Royal Holiday (The Wedding Date, #4)(56)

“I’m not expecting him to bow to my will. I’m simply expecting him to act like an adult. He needs to listen to the people who know better about what he should do with his life. I’m not going to apologize to a nineteen-year-old for calling him ridiculous for wanting to go to art school instead of Oxford!”

She nodded.

“Okay, great. And where’s that gotten you so far?”

He turned away from her.

“You don’t understand. Just because you spent thirty minutes talking to Miles doesn’t mean you know him. Or me.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

“Okay. That’s certainly one way to respond.”

They were silent for the rest of the tour.

He checked his phone on the way out and saw an email he really should respond to.

He cleared his throat and turned to Vivian.

“Would you mind terribly if we went back to my apartment now? There’s some work I should get done this afternoon. I can order in for lunch, if you’re hungry.”

She shook her head slowly.

“I don’t mind at all, and I’m not hungry quite yet. I can read while you work; I’m excited to get back to my book.”

When they returned to his apartment, he fetched his computer from his messenger bag, where it had been ever since he’d gotten back from Sandringham. He sat at the corner of the couch. Vivian made another pot of tea and poured him some, without asking him if he wanted any. She sat in his easy chair, instead of on the couch with him, with a book and her own cup of tea.

She was wrong about what she’d said about Miles. She was obviously wrong about it. Why should he apologize to Miles? Miles was the one who was destroying his life. Miles was the one who had insulted him! He’d spent years helping him and indulging him and preparing him, and they’d gotten there, he’d gotten into Oxford, then Miles wanted to go and throw that away. He had nothing to apologize for.

He tried to bury himself in work, but it only took about ten minutes to respond to that email, and as much as he tried to focus on other tasks, Vivian’s presence across from him made it impossible for him to concentrate. Which in turn frustrated him—he’d used work as his distraction for years. Why wasn’t it working today?

He sighed and looked at Vivian, then away. He was still upset with her for what she’d said about him and Miles, remember?

He had yelled at the boy, though. And laughed at him. And told him he was acting like a child, when Malcolm knew he most wanted to be treated as an adult.

But even so! What was he supposed to do—go to Miles with his hat in hand and tell him he was doing everything right and he was sorry he’d ever questioned him? That was impossible.

But he hated that he’d snapped at Vivian and made everything awkward between them again. Even though he didn’t agree with her advice, she was just trying to help.

“I’m sorry,” he said out of the blue.

Vivian put a finger in her book and looked at him.

He closed his computer and put it on the coffee table.

“I’m sorry I was so rude to you. And I’m sorry I said what I did about you not knowing me—that was both unkind and untrue. I just don’t know what to do here.”

Vivian put her book down on the table.

“I know it wasn’t my place to give you advice about what to do with Miles. But I also know you’re so upset about this, and he seems like such a good kid—I don’t want this to cause a permanent rift between the two of you.”

He rubbed his forehead.

“Me neither.” He wished he could go back to Christmas Eve, when everything was relaxed and easy and he thought Miles’s big news was that he was going to move in with his girlfriend. “And you’re right, I am so upset about this. But that’s no excuse for how I treated you this morning. I shouldn’t have been quite so . . .”

“Cold and British?” she filled in.

He laughed.

“That’s one way to put it.” They smiled at each other. He was so relieved she was smiling back at him. Why had he wasted precious time quarreling with her? Especially since the last thing he wanted was for Vivian to be angry with him. “And I’m sorry I’ve been such a boor all afternoon.” He took a sip of his now-cold tea. “Vivian, I don’t want to apologize to him. I hate this, I hate that he’s doing this, it makes me furious, and I can’t tell him he’s doing everything right, because he isn’t. I just wish he would listen to me.”

Vivian nodded.

“I know.”

He got up and put the kettle on for more tea, and went back to the couch.

“I don’t know how to talk to him about this. Passion doesn’t put a roof over your head or food on your table. Do you think I had a lifelong passion to work for the Queen? No—I realized early on what I was good at and where I would thrive, then I worked to make it happen. I didn’t spend years pretending the monarchy was my top priority out of passion; I did it because I was strategic about my career. His love for art is all well and good, but I wish he would be realistic.”

Vivian moved over to the couch and sat next to him.

“Hey.” She moved her hand up to the back of his neck and rubbed the tight muscles there. “That part is okay. What he wants to do isn’t what you or I would do, that’s for sure. But you don’t have to approve of everything he’s doing to start a dialogue with him about why he’s doing it.”