Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
As we spend the rest of breakfast breaking the ice and engaging in all that get-to-know-you stuff, they inevitably desire to know something about the American in their midst. And thus we arrive at the tricky part.
“Well, I’m majoring in European history. So that’s why I’m here—obviously. I’m originally from Los Angeles, but now I live outside Nashville. That’s in Tennessee.”
“Los Angeles? Like Beverly Hills?” Lee perks up, stars in his eyes. I know the look well. “You know anyone famous?”
This is always how it starts. Verbatim. And it inescapably ends with people fawning over my dad for hours until I cease to be a real person anymore. Just a vessel for their fandom. A conduit to my father. So I lie. Constantly. It’s exhausting.
“Uh, no, not really. I thought I saw Ben Affleck in a Dunkin’ Donuts once. But it was just a guy in a Red Sox hat.”
Lee goes on to tell the story about the time he hooked up with a guy from Love Island at a drag show in Brighton, mercifully letting me off the hook. I’m sure the subject will come back around eventually, but I’m not in any rush for it to arrive. Which again reminds me that I’m not only keeping my dad a secret from them but the other way around as well. Because I still haven’t decided if I can stay.
We’re well into Lee’s catalog of every remotely famous person he’s ever encountered and he’s yet to realize the rest of us have tuned out.
“He’s happy to entertain himself,” Jack murmurs to me. “But I’m still interested in hearing about you.”
I completely fail to conceal the redness that blooms over my cheeks when he says that. The way his lips turn up in the slightest smile. He doesn’t even have to try, and I lose all control of my higher functions. Attractive men are the worst.
“Do you all go to Pembridge?” It’s the first thing that comes to mind in my pathetic attempt to maintain conversation.
“No, that’s just Lee. I’m in my third year at St. Joseph’s. Jamie is in his last year at Imperial College London with the other poshes and future prime ministers.”
“The real question is…” Lee rejoins the conversation, leaning over the counter to rest both elbows. “Will Abbey be sticking around, or is she running back to the States?”
“What, you’re not staying?” Jamie wrinkles his forehead. “Why?”
Lee heaves a dramatic sigh and answers for me. “Daddy dearest was under the impression she’d be rooming with other women. But lo and behold…”
Jamie shrugs. “Daddy’s across the pond, is he not?”
I nod. “Well, yeah.”
Another shrug. “So lie.”
“That’s a pretty big lie.” I’ve never lied to my father. Not about anything real.
“You only need to dodge the subject for, what, a month or two?” Jack points out. “By then, you can tell him, and it’ll be too late to withdraw from school, right?”
“You don’t know my dad. He’s pathologically protective.”
On the other hand, I’m starting to feel comfortable here. The guys have made me feel welcome, like I’m already part of the house. There’s none of the awkward stiltedness I’d feared could result from this enormous miscommunication.
Besides, I’ve been looking forward to this opportunity for months. The chance to explore London and all its history and architecture. Access to a world-class library at Pembridge. And most of all, a chance to exist outside the constant watchful gaze of my father. I know his intentions are good, but it can be suffocating in his shadow.
Here, even under the dreary skies of a late English summer, there’s daylight.
So when the guys gently prod for an answer, I hold my breath and furlough the consequences.
“Okay. I’ll stay.”
Lee’s entire face brightens. “Yesss! I’m so excited to— ”
He stops abruptly when hurried footsteps clatter down the stairs and scurry across the foyer, accompanied by a blur of color. After the front door slams shut behind the exiting smudge, we look to Jamie, who simply offers yet another shrug.
“Huge mice.”
3
THE SUN’S BARELY PEEKING ABOVE THE TREES IN NASHVILLE WHEN I text my dad after breakfast, but he still responds right away.
Dad: Hang tight. I’ll video call you.
I’m not sure how well I can carry off the lie face-to-face, so I dodge.
Me: Knee-deep in unpacking. Just wanted to check in and let you know I’m good.
Dad: The flight okay? How’s the house?
Nice as the pictures? You’ve got your own room, right?
With hours to obsess since we last talked, he’s worked himself into a frenzy. As usual.
Me: Yep, it’s all good.
Dad: How are the new roommates? Nice girls?
I hate this. It puts a pit in my stomach knowing what I’m about to do.
Me: Yeah, great. We all had breakfast this morning. I think I’m going to like it here.
Not one of my proudest moments. Lying does cast a pall over what is otherwise an extraordinary opportunity, the chance for me to expand my horizons while furthering my education.