He cups the back of my head and I take a shaky breath. When he leans in, I practically fall into his arms. The kiss grows deeper, his other hand wandering up my leg. There’s a part of me that’s aware we’re out in the open for anyone to see, but I don’t care. My heart beats faster with each passing second until I’m worried it’ll flatline from overuse.
No one has ever kissed me like that. He clearly has a lot ofexperience in this area, whereas the only other person I’ve kissed is Jim Hartwell after our ninth-grade winter formal—and that was quick, dry, and anticlimactic. What else would Will want to do if the threat of constables wasn’t hanging over us? More heat rises to my cheeks at the idea and I’m suddenly glad we’re in the park. I could happily spend the rest of my day in London kissing him, but I don’t think I’m ready to start buying condoms off Sage.
A vibration from my phone pulls my attention. It’s been vibrating all afternoon but I haven’t checked it.
Will pulls away. “You might as well,” he says, gesturing to my phone while he pulls his own out. “Mum wants me to call her.” He stands and walks a few paces away.
I shake my head as I scroll through my texts. Sage, Dev, and Huan have been sending me photos throughout the day. The three of them posing outside the National Gallery. Dev proudly standing next to paintings we studied in art history. All of them pouting next to a huge pile of McDonald’s fries and two small ketchup packets. Clearly, it’s become a game for them to send me as many photos as they can, with more and more ridiculous poses. Dev pretending to strangle Huan at the Tower of London. Huan doing a somersault near some very grumpy-looking guards in fancy black-and-red uniforms. They even roped Sage into it, getting her to pose so that it looks like she’s pushing a huge bridge in the background. I laugh out loud, but I feel a twinge of sadness as well. They’re clearly having an awesome day without me.
Will walks back over. “What’s so funny?”
I hold up my phone and show him a few pictures.
“Looks like they’re getting on well.”
“They’re just being dumb.”
He sighs. “I’ve got some bad news if you were expecting another fancy meal tonight.”
“What’s going on?”
“I guess Father left some paperwork for me at the house and Mum wants me to come pick it up.” He rolls his eyes. “I told her I was spending the day with you, but she said we should both pop over. I think she’s curious about you.”
My mouth goes dry. “Your mother wants to meet me?”
“You know how mothers are. They always want to know who their sons are seeing.”
“But... but I’m not dressed to meet your mother,” I say in horror, looking down at my Tube shirt, jeans, and scuffed tennis shoes. “Is your father going to be there too?”
“No, he’s almost never home.” He leans down and kisses me on the cheek. “And you look beautiful. She knows this is last-minute. She won’t be expecting anything.”
I swallow hard. So shewouldexpect me to dress better had I known I was going to meet her?
He pulls me up from the bench. “Best bit is that she’s ordering Indian from our favorite place. You’re in for a treat. You won’t get better Indian food anywhere else in the world.”
I laugh, wondering if Dev would agree.
Chapter
23
Will’s house in London is even crazier than the countryhouse. It’s part of a long stretch of white row homes on a quiet, tree-lined street. I’m expecting the interior to match the traditional appearance of the outside, but it’s ultra-modern. There are neon signs hanging on the walls next to baroque paintings. The floors are covered in huge slabs of pure white marble and the furniture is oddly shaped and looks uncomfortable. Even the quiet stillness reminds me of an empty modern art museum.
“My father again,” Will whispers when he sees me checking out a Marc Chagall we studied in class. I guess my studying is paying off. “He’s been collecting since he was my age.”
I’m trying to imagine growing up in a place where the art costs the same as my house when his mother walks in from another room. She’s beautiful. Tall and elegant and exactly how I pictured her.
“You must be Elle.” She takes my hand in both of hers and squeezes it warmly. “How do you do?”
“It’s so nice to meet you.” My heart hammers and I wish I’d questioned Will about his mother’s likes and dislikes before we got here. “I’m, um, sorry to hear you had to cut your trip short.”
“Ah well, it’s nice to be home. Come in and relax.” She waves us from the entrance into a mammoth living room. “The food should be here soon. Beatrix!” she calls. “Come here and meet our guest.”
Beatrix?I mouth to Will.
He whispers in my ear, “My sister. Mum studied British literature at university, if you hadn’t guessed from our names.”
A younger girl, probably twelve or thirteen, flounces into the room. She’s slight and her long blond hair falls limply around her face. Her expression brightens at my presence.
