The names Alessandro Ethan Moretti and Giovanni Aidan Moretti sat like a stone in Millie’s gut.
“Mills,” Clara whispered as they followed Sheila down the hall, “did you hear what Mr. Jameson said? What if one of those Moretti guys is your one-night stand? What was his name again—”
Millie spun, clapping a hand over Clara’s mouth. Her heart jumped. Sheila was only a few steps ahead.
“Shut it,” she hissed.
“Sorry,” Clara mumbled, eyes wide.
Sheila didn’t turn around, thank god, and kept walking. After a quick goodbye, Clara headed to her room, leaving Millie to find hers.
Inside, two narrow beds filled most of the space. A large window opened onto endless forest and mountains—nothing like Atlanta’s concrete sprawl.
She unpacked her bag, the cabinet doors creaking in the still air. The
