Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Even Mr. Baxley with his derisive scowl and militant adherence to archaic bureaucracy has become a welcome part of my routine.
In need of another book, I approach his fortress. He’s got the clipboard of forms ready before I can pull out a pen.
REASON FOR REQUEST:
Vitamin D Deficiency.
He doesn’t smile at my form, but I think he wants to.
There’s only so much bland Tulley trivia I can parse in one sitting, however, before my vision goes blurry. After more than an hour, I take a break to brush up on my royal etiquette. I’d overlooked the need until Lee mentioned at breakfast that a side effect of this ball meant I had a lot of curtsying in my future and I’d better get some lunges in to strengthen those knees. Also, I’m not sure of my agility in heels. It’s been a while since I went out in anything fancier than a pair of two-inch leather boots.
When I’ve had all the fun I can stand for one day, I return my books, wave at Mr. Baxley, and brave the blustery weather while slipping on my coat outside the library.
Winter is already beating against the door, and the city is quieter as the weather’s turned. Everyone is huddled and hurried. No moms and nannies with strollers stopping for a chat. The summer sightseers are long gone. No more food trucks and sidewalk vendors. I know it gets old for the locals, but I enjoy the gloomy gray clouds and shadowy pall over the city on days like this. The daunting ominousness. It’s the London I’ve always imagined in my head.
As I’m debating what to do about lunch, a text message pops up. From Nate.
Nate: Fancy some lunch?
I stare at the phone. The correct answer to that question is a resounding no. But I’m a glutton for heartache.
Me: Sure. I’m starving. Just leaving the library.
Nate: I’m about ten minutes away. Can I pick you up?
Again, the correct response is no. The worst possible thing for me to do right now is get on the back of his bike and plaster my body against his.
This time, I don’t screw it up.
Me: I’ll meet you. Sending you directions.
Nate: See you soon xx
Oh shit. He xx’d me. I think that’s the first time he’s ever done that.
Heart pounding, I scroll through our meager chat thread to make sure. Yup. He’s never text kissed me before.
I remind myself that this means absolutely nothing and promptly push the thought out of my head.
I’ve been craving the Egyptian place down the street that Lee first took me to, so I head that way while texting Nate the location. By the time I’m seated and scarfing down flatbread, he walks in shaking the helmet head out of his hair. Dark jeans encase his long legs, and he’s wearing a black Henley beneath his leather jacket. He’s so fucking sexy it’s nearly impossible not to stare. At least I’m not the only one—I notice two women at a table by the window overtly checking him out as he walks past.
“Thanks for waiting.” He grins at my full tray of food.
I don’t even pretend to be contrite. “You’re welcome.”
Nate places his order at the counter, then comes to sit with his drink while he waits. “I think Lee used to work here.”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum through a mouth full of bread. “We ate here my first day of class.”
“How’s that going?”
“What? School? It’s fine.”
He leans back in his chair, the epitome of cool. “What about your lass Josephine?”
“Is this why you invited me to lunch? You’re dying to know about my research?”
He shrugs.
The waitress arrives to set his food down, momentarily interrupting us.
“Okay then. For the sake of conversation,” I say once she’s gone, “and not because I believe you have any genuine interest, I met with Ben Tulley, if you must know. He took me to an embarrassingly expensive lunch and invited me to a ball for Princess Alexandra’s engagement.”
Nate’s expression flattens. “You being serious?”
“We shared the last bottle of white from his family’s soon-tobe-sold winery.”
I mean to imbue the statement with as much sarcastic haughtiness as I can portray, but I’m not sure it translates. If anything, Nate looks more troubled.
“You ought to be wary of that one.” Nate stabs at his lunch like he’s mad at it.
“Who? Ben?”
“That family is a black hole. You won’t even know you’ve drifted too close until you can’t escape.”
“I appreciate the poetic advice. But as long as I’m still young and single, if some fancy guy wants to drag me around to his fancy parties, I’m going to take him up on it.”
“As long as you’re not foolish enough to fall for him.”
The accusation stings a little. More so because I’m not sure he didn’t mean it to.
“I could do worse.” Like drunken Aussie rugby players who can’t kiss a girl and mean it. “I didn’t come all this way just for the libraries. So what’s wrong with a little adventure? How many times in my life will I get to fall for a lord?”