“Socialite. I was going to say socialite. Jeez, give me some credit.”

“Jeez?” She repeats it as if she’s never heard the expression. “Ugh, you sound so American. What are they doing to you over there?”

“Doing to me?” I laugh. Never ever have I felt more normal than when I finally moved here for uni. I’m not going to stay, but at least I discovered who I am.

I am not the family I was born into. I am not stuffy and serious.

I’m whip-smart, but money won’t be the only thing I live for at the end of the day.

Not that Mum and Dad do, but neither of them were bred to be lower class, and it shows. I’m not calling them snotty, but…they’re posh and snotty. Mum has a kind heart and means well, but her father was knighted by the king in the late forties and she was raised a lady, whilst Dad…

Inherited his role as Baron Talbot as a lad, grandfather having died before I was born and passing everything down to his eldest, as is the custom.

Plenty of land, artwork, some money.

Dad is old school, still goes to his clubs in London to rub elbows with the blue bloods of society. Still has a cigar room at the house where he shuts himself off. Still believes children are to be seen and not heard.

Sent both us boys to prep school, aka boarding school, for a proper education and to be raised by students and faculty.

“Are you still there, darling, or have we been cut off?”

“I’m here, sorry. You were saying?”

“I was asking if you’ve been dating anyone in the States. Anyone you fancy?”

“No, there’s no one I fancy, Mum.” Not even a little, and you can’t count that pest Georgia from my business class even if I can’t get her off my mind.

It’s only because she insulted me that she’s in my thoughts and nothing else, although the cupcakes she baked as a peace offering were fantastic. I ate one once I was home even though I’d acted like I was going to throw them all in the trash.

No, I don’t mention that to Mum, even to complain.

Besides, if I told her Georgia asked me out because she thought I was ugly, Mum would be on the first flight across the ocean to wring Georgia’s neck.

She thinks I’m the most handsome devil in the world, scars and all.

“That’s alright, you have time. And it’s best you don’t form any attachments in America.”

She loves to remind me I’m not staying here, that this is just a whim they’ve agreed to instead of me taking a gap year.

“I know that, Mum.”

She yawns.

“You should get to sleep. It’s late.”

She sighs. “You’re right.” It sounds like she’s leaning back against her pillows and settling in. “Send me a message later, sweetheart. Mummy loves you.”

Mummy loves you.

“Love you too, Mum.” I smile before disconnecting the call and tuck the mobile into a pocket of my duffle bag, resting my head against the seat back and closing my eyes, too.

Five

Georgia

Friday

How have I agreed to come out again after the travesty of last weekend?

Oh, that’s right—I did this to myself because I still feel like an asshole for insulting that poor guy to his face.

Ashley blah blah Mr. Fancy-Pants British guy himself.

The guy with a girl’s name.

I’m not with the girls from the track team tonight; I’ve managed to convince Nalla and Priya to come along since they know Ash already, and also I’d love to become friends with them.

From what I’ve already learned about them in Business Comm, they’re both right up my alley when it comes to good people: funny, nice, outgoing, and smart.

Plus, when I casually mentioned getting together yesterday after class, both of them piped up that they were sick of being stuck at home on the weekends.

Both are juniors, but it doesn’t sound like either of them have best friends at school, and lord knows my new teammates aren’t working out the way I planned.

I nervously fiddle with the belt loops of my high-waisted jeans, watching up the road for both Nalla and Priya—we’ve agreed to meet in front of the rugby house and I’m early, my apprehensive nerves vibrating.

Ashley Dryden-Jones wants nothing to do with me, and here I am about to ambush him in his own house.

Well, not his house—but on his turf.

I should be ashamed of myself and just leave him be, but my pride and conscience won’t allow me to.

I hate when someone doesn’t like me.

I have to make it right.

It’s eating me alive that I hurt his feelings and wounded his pride. I knew it was wrong and yet I did it anyway, and now I have to live with myself.

Worse, I have to see him twice a week in class.

Hear that ridiculous accent.

Watch his smug mouth as he knowingly ignores me.

I know he ate those cupcakes; he wouldn’t have taken them home otherwise—not when he could have dumped them in the trash on his way out of the lecture hall.

Six

Ashley

I notice as soon as she walks through the front door of the house—not because Georgia is overly tall, or even overly stunning, or because she’s with the two girls from our business class group.

I notice her because…

It’s Georgia.

She pissed me off and got me butthurt—an American phrase I’ve latched onto—and now she’s on my radar.

In my class.

Up my arse.

Needling me twenty-four seven because she’s trying to get back on my good side.

Which, according to her, doesn’t exist as she thinks I’m fug.

I’d be lying if I stood here and pretended I don’t find Georgia attractive. Lying if I said it didn’t sting that it’s one-sided.

Georgia is beautiful in that pure, girl-next-door kind of way. The kind of pretty where you imagine someone with wildflowers and wind blowing through her hair, sun hitting her face in the summer, floral summer dress, and what the hell am I going on about?

She’s done up tonight, long hair falling in a straight sheet, the same way it was that Friday we met.

She wears it pulled back for class, I’ve noticed, probably coming straight from practice and in a mad rush.

From my vantage point, I can see her scanning the room, searching.

For me.

Crossing my arms, I lean against the plywood makeshift bar a few of my teammates erected in the corner of the room, waiting for Georgia’s eyes to land on me, knowing full well she’ll be embarrassed to be caught.

I’m not daft—I know she’s here on a mission to redeem herself; she gave that plot away when she baked me cupcakes and brought them to the lecture hall.

Yummy, delicious cupcakes.

They were good, but not so bloody good I’m going to forgive her for being an insensitive arsehole.

“Yo, Britain.” I get jostled by a giant hand as Stewart calls me by the nickname he sometimes uses. “Don’t get mad, but Allie brought her friend tonight.”

Eh? What does his girlfriend bringing a friend to a party have to do with me?