

On that depressing note, I pack up my stuff. I don't have an excuse to linger here any longer. "Thanks for working with me, Professor." I look up as I speak. He's staring at me intently, like I'm a puzzle he can't quite solve.

"Happy to help, Miss Wylder." I'm slightly disappointed when he calls me by my last name, which is ridiculous. He's a professor, not my friend.

Shaking my head at myself, I leave his office. I resist the urge to look back for one last glimpse of Xander.