SILAS, saltburn

x. LATE AT NIGHT

CHAPTER TEN
late at night

IF ONE LOOKED closely, they could discern the freckles dotting Silas' cheeks, ones that often faded in winter but regained prominence come summer.

They were sprinkled across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, trailing down his back and even reaching his toned, pale shoulders.

Felix battled against his impulses, resisting the urge to stare at the blonde's back and absentmindedly count the freckles, perhaps even forming constellations. To Felix, those freckles resembled stars in the sky.

Silas lay on his stomach, eyes closed, enveloped in the soft hum of Venetia's radio. The heat began to get to him, and he resolved to head inside soon, feeling his back starting to burn slightly.

He was aware of Oliver's presence, having arrived just minutes earlier and wasting no time shedding his clothes after Farleigh outlined the field rules. Silas could sense Oliver's eyes on him, roaming over the parts of his body the tall grass allowed to be seen.

Silas would never admit it aloud, but he relished being the center of attention, reveling in the adoration lavished upon him by others. He knew his strengths well; he was handsome, a trait the Montague's were renowned for, along with their vast wealth. They all seemed to have stepped out of a fine piece of art. Silas also knew he was smart, a prodigy, as his mother often referred to him.

So full of himself was he that he didn't bother to hide it, basking in the constant pampering he received from people around him.

But there was one thing Silas vehemently denied—jealousy.

He held himself in such high esteem that the mere notion of jealousy disgusted him, evoking a visceral reaction. He'd never admit to Felix that he felt a pang of jealousy towards Oliver; after all, what could Oliver possibly have that Silas Montague would envy? Except for one thing—Felix's attention.

Something Silas didn't realize he cherished until just a few days prior. While Felix had brought others to Saltburn before, it was the first time Silas had felt so uneasy. To him, Oliver seemed peculiar, his eyes scanning every detail of the castle, his ears perking up at every conversation as if he were calculating something.

But Silas would never concede to feeling jealous.

So, when he propped himself up on his elbows and glanced over to where Felix and Oliver were sharing a chat, he rolled his eyes and sat up with a huff, grabbing his underwear and shorts.

"Are you leaving?" Venetia was the first to ask, the remaining three's attention now on the standing blonde.

Silas bent down slightly to put on his underwear and then his shorts. "Yeah, I'm feeling too hot," he deadpanned, addressing only the blonde girl, paying no heed to the other three pairs of eyes now fixed on his flushed and now clothed skin.

He bent down again to grab his shirt, pushing his glasses up his nose, and started walking back to the castle.

He thought he heard someone call for him, but perhaps it was just his imagination.

Silas had spent the entire day in his bedroom, engaged in conversation with Silvan on the phone while completing a book of amusing math exercises he had purchased during his time at Oxford.

It was the first summer he had spent in Saltburn, where he remained unusually quiet and secluded. An outgoing and sometimes exuberant boy, this behavior was uncharacteristic of him. So far that day, he had only spoken to Farleigh and had consumed three sandwiches and an iced tea, which he had persuaded one of the maids to sneak into his room, while falsely claiming to Elspeth that he thought he might have caught the flu.