Andrew woke up in a fabulous mood.

He had rarely been this excited about life, Andrew reflected, buttoning up his trousers. This optimistic. He had spent the last year searching for this sort of feeling, but nothing — not flying planes, or kissing models, or sitting on top of a bucking horse in front of thousands of screaming fans — had given him this sort of high.

Nothing could ruin it.

Andrew whistled as he jogged down the stairs, searching for a telltale flash of red hair. But he only found Digby, patiently wiping down a number of unloaded shotguns spread out on the dining table.

"Well, well," Digby drawled. "Look who slept in."

Andrew smirked. "I was up late."

"Ah." Digby paused, arching an eyebrow. "No wonder Eleanora was so uncharacteristically cheerful this morning."

Andrew frowned. Eleanora? Well, he supposed he could see why Digby would assume that Andrew spent the night with her; they had been going for coffee together for most of November. But Andrew broke things off after his trip to Cornwall. It simply hadn't been right — not when he could feel himself falling for Ophelia.

Yes. He certainly wasn't dating Eleanora.

Thank god.

Still, Andrew mused, helping himself to an abandoned cup of coffee, he would let Ophelia tell Digby the news herself. He wasn't sure how far things had progressed between them, but judging by last night, Digby certainly had some sort of feelings for her.

Poor sod.

Andrew took a sip of the coffee, and then frowned.

"This is ice cold," he said, surprised.

"It tends to get that way, after a few hours."

Andrew sighed, setting down the coffee. "Tell me, Fitz; do you often make coffee and then just leave it?"

"Oh, it's not mine," Digby said airily. "Ophelia made it." He reached for a rather expensive  shotgun. "Earlier this morning."

Andrew froze. He had assumed that Ophelia went out for a walk; the fact that she and Digby had spent the morning together made his stomach clench unpleasantly.

Digby turned back to the gun, smirking slightly. Andrew had the distinct feeling that he was enjoying this; they had spent most of their life competing for one thing or another. At Eton, it was for grades. Then it became university admissions, polo tournaments, and the most beautiful women. The most expensive watch. The best July holiday.

And now, apparently, they were competing for Ophelia.

"She was here?" Andrew repeated.

Digby shrugged. "That's what I just said, isn't it?"

"What did she say?"

"No offense, Scott," Digby said, setting down the gun, "but it's really none of your business." Digby must have seen the murderous look on Andrew's face, because he relented. "It wasn't anything important, alright? She just told me a story."

"What story?"

"I don't know." Digby waved a hand impatiently. "She told me some story about getting with a bloke for practice. She sounded like she found the whole thing quite funny, actually."

Andrew felt like the air had been knocked out of him.

He sunk into a chair, his mind racing. Christ. Never in his wildest imaginations had he entertained the idea that Ophelia could be using him for the experience. But hadn't their first kiss been some sort of sick competition between them?

Had last night been one too?

"Did she say who?" Andrew growled.

"Well, it's not like we'd know him."

"Who is it, Digby?"

Andrew could have shook him. Digby's eyes flicked to the guns, as if he was worried that Andrew might suddenly spring across the room and seize one.

"I have no idea." Digby shrugged. "She didn't tell me his name." He smirked. "Hey, maybe we know him, or something."

Andrew stood up. The room felt like it was spinning slightly, although he hadn't touched any alcohol since yesterday evening. He gripped the table.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"Who? Eleanora?"

"Ophelia." Christ. Andrew could kill him. "Where's Ophelia?"

"She's in the library. With Eleanora."

Andrew blinked. What the bloody hell was going on right now? Had he woken up in some alternate dimension where Ophelia was still in love with Digby and also best mates with Eleanora? Did nothing make sense anymore?

"Right," he grunted. "Thanks."

Andrew stomped out of the room, stalking down the corridor. He was just reaching the library when Ophelia shot into view, wiping furiously at her eyes.

She turned around, and then froze.

"Andrew?"

He stopped short. Ophelia's eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and her lower lip was trembling slightly. She looked terrible, Andrew realized with a jolt. She was staring at him as if she'd just seen a ghost.

"Ophelia," he breathed.

Her whole face crumpled. He rushed forward, intending to wrap his arms around her, but Ophelia held up a hand.

"Can we talk?" she whispered.

Andrew reluctantly withdrew from her, nodding his head. Talking. That was a good idea. He could ask her about what Digby said, that way. About kissing him for practice. It had to be a misunderstanding.

"Let's go for a walk," he suggested.

Ophelia was in shock.

Her breathing came in spurts as they walked through the gardens, passing prickly thistles, glowing lavender asters, and a green holly bush shaped into a snail. Somewhere, insects were buzzing. Or maybe that was just in her head. She wasn't sure.

"Ophelia," Andrew said.

The buzzing was growing louder. She whirled around, searching for crickets.

"Ophelia?"

He touched her shoulder, and she flinched. Andrew immediately dropped his hand. He gestured to a stone bench.

"Shall we sit?"

Sitting. That was a good idea, actually.

Ophelia collapsed on to the bench, hugging her knees into her chest. Andrew sat carefully next to her, approaching her the way that a person might approach a frightened horse.

"What's happened?"

"Nothing," she croaked.

"Well, it's obviously not nothing," Andrew said. "Is this about last night?"

His voice was so gentle that she wanted to cry. Ophelia stared hard at a nearby rose bush, at the thorny stem hidden beneath the soft red petals. It was amazing how the most beautiful things could cut the deepest, she thought. How they could hurt you the most.

Andrew tried again. "Was it Eleanora?"

Oh, god.

Ophelia swallowed. She wanted to tell Andrew everything — about Eleanora's threat, and the horrible encounter in the library, and her book — but she couldn't. Not without risking Eleanora's wrath. The other girl had already torched her favourite book and laughed while doing it; who knew what else she could be capable of?

And then there was Andrew.

He must have lied to her, Ophelia reasoned bitterly; it was the only explanation. After all, Andrew wasn't a saint; he had admitted to cheating on women in the past. And Eleanora was batshit crazy, but surely nobody could be that insane without good reason.

Maybe Eleanora was right; maybe Ophelia really was just another girl that Andrew would lose interest in eventually.

Maybe she meant nothing to him at all.

"Are you with her?" Ophelia asked quietly. "Eleanora?"

Andrew stared at her. "You're seriously asking me that? After we slept together? After I told you that I wasn't?"

"Yes."

"Christ, Ophelia." Andrew blew out a breath, and it froze in the December air, shimmering in front of them. "Do you really have such a low opinion of me?"

Ophelia nibbled her lip. "I don't know."

Andrew's eyes were dark. "But you think better of Digby, don't you? Your own prince charming." His voice was mocking. "Your one true love."

She frowned. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Stop acting like that," Ophelia snapped. "Like... well, like—"

"Like what?" Andrew smiled grimly. "Like an actual human being? Like a real fucking person with feelings?" He shook his head. "You know what? Maybe I should be with Eleanora. At least she wouldn't just get with me for practice."

Ophelia flinched. Is that what Andrew thought of her? That she had given up her virginity last night just for a bit of practice?

"You don't know anything, Andrew." Her voice was low and furious. "You can't just—"

"Do you deny it?"

"Deny what?"

"Your conversation with Digby this morning," Andrew said flatly. "What was it about?"

Ophelia froze. Oh, god. He knew somehow — he knew that Digby had asked her out. Her panic was swiftly replaced by hot irritation though, curdling in her stomach. Well, what right did Andrew have to be angry about it? She hadn't asked him out.

"Why do you care?"

"Because it involves me."

"For fuck's sake," Ophelia snapped, losing her temper entirely. "Not everything involves you, Andrew! You can't just come out here and shout at me with no good reason. What happened between us last night—"

"Was a mistake," Andrew cut in. "Clearly."

There was a horrible pause. Ophelia stared at the rose bush, blinking back tears. She could feel heat pooling in her cheeks. She twisted her hands together in her lap, coiling them as tightly as the snail-shaped bush.

"Maybe I should go out with Digby," she said softly.

Andrew went very still. "What did you just say?"

"Well, maybe I should."

She glanced sideways at him, but Andrew's face was blank. Tell me to say no, Ophelia thought desperately. Tell me to refuse him, and I'll do it.

Andrew rubbed his jaw. "If you want to say yes so damn badly, then do it."

"You think so?"

"Sure." He shrugged. "That's what we always said, right? I'm meant to be with Eleanora, and you want to be with Digby. That was our deal."

Fresh pain blossomed in her stomach. Ophelia felt like invisible hands had reached into her gut, yanking out all of the stitches. She had come into the garden expecting Andrew to comfort her, and yet here she was.

Bleeding.

"I guess it is," she said finally.

"It's settled, then." Andrew rose to his feet. "I suppose you leave for Canada soon? For Christmas?"

Ophelia closed her eyes. He was eager to get rid of her, clearly. To spend the holidays with Eleanora in peace. She mirrored his movements, rising unsteadily to her feet.

"Next week."

"Safe travels, then," he said curtly.

And with that, Andrew turned on his heel, stalking back towards the house.

A/N: Yikes! Talk about a big misunderstanding.

Do we think Ophelia is going to come clean about Eleanora burning her book? Will Digby sweep her off her feet and make her forget all about Andrew? And most importantly — will Andrew ever get his cup of coffee?

As always, I can't wait to hear your thoughts!

Affectionately,

J.K.