Scout’s POV
"It is no big deal," I said, my voice cutting through the thick quiet of the dining hall.
I kept my hands flat against the polished wood of the table so he would not see them shake. My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild, trapped thing, but I forced my gaze to remain steady.
"I do not mind sleeping in your rooms tonight if it keeps your mother happy."
Nixon tilted his head. His dark eyebrows shot up, a rare crack in that frozen mask he always wore. He did not expect me to give in so fast.
"But," I added, sliding my chair back with a sharp scrape, "I am going to my own suite first. I need a shower."
"You can wash in my quarters," Nixon said, rising from his seat in one smooth, fluid motion. He towered over the candlelit table, his wide shoulders blocking out the light.
