“Do you remember when I told you that I met a boy in London?”
Brooke stares at me, dumbstruck for only a second as I watch her put the pieces together. “The private plane?”
“His.”
“The boy in the Polaroid?”
“Him.”
“The reason you’ve been in a funk all summer?”
Warmth rushes to my cheeks. I shrug sheepishly.
“Wren, you might have a problem,” Naomi says, looking up from her phone with a worried expression.
“What now?”
“This website identified you as the girl in that train-station video. They also have your first and last name and know that you’re an incoming freshman at Northwestern.”
Brooke’s eyes grow to the size of world-ending comets. She grabs my forearm and pins me in place. “Is that marriage certificate real?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Wren!” She groans, raking her hands through her hair. “Mom is a lawyer! You didn’t think to ask her to look into it?”
“I didn’t want Mom and Dad to find out!”
“They’ll know now.”
Crap. Another thing to worry about.
“Where is it?” Brooke asks.
“Winston has it.”
“Who?”
“The hot bodyguard!”
“I want to see it.”
“It’s probably in Theo’s room. Go ahead and ask.”
“I will!”
“Great! Do it!”
I stare at her expectantly. She doesn’t move.
I’m shocked. I’ve never seen my big sister back down from anything. “Wait. Are you scared of him?”
Brooke scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Why’d you curtsy like that?”
She stands up, huffs across the room, and slams the bathroom door behind her, yelling “It’s protocol!” through the closed door.
I flop backward on the bed. “That could have gone better.”
