Mr. Stanley’s eyes narrow slightly. For a moment, I think I’ve messed up. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for his response. Then he asks, “Grey Donovan?Are you related to the Grey Donovan who was a professor of law at Harvard?”
I freeze, unsure if this connection is good or bad. A million thoughts race through my mind in an instant.
Should I downplay the connection?
Embrace it?
Fuck it.
“That’s my grandfather.”
“Is he now…” I’m completely taken aback by Mr. Stanley’s sudden transformation. His face lights up with genuine enthusiasm, catching me entirely off guard. It’s as if someone flipped a switch, revealing a whole different person. “Wonderful,” he exclaims, his eyes sparkling with interest. “Did you know that, August? This is the grandson of my favorite law professor. I told you often about him when you were at Harvard, remember?”
I glance at August, and the sight nearly makes me wince. He looks like he’s just swallowed a lemon whole, his jaw clenching so tightly I worry for his teeth. “Yes, I remember, Father,” he manages to grind out.
Mr. Stanley, oblivious to his son’s discomfort, turns back to me with an almost boyish excitement. “Your grandfather is the only reason I was able to graduate summa cum laude. He wasthe best teacher I’ve ever had. I’m still working with some of his techniques. Is he still alive?”
I fucking hope so.
I’ll have to thank Morgan again for agreeing to work for him. It’s only thanks to her that we were able to up and leave Seattle like that.
“He is,” I reply, still reeling from this unexpected turn of events. “He’s taking it slow these days, but he’s well.”
“Amazing. How small the world is.” Mr. Stanley nods, seeming to hang on my every word. “How long are you going to be here for this conference?”
I catch sight of Misha and Oliver’s faces out of the corner of my eye. They look absolutely flabbergasted, their jaws practically on the floor.
Thinking on my feet, I cobble together a response. “About a week,” I say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel. “But we came earlier to see Amelia and maybe wanted to stay longer to immerse in the British lifestyle. You know, really soak it all in.”
Soak it all in?
Grey, you sound like an idiot.
“Which hotel are you at?” Mr. Stanley inquires, leaning forward with interest.
“We actually haven’t booked anything yet,” I admit, trying to sound nonchalant. “Taking part in this conference was rather spontaneous.”
“Perfect. Then you’re going to stay here,” Mr. Stanley declares as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You can join us this week for dinner and tea, and I can regale you with tales about your grandfather. Maybe we can even arrange a call. I would love to thank him once more.”
“I-I…” I stammer, momentarily stunned by the offer, my brain short-circuiting.
Before I can cobble together a coherent response, August hisses urgently, “Father, they want to go to a hotel. They for sure don’t want to sleep in a stranger’s house.”
My eyes dart to Amelia, and my heart plummets. She looks absolutely ghastly, her face a sickly shade of pale.
Nothing left of the blush I love so much.
“They wanted to get to know the British way of life, nothing better than to stay with Brits,” Mr. Stanley declares, leaving no room for argument. “Also, our rooms are better than the hotels in the city. They can stay with us as long as they want.”
“And what if they’re not welcome?” Amelia’s words, barely above a whisper, hit me like a punch to the gut.
You don’t want us anymore?
Is it that bad?
Mr. Stanley’s face contorts with disdain as he looks at his daughter. “Amelia Charlotte, did you forget your manners over the last two years?” he snaps, his words dripping with disapproval. Then, as if flipping a switch again, he turns to me with a relaxed, pleasant expression that’s almost more unsettling than his anger. “I’m going to tell the housekeeper to get the rooms ready for you.”
“Her name is Bernadette. She’s worked for you for the last twenty years,” Amelia murmurs under her breath.
