Why don't you get a taste?
Golden girl Alison Rivers has it all: brains, looks, money, a father who adores her, and any man she wants... Or so she thought.
When she sets her eyes on Lorenzo Visconti, her academy's Italian, irresistible principal, sh...
QOTC: what are your thoughts on the new cover? I made it at 3 am.
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Tranquil. I was happy and at peace. No more stressing over Alison, no more fearing that she would pull one of her little stunts and no more worrying about her being miserable.
After speaking to her a couple of nights earlier, she had finally loosened up. Gone was the sadness from her azure eyes, they were sparkling once more. A bright smile seemed to find its way on her lips way more frequently, and all in all, she had gone back to being the glowing girl I'd gotten to know in December. Thankfully, her newfound contentment hadn't come with the intention of seducing me again.
That didn't mean that we had cut off all communication between us, on the contrary, we had started spending some time together, talking about whatever it was that bothered her and mindlessly chatting throughout the day.
I enjoyed her company, for she was an exquisite person to have around. But it sometimes got hard.
Florence is usually very warm and sunny in April, which leads to people wearing fewer layers of clothing.
And Alison, apparently, was a big fan of cute sundresses that flaunted her shapely, voluptuous physique without ever making her look vulgar. It was impossible not to steal a glance at her round breasts whenever she skipped towards me, or at those long, tan legs that she seemingly hated covering.
Sometimes, I wanted— needed to think that she was doing it on purpose, that she was intentionally acting in a certain way to get a reaction out of me, to excite me, but that wasn't the case. She was simply being herself.
Which led to the thorny realization that I was the problem. I was the one who was desperately trying to pin the blame on her, only to free myself from the guilt I experienced every time I laid my eyes on her. Every time I got hard because of her.
I couldn't shake the memory of what had happened earlier in the morning.
Lydia Piers, Alison's roommate, was one of the first students to leave her room and go downstairs to have breakfast. Curiously enough, she didn't close the door after her, but she left it ajar.
"Is Miss Rivers still in there?" I asked, because it was my responsibility to get all the top floor teens to the dining area.
The young girl nodded, seemingly in a rush. "Uh, yeah. She's getting ready."
I didn't think much of her hasty response and paced up and down the hallway, making sure that everyone exited their respective rooms, until there was only one student left: Alison. I checked my watch and saw that it was already 8:55, which was way too late. I brought my hand to the door and knocked on it, but I didn't receive an answer.
No sounds were coming from inside, and for some reason, it was worrying me.
"Alison?" I asked in a loud voice, but to no avail. There was only silence on the other side. So I did the most reasonable thing to do: I pushed the door open and stepped into the room, which looked to be empty. I walked towards what I knew was the bedroom, ready to burst inside, before stopping in my tracks.
