When I replayed that night, I kept coming back to the same conclusion—with Grayson, my mind was at peace. What I’d started to believe was madness had disappeared.

“Okay, guys, let’s open your books to chapter five,” he told the class from behind his desk.

“Last week, I told you we would be starting the term with King Henry’s wives, and we read about Catherine of Aragon. Funny thing is, what most people remember about their marriage is that King Henry divorced her.”

“What a great way to go down in history,” Jessica spoke up from the seat in front of me.

“Better than being the one whose head he chopped off.”

My voice cut through the room and Jessica swiveled in her chair to face me, along with the rest of the class and Mr. McKendrick—I suppose that’s who he was in here.

“Whose head did he chop off?” Jessica asked, horrified.

I didn’t move other than to raise my eyes to my teacher.

“Anne Boleyn’s.”

Jessica spun back around to face the front of the room, as did the rest of the class.

“It’s true,” he confirmed. “He pursued Anne Boleyn relentlessly. At first, he was with her sister, Mary—”

“You mean he was screwing her,” Brandon joked as his friend gave him a high five. “Hell yeah.”

Agreeing with the boys, Mr. McKendrick gave a slight nod of his head. “Yes, I guess you would be right. He was sleeping with her. She was his mistress.”

“I doubt he was doing much sleeping,” Sam piped up.

“Okay, settle down, would you? This isn’t personal health class.”

Unable to help myself, I decided to speak up. “It could be.”

As my teacher’s eyes found mine, he disagreed. “No, it couldn’t. That’s next month, and I’m sure it won’t be with me.”

He wasn’t wrong. Usually the class was taught by Miss Shrieve. If I had my way, though, it would be much sooner than that. It would be a one-on-one class, and he’d be giving me a very private lesson.

* * *

Moving along so I wouldn’t fixate on the way Addison’s eyes were undressing me, I went back to the subject.

“So, let’s get back on track. King Henry was married to Catherine when he started an affair with Mary Boleyn, Catherine’s lady-in-waiting.”

“Jerk.”

“Ass.”

Refusing to be sidetracked, I ignored the comments and continued. “He, however, was drawn to, and became completely enamored with, her sister, Anne.”

“Because she refused him.”

Addison’s voice reached me from the back of the room, but I avoided eye contact.

“Yes, at first. The king was quite persistent, though, and pursued her anyway. Some believe he did this because of Catherine’s inability to produce an heir, and the king, desperate to have a son, sought out a young woman of childbearing years. But many believe he chased Anne because she resisted his attempts, thus provoking the king into doing everything in his power to annul his marriage to Catherine. It was that act that served as one of the contributing factors leading up to the English Reformation.”

The classroom was completely silent until Jessica asked, “So, why’d he chop off her head?”

I laughed. Of course it’s the illicit details that captures the attention. It always is.

“Well, that’s what we’re going to learn. It’s believed that while Anne’s intelligence and independence are what made her so attractive to the king in the first place, it was ultimately her downfall. She refused to be the woman behind the man and play the submissive role expected of her. Her spirited nature was intoxicating as a secret lover, but as a wife to a king? Her outspoken ways were frowned upon and eventually led to her”—stopping for dramatic effect, I drew my index finger across my throat—“execution.”

The students began chattering as I moved back to the board and wrote, Ambition, adultery, and accusations. In the end, do you believe that Anne Boleyn got what she deserved?

I placed the chalk down on the tray and faced the class. “Well, come on, what are you waiting for? Get writing. We’ll be meeting at the library tomorrow for further research, but for now use what you have.”

As the students opened their books, I pulled my chair out and sat. I grabbed my own textbook and studied the photograph of Anne Boleyn.

King Henry may have initially wanted her, but it was her own ambition that had gotten her everything she desired. Her seduction of him, now made legendary, was one that was forbidden and eventually deadly.

Looking up, our eyes collided.

Addison wasn’t unlike Anne.

She was young, beautiful, and ambitious, and ever since I’d met her, she’d gone after exactly what she wanted.

It just so happened to be me.

* * *

Present…

“You know, you use to talk to me, Addison. When did that change?”

I look at the man sitting beside me on the stone bench. He asked me to meet him outside by the fountain today.

The sun is shining through the trees surrounding the facility, and I can hear birds in the distance. Angling my face toward the sun, I bask in the rays as it warms me. It feels like years instead of days since I’ve been outside.

Subconsciously, I reach down to the watch strapped to my left wrist. I can’t hear it, but I know it’s—tick, tick, ticking—its way around the face.

“When you stopped listening.” My voice is steady. It’s emotionless.

“Is that what I did?”

Opening my eyes, I face Doc. I can tell he’s waiting for me to say more, and for the first time—I want to tell him.

I want to tell him that everyone stopped listening.

Instead, I feel a tear, the first in weeks, as it escapes my eye and trails down over my cheek.

“Addison?”

I wipe it away and look back to the trees.

“Addison, tell me.”

Tell him what?

That there is no one to care how I feel now that he is gone?

No one cares that my dreams will never come true, not the way I want them to.

He’d calmed me when no one else could.

He’d saved me from myself.

If only they knew the truth…

But no one is listening, and his time is already up.

Tick, tick, tock.

* * *

Past…

My first three classes passed by, and as soon as the lunch bell rang, I was making my way back through the halls hoping to catch Mr—Grayson—before he left for lunch. I practically jogged toward the door at the very end. It was closed.

I stood in front of it and took a deep breath before reaching out to turn the handle.

Pushing it open, I stepped inside the room I’d been seated in earlier and saw him. He was standing at the back of the class pushing one of the chairs under its table when his eyes found mine, and he straightened.

“Addison, you shouldn’t be in here.”

He moved to the next chair and corrected it.

“I needed to see you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

I looked at the clock on the wall and noticed the second hand was moving, but instead of following it, I found I could turn away. “Yes, I did.”

“Was there something you needed to discuss?” he asked, stopping where he was.

I dropped my bag on the floor and locked the door behind me.

“Unlock the door, Addison.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“And I want you to unlock the door.”

He strode up the aisle and was in front of me before I knew it. He grabbed my arm and led me to the far corner of the room before releasing me.

“This is not the place.”

“Then where is?”

“Not here.” His agitation was evident as he paced the floor.

“I want to see you again,” I told him. “I want you to see me.”

“Trust me, I do see you,” he stressed. “You’re all I fucking see, Addison. When I close my eyes, when I open them, when I’m teaching. You’re. There. All. The. Fucking. Time.” He rubbed his face. “Sometimes I wish I’d never seen you.”

My pulse began to hammer, and I whispered, “But you did, didn’t you?”

Grayson placed a hand on the bookshelf I was backed up against and shifted until his foot was between both of mine. I said nothing when his fingers stroked over my naked thigh, and when he flirted with the edge of my skirt, I barely managed to breathe.

He raised his leg slightly, and his hand slipped under the fabric to cup my bare ass. As his fingers dug into my flesh, he growled low in his throat, and I had to bite my lip to keep my moan inside.

“I see you,” he answered, his words strained. “I see you, and I want to lift your skirt just like this. That’s why you wore it, isn’t it? To drive me fucking crazy.”

My eyes closed as he pulled my hips forward.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded.

Obeying, I watched him shift and felt the denim of his jeans abrade the inside of my bare legs. I could feel every pulsing throb of my body, and all I wanted to do was rub against his strong thigh. He leaned in close and licked his top lip, and I was immediately reminded of his mouth on mine.

“Tell me where I can meet you,” I pleaded.

“What for?”

I rolled my hips against the ridged muscle under me. He tightened his fingers on my ass, the tips brushing the satin strip of my thong, and yanked my hips closer.

“Oh, God,” I moaned.

“What for, Addison?” he asked again. “Why do you want to meet me?”