Page 39 of Harnessed in Gold

Thanks to Zander, I know exactly what that thing is, but I keep it to myself. If I can get Liv out of harm’s way without her ever knowing Braden’s true feelings, then I’ll feel like I’ve done my job. No blood, no foul, as they say.

“PMS?” I joke.

Her lips twitch into an almost-smile. “If you’re talking about mood swings, then yeah. He hardly even talked to me last night, not until after the party, and then he was all like, ‘Hey baby, where you been all night? Let’s go get it on.’”

Stomach clenching, I put down my forkful of pancakes.

She grabs the top corners of her food tray and leans closer, close enough that I can see the fire in her eyes. “And you know what?”

“What?”

“I was like, ‘Fuck that, I’m going home.’”

I stifle my gasp, but I can’t call back my smile. This is progress. Significant progress. There was a time she would’ve considered such an offer from His Majesty to be worthy of her deepest gratitude. Any attention is good attention, right? Well, not anymore. My girl is learning she has value.

“What did he do when you said that?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know. I didn’t stick around to find out.”

Even better progress than I thought. She wasn’t just trying to make him beg.

She sips her coffee and sighs. “It just sucks, you know? I thought things with him would get better after a while, but they haven’t. He’s still just—” She waves a hand in the air, grasping for words.

“He’s still just Braden?”

“Yeah. And I mean really Braden. Like the Braden-iest Braden of all the Bradens.” She’s giggling, and it makes me so happy I giggle right along with her. But suddenly she stops. “You don’t think he’s being like this because of the whole KPT blackball thing, do you?”

I’m too caught off guard by the question to answer. Or rather, to figure out a nice way to tellthe truth.

But it turns out I don’t need to. “He likes sorority girls,” she says. “Like, the really stuck-up ones.”

“Seems like it.”

Liv slides her tray to the side so she can put her elbows on the table and wrap both hands around her mug. “Can I be honest?”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“If I wasn’t scared I’d lose Sweetheart, I’d tell him to go fuck himself.”

“You won’t lose Sweetheart,” I say. “It’s a done deal.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the O-Chi president told me.”

She bites her lip, deep brown eyes hesitant.

“Really,” I insist. “The brothers have voted you in, and that’s that. So it doesn’t matter what happens with you and Braden.”

She nods, tapping her nails on the ceramic mug. “Good to know.”

An hour later she stands in the center of our dorm room, hands on her hips and eyes on the floor. “This carpet is gross,” she declares. “I’m going to get the vacuum.”

Ah, I know what’s happening here. Manic cleaning as a form of closure is one of the many things Liv and I have in common. I tell her to go for it, optimistic that this urge to sweep reflects a desire to suck up Braden and toss him out with the trash.

She returns from the first-floor cleaning closet with not only the vacuum, but also a bin of cleaners, rags, and sponges.

“Don’t you have an eleven o’clock class?” I ask her.