Will perches on the edge of the tatty armchair opposite me. "Your 'no'?" His eyes widen. "Oh! Is he hara.s.sing you? Do you need me to talk to him?"

Talk to him. Judging by Will's grip on the edge of the chair arm, I don't think talk is on his agenda.

"I'm dealing with this. I just need you to know that n.o.body had a great night with me while you were away. I spent the whole time wishing you were here. Why jump to this conclusion?"

Will sinks back and the tension drops. "Because I'm not here enough."

"I know, and that's okay with me. It's part of who you are."

"I'm not studying. I'm gonna fail my degree. You want a smart guy, not a slacker. Until recently, you were looking for somebody like you."

"Slacker? Jesus, Will. You're a successful musician." I reach out and take his hand. "And you are someone like me; otherwise, why would we feel how we do? You're worth ten of the guys I've known in the past. Didn't you listen to me the other day?"

"Yeah, but... I don't know."

"You know what's funny? I thought I'd be the insecure one, worried about the girls l.u.s.ting after you and if you'd keep your self-control."

"You don't need to worry about that, Fleur." He bites his lip. "I dunno. I guess after years of being told my choices were stupid and I'd regret trying to make the band work, I sometimes feel I don't measure up to the smart guys. The ambitious ones."

His words stun me. This talented man telling me he feels inferior? "You're both of those things. So what if you're not academic? You're smart and funny and successful."

"But this could all disappear, and I could end up working at McDonalds or some s.h.i.t like that."

"Surely, you don't really think that! Look at what's happening to you. Have faith in yourself, Will."

He scrunches his face up. "When we started, this was a bit of fun. No stress. Just playing. Doing our own thing. Now we have a manager and publicist, and f.u.c.k knows who else making decisions. I don't want to lose what's normal."

"You won't."

"Yeah? Have you seen the c.r.a.p thrown at famous people? Do you want to be part of that? With me? Or do you wanna have a quiet life with an intellectual guy who's there when you need him?"

"The only person I want a life with is somebody who loves and respects me. And as long as you do, you're that person." He stares at his bare feet. "Where's this coming from, Will?"

"I'm b.l.o.o.d.y scared of getting hurt."

"Being in love is always a risk, up to you whether you want to or not."

"I guess."

"Do you know what else you are that sets you above every other guy I've met? You're genuine."

Will's mouth tips at the corner. "Genuinely odd."

"Genuinely Will." I pause. "Apart from when you're Nate."

"We're over that, aren't we?" he asks.

"You know we are." I go to Will and sit on his lap, wrapping my arms around him. "Will Campbell, you're genuine and a bit of an idiot sometimes, but I love you."

"You're awesome."

"So you keep saying."

Will wraps me in his arms and holds me tightly against him, squeezing the breath from my lungs. "I love you. Be my normal."

"Be my crazy. " I pull his head so he has to look at me. "We can meet in the middle."

"Our crazy normal place we go when we're alone?"

"That's the one."

The words are sealed not with a gentle kiss but a breath-consuming, intense pa.s.sion spilling into my body. The relief we sorted this out quickly pulls away the dark worry of the last few days.

Shaun nags the corner of my mind. I've told Will, but downplayed how serious this is becoming. I have no doubt Shaun sent the flowers. Did he see us together again? Decide he can ruin this? I have no proof, but I'm scared over what could happen next. Surely, Shaun won't ruin his career by continuing this behaviour.

If I say anything to Will, or anybody, I'll inflame the situation.

All I need to do is keep my head down and finish this year. If Shaun does anything else and I can prove it's him, I'll step up and deal with the issue then.

36.

ONE MONTH LATER.

FLEUR.

I check the online bulletin board again. My results for the last a.s.signment aren't posted. Still. Steph and Sam got their grades two days ago. I need to talk to somebody and find out why; I'll chat to the faculty office later. Gulping down the rest of my coffee, I look around for my coat.

Will's away again; he's only around three days out of seven currently and has all but given up on his course. He's back to last year's study habits: none. Will's admitted his decision to come back was to prove a point to his parents; and occasionally, he mentions he should finish his degree. I point out to him that, even with the best tutor in the world this isn't going to happen, and that a bestselling alb.u.m is enough achievement for one year.

"Letter for you," says Anne as I walk past the lounge. She points at the table.

"Thanks." I grab the envelope. University logo. More fees probably. Shoving it in my pocket, I head out to catch the bus.

English winters suck. Rain and grey skies, or ice-cold winds. Late November and a five minute walk to the bus stop involves a scarf and gloves. On the bus, I squeeze onto a seat next to an elderly lady and open the letter.

I have to re-read three times to be sure the words are what they say, and double-check this is definitely addressed to me.

Plagiarism.

Disciplinary hearing.

Possible expulsion.

The world lurches off course as the bus continues onward to campus.

How? I never collaborate. I'm always precise with citations. I have never, ever cut and pasted a single word from an online article.

Collaborate.

The paper crumples as I tighten my grip. The paper I submitted is a polished version of the research I showed Shaun a few weeks ago. The one he loved because the theories linked to his research. But how could that be plagiarism? If it is, he's the one who plagiarised me.

I pull my phone out and find the site for the publication Shaun mentioned the other day. The article has a similar t.i.tle and I scan the words, nausea and panic rising. Sentences match mine, as do research points and ideas. My new interpretations of the topic jump off the screen.

This is mine.

He published my work, and weeks before I submitted my paper. Shaun's article was out there and I handed in an a.s.signment almost identical.

When the bus reaches my stop, I stumble off and head straight to the Faculty office. What do I do? I mumble something about the letter, ask who I need to contact, and my perfect academic world shatters around me. Minor plagiarism can lead to a failed paper and a warning. Something as major as this could end my academic career before it starts.

There are not enough foul words in the world to apply to the Irish b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

I have cla.s.s but my legs propel me in another direction. Five minutes later and I'm hammering on Shaun's door. No reply. I check his available hours on the note pinned beneath; I'll need to wait until later this afternoon to find him.

Ashamed and convinced the whole department knows, I slink away. I can't face cla.s.s. I can't face anybody. I fold the letter and place it back in the envelope, pushing away the reality as I head to the library.

Immersed in books and the internet for hours, blanking out the waves of fear and disgust, I forget I'm due to meet Will until my rumbling stomach and dizziness remind me. I grab the books from my desk and head to the shelves.

Shaun stands a few metres away and I halt.

As he pulls a book from the tall shelf, Shaun catches sight of me, and smiles to himself, as he looks away again.

I storm over. "I need to talk to you."

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," he replies in a low voice. "I'm surprised and to be honest insulted by what you've done after all the help I gave you."

"That's a lie and you know it," I hiss. "You took those ideas from me. You saw my research!"

"No, I stupidly shared my research with you and look what you did."

"I have my notes to prove it," I snap.

"And so do I. Who are they likely to believe? The respected staff member or the little girl desperate to be the best."

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Anger shakes through my body and I slam the books down on a low table next to us. "You can't do this!"

Shaun leans closer. "I already did."

His face remains centimetres from mine, breath touching my lips as he looks steadily at me. He will not intimidate me.

"I could talk to the Board, I guess," he says. "Explain the misunderstanding; that we collaborated and you were just stupid, not deliberate."

"I am not stupid!"

"You've been very stupid. If you come to my office later we can discuss this." His gaze flicks to my mouth. "In private."

"No way!" I step back. "You disgusting piece of s.h.i.t!"

"You know what, Fleur?" he says quietly. "The fact you're perpetually resistant makes this much more interesting. I'm enjoying this."

I blink at his admission. "I will never do anything with you. I'll prove this is my work and not yours."

His tight-lipped smile grows. "How important is your career? What was it you told me once? The only thing you wanted from life? Make the choice." He rubs my arm. "Make the right one. I can help you."

I can't disguise my breathlessness and fight to hold myself together, or my trembling. There must be something I can do. Are there other girls who've been s.e.xually hara.s.sed by this man?

"This is turning me on, Fleur." He closes in on me and I step against the shelves, the books digging into my back. "How about here? We can find a quieter corner. Maybe one of the study rooms?"

Bile rises and I stretch my fingers, fighting the desire to slap him. This would not help my cause. I need to walk away and consider my next move.

Sidestepping Shaun, I spin around and walk unsteadily to the desk where I left my bag. This man has chosen the wrong girl to screw over. I don't know how, but I'm going to win this.

37.

FLEUR.

Telling Will about the plagiarism accusation and asking for his support makes more sense than holding everything in, but I can't. I need to wait until I have a handle on this because I picture him racing across campus and beating the c.r.a.p out of Shaun. A part of me whispers that I should tell Will, but larger part says I can't involve him. I will tell him, once my head is straight and I'm in control of the situation.

Anne, I can't avoid telling. For the tribunal I'm allowed to take a friend, who isn't a student in the department, for support. As my story unfolds, she listens in horror. I skip the part about his recent approach, alluding to the fact he's asked for s.e.xual favours. s.e.xual favours? Pseudo-rape.

Anne chews her lip as we sit together on the sofa. "What's your plan?" she asks.

"I'm not sure. I have all the evidence of sending my research to him but there's nothing to show whether the research was his or my ideas."

She sits up and clicks her fingers. "I know what you should do! Go and see him and record the conversation."

"Are you insane? We're not MI5."

"No, but it's an idea? Do you have any better ones?"

"I was going with something more practical to refute the claims."

"Like what?"