CHAPTER 23

On Monday morning, Lily found it difficult to concentrate in class. Her mind kept oscillating between thoughts of meeting Ronan in the tower that night and wondering who had put the note on her locker and stolen Charlotte’s jacket.

As she watched her classmates trying to emulate Mr Collins’s punching-without-crunching technique, Lily found it hard to believe that one of them was really a spiteful thief out to get her. But for the fencing bout, she might have suspected Gemma, but her outrage had been real – Lily was sure of it. So, unless she was an incredible actor . . .

‘Dreaming of push-ups, Lily?’ Mr Collins’s voice startled her.

‘N–no, sir.’

‘Then snap to it and show me your best punch!’

Lily pushed all thoughts of Ronan and her unknown enemy from her mind and got to work.

The week passed without any further attacks on either Lily or her classmates. By Friday she was so used to running up to the South Tower the minute dinner was over that she almost forgot to check whether Saunders was in his stage-door keeper’s office before turning right at the stage door.

Luckily his chair was empty, just as it had been on the previous four nights, and she ran quickly down to the tower door, ducked under the Keep Out tape and hurried up the stairs.

Ronan was waiting for her. But tonight, instead of being perched behind his easel ready to paint, he was leaning against a bookshelf with a razor-sharp knife in his hand.

At the sight of it, Lily’s heart skipped a beat, and she was reminded yet again of just how little she really knew about Ronan Carver.

Their first night together she’d made her way nervously up to the tower room to find Ronan already there, a piece of black cloth over the window (so no one would see the lights and investigate), his easel, palette knife, paintbrushes and paints all ready and waiting, and a dozen fat white candles on the shelves, their flames lighting the room with a soft, honeyed glow.

It might have been romantic if Ronan hadn’t been so businesslike, and Lily couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed when he’d suggested they get started straight away.

He’d settled her on the window seat, asked her to take out her hair, and got to work.

For the first hour, he’d painted and she’d memorised more of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and for the second hour he’d painted and they’d talked about their classes until it was time for her to leave.

She’d gone reluctantly, wondering if he would ever see her as anything other than a subject for painting.

It had been the same every night – until now.

‘Given up on the palette knife and paintbrush?’ asked Lily casually as she stepped through the doorway.

He shook his head. ‘No, I made you a present.’

Lily felt as if something warm had unfurled inside her. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘What is it?’

He put down the knife and held out his other hand. Sitting on his palm was a figure, about seven centimetres high and exquisitely carved.

‘It’s yours,’ said Ronan.

Lily picked it up and examined it. ‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘It’s Puck.’

‘I thought he might be a good-luck charm for when the Dane finally casts the play.’

‘Thank you, Ronan,’ said Lily, her eyes shining. ‘I love him.’ She reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

He hesitated for the tiniest instant and she held her breath, hoping he would put his arms around her. But all he said was, ‘I’m glad you like him.’

Feeling awkward, she crossed to the nearest candle and held the carving up to the light. ‘He’s darling and he looks so mischievous. Did you really make him yourself?’

‘He didn’t take long,’ replied Ronan, lifting the dust sheet from the easel. So far he’d refused to let Lily see his painting. ‘Listening to you recite these past few nights has made me feel like I know him. I had exactly the right piece of wood, so he practically carved himself.’

‘I shall keep him always,’ Lily assured him, taking her position on the window seat and placing Puck carefully in her lap. ‘I only wish he was as easy to portray on the stage.’ Her shoulders drooped a little.

‘Rough day again?’ asked Ronan, squeezing paint onto his palette.

Lily sighed. ‘I seem to be getting worse, not better.’

‘What makes you think that?’

She pondered for a minute. ‘All week I’ve been trying to do exactly what my teachers say. Only . . . the harder I try, the more they seem to criticise me.’ She ran her fingers through her hair and coiled several strands nervously around her fingers.

‘Hey,’ said Ronan.

‘Sorry,’ said Lily, letting her hair go and shaking it back over her shoulders. ‘Even Dr Frank, who I thought kind of liked me, has been impossible to please this week. But today has been the worst so far.’ She counted on her fingers: ‘First, Mr Dreyfuss made me repeat his Russian leg lifts about ten times. I actually managed to get my face to my knee while holding my leg out in front of me, but he still wasn’t happy. Second, Mr Collins – you know, the combat teacher – said horrible things about my slapping technique. Third, Mr Bagy didn’t even smile during my performance as Pyramus. And fourth, Ms Lynch, who teaches us Mime and never ever raises her voice, actually yelled at me!’

‘Sounds like a challenge,’ said Ronan, carefully applying paint to the canvas.

‘But that wasn’t the worst.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Last period, we all got another lot of notes from the Dane.’

‘Tough on you again, was she?’

Lily sighed heavily. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to please her. And next Friday will probably be worse because she’s giving us our first public critique.’ She groaned. ‘I mean, I know it’s still early days, but I’m really beginning to feel like I’ve lost my way.’ She turned her face away and let her hair fall across her cheek so Ronan wouldn’t see the tears well in her eyes. ‘I thought being at the Academy would make everything easier,’ she muttered. ‘But it’s only made things harder.’ She pushed back her hair. ‘The truth is, I’m not wanted here, Ronan.’

He stopped painting and looked at her. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’ he asked.

‘What can I do?’ cried Lily. ‘I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I’m no good – everyone’s made that clear. The Dane, Mr Dreyfuss, Sandor Bagy – even Dr Frank. They’re all so critical. I don’t know what to do,’ she ended plaintively.

‘Well, you can stop complaining for one thing,’ said Ronan. ‘And you can stop feeling sorry for yourself.’

There was a long pause.

‘Okaaay . . .’ said Lily.

Ronan didn’t say anything.

After another moment, she said crossly, ‘That’s probably good advice, but if it’s okay with you, I think I’ll sleep on it.’ And, in one fluid movement she rose from the window seat, put Puck carefully on the nearest bookshelf, and closed the door behind her.

Lily didn’t see Ronan all weekend, but his words stayed with her and on Monday night she finally swallowed her pride and made her way back up to the tower room.

To her disappointment, he wasn’t there. She hurried over to the shelf and saw that Puck was exactly where she’d left him. She picked him up and looked around, but there was no note or anything to indicate that Ronan had been back to the tower since their last encounter.

Maybe he wasn’t coming back. Maybe her petulance last Friday night had made him give up in disgust.

Now that she’d had the weekend to think it over, Lily could see that she had been a bit of a whiny brat. The trouble was that it wasn’t only her teachers being hard on her and thinking she was failing every class that was making her feel bad or the fact that she had no friends apart from Max. It was all the other stuff, too.

On Saturday she’d had an email from Angel confirming that she and Nick would be arriving in London the following Friday for the weekend. All Lily had to do, Angel explained, was pack her bag Friday afternoon, get the necessary pass out, and prepare for the best weekend of her life.

Of course, Lily was delighted that her best friend was coming to see her, and she was looking forward to seeing Nick, too. It’d just be a whole lot better if she didn’t have to pretend she had nothing to lose if things didn’t go well at the Academy. She still hadn’t said anything to Angel about their father’s ultimatum about her acting.

Lily dropped onto the window seat and stared dismally around the room. If only her dad thought the same way about Lily’s acting as he did about Angel’s fashion design. If only he hadn’t his heart set on her taking over the family business. Lily trapped Puck between her fingers and thought about all the times last summer when Philip had enthused over Angel’s designs and encouraged her to dream big. He’d even held a gala dinner to celebrate her first day working at Vidal’s and during the toast had announced his plan to one day set Angel up in her own design studio.

Of course, Angel deserved to have Philip’s support. He was her dad, too, wasn’t he? And Angel had spent eleven years without him in her life . . .  Only . . .

It was so unfair. Philip believed in Angel’s talent, so why couldn’t he believe in Lily’s?

She balanced Puck on her palm and thought about what Ronan had said.

Maybe he was right: maybe she should stop complaining and feeling sorry for herself. Maybe she was her own worst enemy and every single miserable thing she was feeling was entirely her own fault. And maybe –

And maybe she should stop thinking about everything that was wrong in her life and do something practical instead.

Lily sat up and pulled her notepad from under the window-seat cushion. She’d brought it up the first day, thinking she’d finally write to her dad while Ronan painted, but so far it hadn’t happened.

She set Puck carefully beside her and wrote:

Dear Dad and Simone,

It’s hard to believe that I’ve been here three weeks already. I miss you lots but the Academy is amazing and I’m learning tons. The teachers are super tough but my friend Max reckons they’re especially hard on first years! Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of my time learning A Midsummer Night’s Dream off by heart. It’s our Christmas play and every first year is hoping for a good part and a shot at winning the Thorngold Trophy. My favourite character is Puck and last week a guy I know, who is an amazingly talented artist from the Pendragon School, gave me a beautiful wooden carving of Puck that he’d made himself.

Lily put down her pen and picked up the carving. She turned Puck slowly between her fingers. He seemed to laugh up at her and she wondered anew at the detail in his tiny face. The impish grin and mischievous eyes had taken more than mere skill with a knife to create and, not for the first time, it occurred to Lily that Ronan knew things about people and life that she was only just beginning to understand.

On an impulse, she got up and crossed to his easel. If Ronan had been here, Lily thought she might have tried talking to him about how she’d stuffed things up with her dad and how jealous she felt of Angel. Maybe Ronan would know what choice she should make. Or at least help her deal with her resentment.

Except that telling him her real feelings would probably make him like her even less than he already did. She ran her finger down the dust sheet and decided that she’d probably set a record for the number of perfectly good relationships she’d ruined just by being a spoiled brat.

Did Ronan see her that way? she wondered. She edged her finger under the dust sheet, tempted to take a quick peek at his painting. Surely it wouldn’t matter, now that their meetings in the tower were a thing of the past. He probably wouldn’t even bother to finish his picture of her – not after the way she’d walked out on him . . .

She pushed her hand under a corner of the dust sheet.

‘Are you sure you want to do that?’ said a voice.

Lily practically jumped out of her skin and turned to see Ronan coming towards her. ‘Oh, wow!’ she cried, holding her hand to her heart. ‘You scared me half to death!

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘You okay?’

She nodded, and before he could say another word she blurted out her own apology. ‘About the other night – you – you were right. And I’m sorry.’

He smiled and she felt most of the tension leave her body.

‘I was pretty hard on you,’ he said. ‘But only because I honestly don’t think you have any reason to feel sorry for yourself. These past few nights, listening to you read, you’re good, Lily – really good.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, blushing a little. ‘I only wish my teachers agreed with you.’ She looked at him shyly. ‘The fact is, things have always come pretty easily to me and, until I came to the Academy, I don’t think I’d ever really understood what it meant to struggle.’ She met his eyes. ‘You were right when you said I have no call feeling sorry for myself. It’s a struggle for a reason, isn’t it?’

His face lit up and he nodded. ‘Yeah, but do you get the reason?’

‘Because – because if it’s too easy then it’s not worth much, is it?’

‘I knew there was a reason why I liked you, Lily D,’ said Ronan.

Her blush deepened, ‘I like you too, Ron–’

But she didn’t get any further because Ronan had crossed the room in two strides, grabbed her by the shoulders, and kissed her firmly on the lips.

It wasn’t a great first kiss, but the second one was better.

Much, much better.

They stood locked in each other’s arms, kissing wildly, and it was better than any kiss Lily could ever have imagined.

Ronan’s mouth was delicious, and she revelled in the feeling of his lips on hers. He tasted like spearmint and chocolate, and when his tongue darted in and out of her mouth she couldn’t suppress a tiny groan of pleasure. Instantly, Ronan pulled her hard against him, his hands tangling in her hair, and kissed her as she’d never been kissed before.

Lily felt an overwhelming desire to tear off his shirt and feel his skin under her hands, just as another part of her brain screamed, ‘Don’t!’ She ignored the voice and tugged at Ronan’s shirt just as his right hand covered her breast. A vision of the Drake suddenly materialised in her head and she imagined his voice saying, ‘Rules, Lily. I’m offering you a one-term trial . . .’ She closed her mind to it and pulled harder on Ronan’s shirt. It suddenly came free, her elbow hit the easel and she felt it begin to topple.

‘Catch it!’ she cried, lunging sideways. But Ronan was faster. He caught the easel and his painting in mid-fall, righted them, and then stood there staring at her, his breath coming in odd, uneven gasps.

Lily looked at him uncertainly. She suddenly had no idea what to do. Retreat? Launch herself back into his arms? Apologise? Ask him how he felt about her?

Definitely not that.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Ronan.

‘I–I’m not sure,’ she replied.

He came closer and she stepped backwards.

‘We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,’ he said.

‘That’s the trouble,’ murmured Lily shyly. ‘I don’t know what I want to do.’

‘Then we’ll wait until you do,’ said Ronan, taking her hands in his. ‘Only, I have to warn you that I can’t be responsible for what might happen if we keep kissing like that.’

‘So no kissing?’ asked Lily, disappointed.

‘Not up here. Not unless you don’t want to stop.’

Lily felt herself blushing. ‘I – I might want that,’ she whispered. ‘Only – maybe – not yet.’

‘So, until then, there’d better be no kissing in the tower.’

‘How about downstairs, as we leave?’

He considered this. ‘Okay,’ he said eventually. ‘I can handle that.’