“Sounds good.” I smiled. “Have a great day.”

“You too.” I watched her hurry off and breathed a sigh of relief.

We were finally back on the right track. I knew as soon as Jason had come up to me at the restaurant that we were going to have trouble. Even though Anna and I were best friends, she was still ridiculously insecure and slightly envious of me. I understood why, but it still hurt me whenever she started ignoring me because guys paid more attention to me than her. And it wasn’t that I was so much more gorgeous than she was. In fact, I thought that Anna was one of the most beautiful girls I had ever known, with her long black hair and intelligent hazel eyes. I felt very boring with my light brown hair and brown eyes. I was of average height and build, and I knew that Anna was slightly self-conscious because she had recently lost a lot of weight.

I slowly walked into the classroom, wanting to take in my surroundings. Everything was so different in London. The building itself was supposedly an old residence of some Lord and everything seemed so grand.

“Lola,” a voice called out to me, and I looked up and saw Sebastian grinning at me.

I walked over to him slowly but quite happily. He looked even more handsome than I had remembered. His green eyes shone at me like emeralds, and he was wearing a plaid shirt that seemed to emphasize the slight twinkles of brown.

“How are you?” He stood up as I reached his seat and pointed to the seat next to him. “Please.”

“Thanks.” I sat down and unbuttoned my jacket. “I’m good. How are you?”

“I’m tired.” He yawned slightly. “Excuse me. I was up all night going through the textbook.”

“Not the entire textbook?” I looked at him in amazement. He didn’t look like he was a nerd.

“My brother will expect no less of me,” he sighed. “And some of these paintings I should know already.”

“Oh, have you taken the class already?”

“No, we own some of them. Well, I don’t own any of them, but my family does.”

“Your family owns some of them?” I grinned at him. “What do you mean? Like prints?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I mean we have some Cezannes and Monets in our dining room.”

“Dining room?” My eyes widened. “You have world-class paintings in your dining room?”

“Well, really it’s the great hall, not the dining room.” He laughed. “And so I should really be top of this class. I’m sure I’m the only one who has grown up with art in their homes to this extent.”

“Hey,” I chided him, “we have some great paintings of dogs playing poker in my house.”

“Well now, I correct myself.” He smiled back at me. “You shall have to tell my brother that you also are an art connoisseur.”

“Your brother? He’s not going to be checking up with you after the class, is he?”

“No, not after the class.” He laughed. “My brother teaches the class.”

“Oh good God. That’s awful.” I rubbed his shoulder lightly. “I’m sorry about that.”

“What can I say?” He leaned towards me and looked directly into my eyes. “It’s not going to be the most fun of classes for me.”

“I bet.” I swallowed hard as I stared at him. He was so good-looking and there was something so familiar about his features. When I looked at him, I felt like I was connecting with someone wise. I didn’t feel a sexual chemistry with him exactly, but there was something about him that intrigued me greatly.

“But such is life. No one ever said it was going to be fun.”

“That’s true.” I nodded in agreement. “That is very true.”

“Good morning, everyone. Welcome to my art history class,” a loud accented voice called out, and I felt each individual hair on my back stand up. “I hope you are all ready for a term of surprises.”

I slowly turned to the front of the class and froze as I saw who the professor was. “Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath, waiting for him to recognize me.

“I am your professor. You may call me Xavier.”

He looked around the room, and I knew the moment that he saw me. His eyes dilated and I saw a flash of shock before it disappeared and he continued surveying the class. He then looked back at me and his eyes narrowed as he saw that I was sitting next to Sebastian.

“Fuck,” I mumbled again as I realized that Sebastian was his brother.

“You okay?” Sebastian whispered at me, and I nodded quickly and gave him a quick smile, hoping that my face hadn’t turned red.

“Let’s get started.” Xavier placed his laptop on the table and stood in the middle of the room. “Prostitutes. Yes, let’s start with prostitutes.”

My face burned a deep red as his eyes met mine and he gave me a cruel little smile. I wasn’t sure where he was going with his conversation, but I was scared.

“What is a prostitute?” his voice boomed, and I felt like everyone was staring at me. “Anyone?”

“A girl who sleeps with men for money,” a boy at the back of the class shouted out.

“But why does she sleep with a man for money?” he responded.

“Because she’s a whore,” the boy responded back and the class laughed.

“How do we know someone is a prostitute?”

A girl near the front spoke up timidly. “She stands on street corners.”

“Yes, some stand on street corners. But what about a woman on a corner symbolizes her as a prostitute?”

“Her clothing,” the guy at the back called out. “Whores usually dress like sluts.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” a girl in front of me responded. “You can’t call a woman a slut because of her attire.”

“What do you think?” Xavier looked directly at me, and I stared back at him with a blank expression, not speaking. “No opinion?” he continued while staring at me. I shook my head slowly, and he looked at me in disappointment. “Folks, you cannot be shy in here if you wish to pass this class.” He looked away from me, and I looked down at the desk, my face burning in shame and embarrassment.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Sebastian whispered to me. “I told you he’s an asshole.”

“Thanks,” I whispered back, starting to feel annoyed. Who did Xavier think he was?

“I’m sure many of you are wondering why we are talking of prostitutes.” Xavier walked back to the desk at the front of the class. “And I will explain. As most of you know, we are studying Impressionism in this class. The era in art that transformed people’s opinions about the woman’s body as a whole. As most of you should know, Neoclassicism was popular in the second half the nineteenth century. This art was more solemn, classical, and it referred back to the Grecian way of life. The lines were severe, noble, stark, and precise. That is what artists and purveyors were used to, and then along came some upstarts with a new way of painting and portraying the beauty they saw around them. Can anyone name any of the forefathers of Impressionism?”

I stuck my hand up, not wanting him to think he could railroad me.

“Yes, you. What’s your name?” he sneered at me, and I felt my blood boiling over. What was his problem? Did he want everyone to know that we had a history?

“Lola. My name is Lola.”

“Were your parents fans of Nabokov?” he asked lightly.

“I’m not sure who that is.”

“Come now. You do not know who Vladimir Nabokov is?”

“No, Professor, I do not.”

“I said you can call me Xavier.” He bowed slightly. “In this class, there is no distinction between student and teacher. We shall all learn from one another. We are all adults, yes?”

“Can I answer the question now?” I spat out, knowing that I was sounding bitchy.

I could see some of the other students looking at me, wondering why I was being so rude. Especially to him. It hadn’t escaped my notice that several of the female students had brushed their fingers through their hair and even reapplied lipstick. Xavier looked handsomer than I remembered, with his dazzlingly sharp green eyes and jet-black hair. He stood tall and confident in his manhood and sexiness. I knew that several of the girls were swallowing hard and trying to ignore the buzz of lust that emanated when they stared at him. I knew that because I was one of them.