As we all settled down at the kitchen table, Aunty Jo leaned into me. “We’ll get a minute before the end of the day to talk about your royalty problem.”
Sure enough, after a boisterous lunch (any lunch with January was boisterous), Uncle Cam, Dad, and Louis were on cleanup duty, so we shuffled into the front room to pick up where we left off.
“I say yes to giving him another shot,” Mum said. “Just as long as you know where you stand with him.”
“Even though I’m attracted to him?”
“I’ve scrolled through his Instagram—do you know he has thirty-nine thousand followers—and there are photos of him with groups of people that include girls, but no solo one-on-one pics with him with girls. I’m going to ask around. See if he’s a player.” January nodded decidedly.
Thirty-nine thousand followers? He couldn’t bethatlesser known, then.
Then what she said registered. “No. No, you’re not. The last thing I need is my wee sister asking around after Sebastian like I’m some kind of lovesick idiot.”
“But—”
“No.” I put my foot down. “I mean it, Jan. I’ll be really pissed off if you do.”
She blinked rapidly. “Okay, I won’t. I promise.”
Aunty Jo caught my eye. “I agree with your mum. Be his friend. You might stay friends, you might not. But you clearly like him. I think it’s worth giving him a shot.”
“And if I get hurt?”
“It’s better to get hurt trying than to ache with regret because you didn’t.”
I let that sink in, feeling better about my decision to meet Sebastian for coffee tomorrow after all.
“That was profound, Aunty Jo,” January said, ruining the moment. “I’m writing it down and using it on the podcast. Do you mind if I take the credit? Great, thanks. Love you.”
CHAPTER TEN
SEBASTIAN
Lily had told me during one of our fake tutorial sessions that she lived on Leven Street, so I’d chosen the coffee shop not just for the good coffee but because I knew it was only a two-minute walk from her flat. I didn’t want to give her any reason not to show. For me, it was a twenty-minute walk from the three-bedroom penthouse on the Royal Mile where Harry, Zac, and I had lived since second year. Harry’s father had insisted his son live somewhere that represented his status and had bought the apartment. But Harry didn’t want to live there alone, so Zac and I moved in with him.
Harry continually mocked his dad because he seemed to forget where the family started. Harry’s grandfather was Baron Grimstone of Kensington and a member of the House of Lords. However, he was born outside of Glasgow, never attended university, and worked his way up in life. He’d been in television in the eighties, as in he owned a UK studio. He’d then gone on to become a director of a massive telecommunications company, before snowballing more businesses under his billionaire wings. While Harry’s father had grown up in Kent, attended Eton, and St. Andrews University, Harry’s grandfather had never forgottenhe was a working-class boy who did well for himself. He’d dedicated a lot of time and money to charities and was knighted for his philanthropy. From there, he’d ascended to the House of Lords.
Harry got on better with his grandfather than his dad who really was the most pretentious arsehole I’d ever met. I could have lived anywhere. I wasn’t fussed about accommodation. Neither was Zac, whose mother was an Academy Award-winning actor who had him through artificial insemination with donor sperm. She’d sent Zac to a posh prep school and then Harrow. Unlike Harry, whom I’d known since boarding school, we’d met Zac in our first year. To give Harry some peace from his old man, we’d moved into the posh flat on the Royal Mile.
We should have been the party pad, but many of the other residents were not students and didn’t put up with that shit. We’d tried holding parties in second year and they were constantly broken up by building security. In third year, we held our annual Hogmanay party and nobody stopped us, so we tried to push for a second event and once again, building security were called.
“If we’d rented some shithole, we could have a party every week,” Harry had grumbled last night. “We’ll have to settle for Hogmanay again this year.”
The three of us had chatted a little about it over beers and burgers on our large roof terrace.
I stepped out into the welcome sunshine of a mild September, wondering if Lily would be in my life long enough to invite her to the New Year’s Eve party. Music blared from my phone via my earbuds. My playlist mostly consisted of indie rock music, and I wondered what kind of music Lily liked. We hadn’t talked about that stuff yet.
I winced as what I soon realized was my new ringtone cut through a Hozier track as I headed down Victoria Street.“Bugger,” I muttered, pulling my phone out of my pocket to see it was my mum. Not wanting her to interrupt my coffee with Liv later, I answered. I also made a mental note to kill Harry who’d switched my Stereophonics ringtone to the retro Crazy Frog. Immature arsehole. “Mum,” I answered a little snappily.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” she asked tartly.
“Nothing, sorry. Harry just being an idiot.”
“That boy.” She sighed heavily. “Are you at the flat?”
“Just heading to meet a friend for coffee.” I braced myself. “What’s up?”
“Well, your father is being imperious about the use of the villa next spring.”
