Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“I hope I’ve made myself clear.” She picks up her purse. “Perhaps you should ask Santa for some superior essay writing skills for Christmas.”
Get the hell out of my office. “Will do. Happy holidays, Miss Vaughn.”
She rolls her eyes at me as she leaves.
Not interested in meeting with anyone else before the break, I stand to my feet, but Genevieve steps inside.
“Happy holidays,” she says, holding out a red box.
“I told you not to buy me anything.”
“That’s why I made it. It’s also the same gift you gave me back before. You never opened it, so it doesn’t count.”
“Fair enough.” I smile. “Do you want me to open it now or later?”
“Now is good.”
“Of course.” I unwrap it, coming face to face with a beautiful glass snow globe. Inside, a teacher and a student bear our likenesses. The teacher’s hands are wrapped around the student’s waist, and her arms are draped around his shoulders. A couple of books lay open on the ground, with a tiny Iron Giant figurine standing guard next to them.
I shake it and watch the “snow”—mini book pages—fall over us.
Smiling, I look up at her, unsure of how to tell her that this is honestly the most creative gift someone has ever given me.
It’s also the best…
“Thank you, Genevieve.”
“You’re welcome.” She nods. “Are you staying on campus for the break?”
“Probably not,” I say. “I need a break from this place like everyone else.”
“Where are you going?”
“Maybe Manhattan or a New York resort,” I say. “I haven’t put much thought into it yet.”
“Well, don’t go out to any bars past ten o’clock.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you to meet anyone else.”
“I see.” I hold back a laugh. “Are you the jealous type?”
“Yes.”
I smile. “Noted.”
“You still have to call me every night.” She begins to pace my floor. “There are two books we need to buddy read over this break, and even though we won’t be having sex—”
“Genevieve?” I interrupt her.
“Yes?”
“Stop talking and lock the door…”
9A
GENEVIEVE
The bars on my gilded prison are gleaming brighter than ever. Every inch of my parents’ Hampton Estate has been decorated and coiffed by the country’s top interior designers.
Glittering Christmas trees line the hallways, and their handcrafted ornaments match the freshly cut garland that twists along the grand marble staircase.
The annual “Edwards Holiday Weekend” is the Who’s Who event for the elites on the East Coast.
It’s also the most dreaded set of dates on my calendar, and I should’ve begged Liam to help me draft an excuse to stay on campus.
“Dinner starts at six o’clock sharp, Genevieve.” My mother steps into my bedroom.
“I’m aware.”
“Can’t be.” She crosses her arms. “That’s in two hours, and you’re sitting at your desk instead of getting ready.”
I blow out a breath and shut my notebook. “My apologies, mother. I’ll start.”
“Isadora is here to help you.” Her long-time stylist steps inside, holding up a lavender dress. “I’m thinking Chanel and Louboutin heels?”
“Sounds lovely.” I smile like I have a choice in the matter.
“Mayor Whitman and his staff are arriving around seven thirty, and our formal party will begin at eight as always.” She turns to Isadora. “Can you make sure she has a second outfit for the fireworks? The photographer mentioned something about it needing to reflect light.”
“I’ll make sure of it, Mrs. Edwards.”
My mother leaves, and Isadora hands me a small gift box. “Happy belated birthday.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t drive up to Exeter to say it personally,” she says. “Did you do something special to celebrate?”
“I snuck off campus and went to a bar the week before.”
“I’ll give you another copy of my driver’s license before you leave.” She grabs my hand and leads me to a chair. “Let’s make this quick, shall we?”
* * *
“So, how are your studies coming along, Genevieve?” My dad passes the salad at dinner.
“They’re going quite well father,” I say. I know better than to say anything other than that. This is our warm-up round for cosplaying an all-American family with a dash of aristocracy, and any mess-ups on my end will be brutally punished.
“Are you making straight A’s?”
“Yes.”
“That’s lovely, dear,” my mother says. “How is tennis?”
“Great. I ended the season as the most valuable player, and Exeter beat Choate in the finals.”
“Wonderful.” She smiles. “Your father’s schedule kept getting so hectic that we missed this season, but I promise we’ll be there for the next.”
Her words are so programmed and hollow that she doesn’t even realize that there is no next season.
“Thankfully, we don’t have to take your word as gospel when it comes to the academic side of things.” She lays a napkin in her lap. “We checked with Principal Peterson to make sure this is true.”
“You called the school?”
“Of course, we did.” My father scoffs. “You started this semester off with a near-expulsion, and we received that news at a live television event. It was embarrassing.”