“Oh, congratulations, Princess. I told you your parents would come around to the idea of you living a few kilometers outside Kensington.”
“Um, thanks, but I’m still working on changing their minds.”
“I see. Will you be doing a property viewing to show them in the future?”
“No.” I wince. “I, er... bought a flat last November and we’re finalizing the deal today.”
“Princess, please don’t tell me you went behind their backs?” Bruce’s tone oozes disappointment.
“Technically speaking, I’ve shown them the listing. I just haven’t mentioned that I was in the process of purchasing it.” My voice comes out weak.
“Ma’am, you need to tell them. And the sooner the better.” He takes a long breath. “You are an incredibly bright young woman, but there are some things where it’s best to have an expert’s help. Buying property is one of them. At the very least, I hope you did a proper viewing and read through the surveyor’s report in detail.”
I sink down onto my bed. I’ve spent hours and hours of time searching for a property, and researching how the process is done. Butbetween the family dinner, going out with Amanda, meeting with Mum, and returning to my part-time job working in the stables, I’ve been strapped for time.
My heart thuds against my ribs. The one piece of advice every single SearchTube video, and home-reno program on the telly reiterates is to read the surveyor’s report before you finalize a property sale. I told myself I’d do it when I got home from Europe, but time has slipped away from me, and now, I’m going to have to pay the price. I dry swallow.
“I haven’t done either of those things,” I whisper.
“Well, I suppose it’s too late to do anything about it.” I hear Bruce mutter a few words in the background. “You’ll just have to hope for the best and learn from this experience.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. I can picture the looks of disappointment on my parents’ faces when they hear about what I’ve done. I hope against all odds I haven’t made a colossal mistake. I haven’t seen the property in person. Maybe the flat will be exactly as it was described on the website, and it won’t have any major issues except cosmetic ones. It’ll make begging for forgiveness a million times easier.
“I’ll let Arthur know to expect a text from you when you’re ready to go out.”
“You’re not coming?” I feel like my heart’s brushed up against the sharp needles of a cactus.
“Not today. Angela and I still have some logistics training to cover. Arthur, on the other hand, has just finished.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
I disconnect the call and stare at the phone blankly for a few moments. An entire morning alone with Arthur. No, Art, I correct myself. He asked me not to call him Arthur. We may not be on the best of terms, but it’s a request I’ll honor.
Why am I making such a big deal about this? I can handle the grump for a few hours. He’ll drive me to the building, I’ll walk around with him trailing me, then we’ll come home. It’s not a big deal. It’s just business. Full stop.
“Good morning, Art.”He assists me into the car and offers a grunt, which I take to mean “Hello,” before climbing into the driver’s seat. It looks like we’ve reverted back to single-word responses, even though last week, he finally seemed to be on his way to warming up to me.
After adjusting the driver’s mirror and his seat, he reaches for the ignition to start the car, but stops short. “Bollocks, I forgot the key.” He rests his forehead on the steering wheel. “This. Is. Not. My. Morning,” I hear him murmur under his breath. Sighing, he opens the car door and starts to climb out.
“Wait,” I shout.
He freezes, slowly turning to stare at me as if he’s forgotten I’m in the back seat. “It’s push to start. You only need the key fob to be in the car, which I’m pretty sure you have since the car is unlocked and we’re sitting in it.”
Tapping the pocket of his suit jacket, he reaches inside and slowly pulls out the black key fob. His ears, cheeks, and neck flush a deep shade of cherry-red, reminding me of a nutcracker doll. Wordlessly, he settles himself back into the driver’s seat and slams the door closed. A moment later, the engine hums to life.
“Do you need a coffee?” I ask. “I can have a cup brought down from the kitchens, or we can stop by a Norma’s Cafe if you’d like. My treat.”
He points to a stainless-steel thermos in the center console’s cup holder.
“Have you gotten a chance to enjoy any of it?” I make an educated guess.
“No,” he grunts.
“Then take your time and have at it. I’m not in any hurry.”
“I’m fine.”
You don’t have to be so stubborn, you know, I think as I roll my eyes. I understand how important that morning caffeine fix is. If you need it, you need it. “Art, it would makemefeel better if you had the coffee. At least a few sips. I need you to be fully alert. Otherwise, I’ll drive.”
