She cracks a smile at our little inside joke, then goes on to tell me about Ted Lasso. We quickly slip back into our “normal,” which is a huge relief. I don’t want to interfere by asking to have a DTR like Grey suggested.
Maybe the next few weeks will be okay. Or perhaps they’ll bebunderful.
I didn’t readthe email sent by the team secretary very well, because it turns out we’re leaving campus for the remainder of the thirty days. This means freedom. It also means my mother’s request to return to London cannot be ignored.
Funnily enough—or not at all because our mothers are as thick as thieves, another one of Cap’s sayings—Pippa’s mother somehow also knew and arranged dinner for us to discuss our courtship.
In the morning, when it’s time to leave, Pippa meets me in the entryway to Blancbourg, giving me a pleasant peek into my future.
I like it. I want it. I want her.
She wears a long, pale pink tulle skirt that hits just below her calves, a white sleeveless blouse, and strappy leather high-heeled sandals. The kind with what looks like basket material on them. I think they’re called espadrilles. Erica has a pair. Ordinarily, I don’t pay attention to things like that, but forget thirst trap. Pippa is thirst-quenching.
Seeing her after so many years is like a mini miracle each time. I take in the details. Pearl earrings and a delicate cross around her neck. Her hair is in loose waves and she clutches a handbag.
My gaze isn’t sure where to settle.
“Are you ready?” she asks, avoiding eye contact like last night didn’t happen. Like we’re right back where we started, seated at the dinner table at the Smythe’s party.
Forget one step forward and two steps back. It’s like she wants to rewind to the beginning. But why?
While walking out to the awaiting car to take us to the train station, I say, “Am I ready? Depends on what you mean. Ready for the football season? Ready to leave Concordia? Ready to spend the next few weeks with you? But are you ready?”
Instead of telling her that I’m not ready for things to change between us, that I don’t want to leave this little bubble we’ve been in. The one she’s been trying to deny. A thought pushes past. Things shifted at the reminder of her role at Blancbourg. Maybe leaving the manor will help her loosen up her rules... Mine too.
Her brow furrows. “Am I ready? The answer to that is complicated.”
A few times while on the train to England, she opens her mouth as if to ask a question, then thinks better of it. I demonstrate perfect deportment, hold open doors, carry her luggage, and be as gentlemanly as I can, and more importantly, want to make Pippa feel as if she’s in good hands. Maybe leaving home for a long stretch is stressing her out. I know she’s not a huge fan of crowds and chaos, so keeping calm and confident is my plan—not that I’m ever not. But I hope being conscious of it will help.
When we arrive at the hotel, Pippa seems to crawl back to wherever she goes when her energy runs low. “We have dinner with our parents this evening. Until then, I think I’ll, um, rest and get ready for later.”
I check my watch. “We don’t meet them until seven. Want to do something while we’re here?”
She clears her throat. “It’s been a long day. I should freshen up.”
I think of all the fun we could have—museums and galleries, theater, Big Ben, the Palace. Then again, this is her hometown,so she’s probably been there and done that. And as romantic as people say it is, I’ll skip the London Eye Ferris wheel.
I’m not in my hotel for more than five minutes when Rhiannon calls. I groan. My mother must be reporting my location.
“Hello, and the answer is still no,” I say.
“I have a meeting in five minutes, so meet me in my office at four. See you soon.” She hangs up.
I twine my fingers at the back of my neck and mutter, “Rhiannon.” I could skip it. Stick to my guns. Pretend we didn’t have that obnoxious non-conversation or just go and get it over with, which I know is what I’ll end up doing because I’m Chase, people pleaser extraordinaire.
Too bad my father isn’t ever pleased.
About an hour later, I’m walking up to a swank office with a modern interior that’s a veritable playground for worker bees—lounge areas, soft neon, and pod things that remind me of hamster wheels.
I find Rhiannon’s office where she’s on a call. Practically speaking, I understand why people with offices face the door and have their backs to the window—hers is half of another building and half of the city with the river in the distance.
However, I already feel jumpy being in here. Reminds me too much of my father’s station in life, up high in a building where all his minions go about their business below his lofty office.
Rhiannon’s desk doesn’t have any corners and is made of Lucite or some modern material. Kryptonite? There’s a sleek vase with a single flower in it, her computer screen, and a keyboard—no wires or clutter, nothing personal—I half expect her to tap the air and have tea appear from an invisible portal.
She gives the caller a stern command to, “Get it done,” hangs up, takes a deep breath, and then looks up at me.
“Chase!” She hops to her feet and hugs me. “I’m so glad you’re here. Hang on. I have a surprise.”
