Chapter 190

Almara’s Pov

Arthur is acting weird. The school has been open for a month and we’ve been going out to lunch together every day since, except when I asked him today he gave me some lame excuse about having too much work to do.

I only asked out of courtesy, I wasn’t actually expecting his usual answer to change. Even when I asked him if I could pick us up lunch and sit in his room with him while he worked, he got very fidgety and said that he had to run out to an art store. Which is also completely out of the blue.

Now it’s lunchtime and even though I have no plans, my stomach growls meaning that I better make plans quick or be irritable the rest of the day. It’ll be hard to be creative when my entire line of thinking will be focused on food.

I can’t even get lunch with Grace, she’s with my parents today. I walk out the doors of the building and cross the parking lot to my car. Alone.

“Hi, Mrs. Covington!” A couple of new students wave eagerly at me. I wave back and give a friendly ‘hello,’. I avoid names as I try to recall who these students are. We’ve had an influx of new comers from all over the country. (=)()

Which has been hard to keep track which is a good problem to have I suppose, but part of me misses the intimacy of knowing every person personally who walked through this building. Oh well. This is how I can afford to eat out every lunch.

I see Arthur hurriedly speed-walking to his car. I almost call out his name, but quickly stop myself from doing so. I retreat back slightly, suddenly not wanting him to see me- just as he probably also doesn’t want to be seen. And I’m going to find out why.

I crouch down and pretend to tie my shoe, taking my time until I’m sure he’s in his car. When I look up and see the juice of his car begin to flow throughout the vehicle, I quickly pick up my pace and slide into mine- which really is my parents.

That’s the other thing. Today is the only day Arthur wanted to drive separately, he said he would maybe need to work late- which doesn’t quite add up. Even though we’ve been getting more students overall, those wanting to take architecture are about the same.

If anything, I would be the one who would have to be working late and even I’m completely on top of my work, and Arthur’s the one with more multi-tasking skill than I am.

I slip into my car and wait until I see his sleek black convertible slide out onto the street and then put my car into gear. I keep a safe distance, a couple cars behind, and follow him. I start to think maybe I’m being crazy, and I do really need to stop for food- yet instinct tells me to keep following.

We’re heading in the direction of the art store, so maybe what he’s saying really does check out, or maybe that’s just what I want to believe. Unfortunately, one of the results of being fated mates is knowing your partner so intimately, so much so that as much as I don’t want ot believe it: Arthur is lying.

When we pull onto the highway my suspicions are concerned. We’ve passed all stops for food for the next ten miles and the closest art store that would make sense for him to go to. The hunger in my stomach turns into a sickly feeling. Where is he going?

Lily’s ears are perked and her eyes are on alert for any sudden movement. Eventually, Arthur pulls off the side of the road. What? Oh no. This means either I have to pull over too or keep driving and I have no idea where I’m going. If he gets back on the road then I’ll have lost him.

I decide a bit too late, but eventually pull off the side of the road a short distance ahead of him. I sit in my car with my knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel, not sure what to do. I feel like a cop just pulled me over, except it’s not a cop, it’s my husband.

Then something hits me, why am I the one who’s nervous? Arthur is the one who lied and was trying to be sneaky. I should be pulling him over! With this realization settling in my mind, my heart rate increases and now I’m fueled with anger instead of nerves.

I toss my seatbelt aside and get out of the car, slamming the door behind me. When I get out, I see Arthur already walking over towards me. I march over to him, meeting him halfway.

“Are you following me?” Arthur asks, but the cocky way he tilts his head makes it apparent that he already knows the answer.

“So what if I am? Where are you going? Because it isn’t the art store!” I shout over the speeding traffic and poke a finger in his chest. Arthur clasps his hand over mine and laughs. He’s laughing? Lily growls.

“Okay, Little Wolf,” Arthur says. “You caught me. Get in.” He continues holding my hand as he leads me to his car. I want to stay angry and demand answers, but I guess if he really was up to no good he wouldn’t be so nonchalant about this whole thing.

I look back at my parents' old beat-up car, hopefully, no one thinks it’s junk and tows it away. I suppose if that happens my mom would understand why I left it, right? I decided she would and follow behind Arthur.

“You really ruined the surprise, you know.” Artur says giving me sideways glance while peeling back onto the road.

“I think it was your poor lying that ruined whatever this surprise is in the first place,” I point out. Arthur clicks his tongue.

“You’re probably right,” He agrees. He turns up the radio and we cruise for the next ten miles and veer off the first exit.

I vaguely recognize the area. We drove through it accidentally getting lost on our way home from one of his press meetings. It’s a gorgeous area. Lots of land, a big open sky, a community lake. It’s also closer to the city, where the press conference was, though you’d never think so with how rural it is.

I expect us to be passing through, but when Arthur drives deeper into the residential area my confusion grows as does Arthur’s excitement.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, though I begin to think I’m going to find out very soon.

“You’ll find out in. . three. . .two . . . one!”

Arthur pulls the car to a stop in front of a charming white farmhouse that screams old money. The white brick is accented by black shutters. The house is seated on a hill with the front yard elegantly manicured with rose bushes and shapely hedges. The driveway is windy and made of cobblestone, circulating around a fountain.

There’s a wrap-around porch and on the second story is a balcony that overlooks the lake which is right beside the car. “I bought it,” Arthur says. My mouth drops open, but no words come out.