Right Where We Belong

Past and present collide in this swoony romance when a girl searching for a sense of belonging may have found it in an unexpected--and undeniably charming--visitor from the nineteenth century. "Swoony, heartwarming, and romantic, Delaney Carmichael''s final year of boarding school at Ivernia is not off to a great start. Losing her father has left her feeling completely unmoored--both emotionally and in terms of what she wants to do with her future. So when Delaney discovers that Ivernia--the one stable place in her life--is on the brink of shuttering its doors, it feels like the last straw. If life is measured in what she has to lose, then does anything matter? Desperate for a solution, Delaney makes a wish--for a way to save Ivernia. The universe''s response? Enter Lord William Cromwell of Dunbry, a tall, handsome, and woefully out-of-place-boy from nineteenth-century London. At first, Delaney thinks this charming English heartthrob might somehow be the answer to her problems, but when disastrous consequences begin to unfold at an alarming rate, she realizes that if she can''t return William to where and when he belongs, the present could unravel completely. Much to Delaney''s dismay, the only person capable of helping her is her brother''s infuriating best friend, Sumner, a boy who seems dead-set on getting under her skin. With time quickly running out, can the two set things straight before the past begins messing with the present in irreversible ways?

Autorentext

Farrah Penn

Leseprobe
Chapter One

Breaking and entering takes on a ­brand-​­new meaning when the goal isn’t to commit a felony, but to retrieve what’s rightfully yours. Case in point: an ­eight-​­inch-​­long brass tortoise.
My back presses against the muted gray brick that makes up the interior of the Segner House locker room. It smells ­lethal—​­a combination of damp socks and chemically engineered body spray called Dark Anarchy or something equally unhinged. My rattling heartbeat slows as my eyes adjust to the bright fluorescents overhead, ­which—​­let’s be ­honest—​­are the only things criminal about this entire excursion.
There’s no one here, I think. Which, duh, Delaney. No need to duck and cover on enemy territory when said enemies should be asleep. It’s nearing midnight, but you never know. Every senior takes the game seriously. That means I cannot be seen. By anyone. I’m not allowed here in the first place.
I should know better. I do know better.
The way to break into the guys’ quarters has been an open secret for years. The rusty knob on the back door unlocks with precise jiggling and a little patience. It took me under three minutes to get in.
I scan my surroundings. It would be so convenient if they’d hidden the trophy somewhere in here, but my heart sinks with each place I look. There’s nothing on top of the lockers or on the benches beside them. I check the empty mop bucket. The recycl­ing bin. Under discarded towels. Behind the shower curtains that reveal a ­nightmare-​­inducing level of ­uncleanliness—​­but alas. No tortoise.
“Where are you?” I whisper to myself.
Of course it’s not here. That would be too easy.
No one expected I’d volunteer for this ­after-​­hours trophy heist, but with a record as clean as mine, I’m the obvious choice. Ivernia School won’t expel one of their brightest. Not when they’ve paraded me in front of new student orientations, bragging about my exemplary GPA and college goals.
Also? I refuse to get caught.
Segner House has nearly the same layout as Hyde House, so I don’t have any difficulty navigating to the common room. All the lights are off. I pause in the dark corridor until my eyes have a chance to adjust. I avoid using the flashlight on my phone because ­please—​­this isn’t amateur hour.
The ­year-​­long Capture the Flag quest has been an Ivernia tradition for decades. The rules are simple: Segner House versus Hyde House. Seniors only. No hiding the brass tortoise anywhere that can be locked, like bedrooms, and no cheating under any circumstances. No matter how close you are to someone on the opposing team, even if they’re your best friend in the world, you can’t help them. If you do, you’re banned and shamed as a traitor to the sworn loyalty of your house. Nothing personal.
Sabine narrowed our search to three different locations: the kitchenette, the common room, and the locker room. The locker rooms can be used as a hiding place only once per team in order to raise the stakes. The other locations are accessible to everyone during the day, making them fair game. Tonight my goal is to check each place until I find the prized possession. I have to bring back a victory.
Living up to expectations has been ingrained in me for as long as I can remember. Rule-breaking, however, has not. But I don’t want to disappoint Hyde. This is my chance to seal my commitment to the team. And as trivial as it may sound, I want to impress the leads. Sabine and Inessa radiate this casual air of sophistication without even trying, all candid poise and elegant finesse. Some people are blessed with a magnetic personality, and others (like me) struggle to absorb an iota of what they’re giving.
So I’m going to prove I belong and follow through.
Using the pale moonlight that leaks in from the old Victorian window, I begin my second search of the night. I feel around under dirty couch cushions and pray I’m not accidentally discovering a new bacterium. I squint underneath a sunken armchair and scan the hollow spaces between bookshelves. And when I reach inside tissue boxes and decorative vases, I come up empty.
Damn it. It’s in the kitchenette.
I grab the heaviest book I can find before backtracking to the unmonitored entrance that leads to the dormitory wing. I’m silent as I creep past closed bedroom doors. The hallway here is narrow, and I’m terrified to even breathe too loudly out of fear I’ll wake someone.
The cracks underneath the doors reveal that almost everyone is asleep, give or take a few illuminated rooms. I yank the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, as though this terrible disguise can deter any suspicion, and tiptoe toward the end of the hall.
My heart continues to jackhammer against my rib cage as I reach the kitchenette. I give the closed door a hard, fast tug, because I know the hinges in this building creak louder than a successful rocket launch. My working theory is that the faculty has never WD‑­40’d the problem because it acts as an organic ­after-​­hours alarm. Not that this keeps students from sneaking into each other’s rooms on occasion.
A feeble whine releases from the rusty hinges. I pause, listening for footsteps. When I’m sure I’m in the clear, I prop open the door with the book so it can’t groan closed, and then I step inside.
The game is worth the risk. Team bonding and strategic planning are part of the reason I decided to join, but the bigger incentive is a triumphant comeback. Because for the last five years, Segner House has won.
*Not this year.
*I refuse to see him hoisting the trophy in the air at graduation.
My eyes have already adjusted to the darkness, so I don’t tamper with the kitchenette’s light. My gaze sweeps across the counters and the top of the fridge. I gently pry open cabinet doors. Adrenaline spikes through my system as I check the utensil drawers and the storage area underneath the sink. I look inside the microwave. I even peek inside the dishwasher.
And ­then—​­there it is. Sitting ins…