Good Girls Lie(38)

And Becca... Why is she being so nice? What does she really want? There might be a true overture of friendship there, but I’m only a sophomore. Becca is the shining light of the school. I’m nothing, or trying to be. We don’t make sense as friends, not in the least.

I feel eyes on me, whirl around, and almost leap out of my skin.

My driver—the one who brought me to Marchburg from the airport—is standing by the counter of the coffee shop, smiling.

“Hey,” he says.

My heart is cantering away from the sudden adrenaline rush. I put a hand to my chest. Is he following me? “Jesus, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? I work here. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I thought you were a driver.”

“I thought you were a student.”

“I needed a break.”

“Fair enough. The Westhavens own most of the businesses in town, and I work for the family. Which means I’m whatever they need me to be. Today, I’m a delivery boy and barista. Would you like a coffee? Macchiato? Flat white? Or tea? You’re from England, surely you’d prefer tea. All your meetings with the Queen and all.” As he speaks, he moves around the counter, turning expectantly. “Tea, yes?”

I have the overwhelming urge to burst into tears again. This day is confusing, to say the least, and he’s just called me out on my earlier lie. “Yes. Tea. Thank you. How come I’ve never seen you on campus?”

“Because you scurry around with your head down, your bag clutched to your chest like you’re carrying diamonds inside. If you ever looked up, really looked up, you’d have seen me. I mean, I’ve seen you.”

There is something in the way he says it that makes a tiny thrill run through me. I’ve been noticed by this man.

Then another thought, and my face flushes. “Wait. Have you been watching me?”

“You’re very watchable, Ash Carlisle.”

He grins, lopsided, and I realize he is very, very cute. A small thrum starts in my chest. I wasn’t wrong, he is flirting. He moves around the small service area, grabbing the sachet of tea, pouring out the water, adding two biscuits to the saucer, with economy and grace, like a panther.

“Here you go, Ash. On the house. Want some sugar? You look like you could use it.”

“No, thank you.”

I accept the cup and the biscuits and sit at the table farthest from the door.

“Are you enjoying school?”

He’s wearing a name tag that says Rumi. Rumi, that’s right. Not Ruly or Rudy. I like Rumi much better. I smile—charming Ash, flirty Ash—and he joins me at the table.

“School is lovely. It’s only...”

“Word’s out about your folks, I presume?”

“How do you know that?”

He leans back, balancing the chair on two legs, arms behind his head, flexing the ropy muscles, the biceps defined. His shirt has ridden up and a line of dark hair disappears into his jeans. It seems so intimate, this, and I know I’m blushing. He’s so casual about his sexuality. The images come alarmingly fast—white sheets, dark hair, the twisting of legs. A flutter in my groin.

“Don’t be so prickly, princess. I was in the dining hall this morning, doing a delivery. I overheard. You caused quite the stir, running out like that.”

I push the tea away with a heavy sigh. “This is ridiculous. Why does everyone care so much about who I am and where I come from? It’s not like their parents aren’t rich or important. Some of them are dead, too.”

“You really are self-centered, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Poor little me, everyone’s so fascinated by me.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or slap him. I settle for frowning and taking a sip of my tea. It’s lousy, truly terrible, but I don’t tell him.

“Feeling like you’re in a fishbowl, princess?”

“Stop calling me that. I’m not a princess.”

“Tell that to the man who has to work for a living.”

“I have nothing. Nothing. As soon as I’m out, I’ll be working, too.”

“You have the school. The dean. Your friends. Your family’s money. Don’t talk to me about having nothing until you understand what it means.”

Twice in one day, attacked. Forget this.

“You think listening to the rumors gives you some insight? You don’t know me. Thanks for the tea.”



30

THE REVELATION

I take off toward the coffee shop door, but Rumi leaps to his feet, imploring. “Wait, Ash. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick.”

“Yes, you did. You wanted me to feel sorry for you because you have to work around all these little rich girls. We all make our choices, Rumi. You’ve made yours. And I’ve made mine.”

“Stop. Really. Sit down. It’s pouring. I’ll drive you back.”

“Oh, my God, no. I’ll get in much more trouble if I do that.”

“You’re worried about getting in trouble?”

I pause. Am I, really? “No. It’s not like they’ll do anything awful to me. JPs. Saturday school. I’ll probably end up folding laundry or sorting the costumes in the theater.”