He glares.
Truth hurts, I guess. I’m far too old to have a little brother or sister now, and Dad’s just old.
“One time, that happened, munchkin.”
I smirk. “It only takes one time.”
“Apparently so,” he mutters dryly. “We should hear about your grade soon. Gina will let us know.”
Gina is—was—my personal tutor. She’s been with us since I was five. Because Dad is on the road a lot and not wanting me to be away from him, he hired a nanny and tutor to come along with us. Of course, she stopped the nanny bit a long time ago, but she is a bloody genius and the reason I finished my studies a year ahead.
Hopefully, I’ll soon have a degree in forensic psychology. I’ve always been addicted to true-crime shows and serial killers, so I chose to study something I knew I’d enjoy rather than what I needed to. Also, I don’t know what I need because I don’t have plans. I’m not sure what I’d do with my degree career-wise, but I loved the course, and I’m confident I could make someone disappear and never be caught.
My life has been quite sheltered. Actually, it’s been very sheltered. I’ve never been to a proper high school or made many friends and mortal enemies, but I’ve met Guns N’‘n’ Roses, so none of that normal stuff matters.
“I’m sure I rocked the degree.”
“I hope so. I don’t enjoy wasting money.”
“You even noticed it’s gone?” I fire back.
“Will you notice if I take it from your bank?”
“Good luck trying to convince the bank you’re a nineteen-year-old girl.”
“My plan is to stop any further payments from being made to you.”
My face falls. Damn.
“You agree I win?” he asks. His mouth triumphantly tilts up at the side.
Not yet. I don’t want to give in yet. “I can live off of what’s in there.”
“Texas Knight.”
Full name alert.
You’re nineteen. That doesn’t have to scare you still.
But it does because you’re a baby.
“All right.” I hold up my hands. “You win. Happy?”
His smile widens. “Yes. Now, be downstairs in ten. The guys are coming over for pizza and beer.”
Ah, pizza and beer. It’s the start to every tour.
Enigma began the tradition back when they were playing in local social clubs, pubs, and bars. They still do it. Filthy Sound adopted the theme, too, because…well, pizza and beer.
“All the guys or just your lame band?”
I know the answer to this. It’s Filthy Sound’s tour, so obviously, they’ll be here, too, but I don’t want them to be. They’ve been locked up in the studio for months, so I’ve not seen Kitt since the Christmas party.
Dad’s eyes narrow at the mention of his band—or maybe it’s because I called them lame. “All. Now, hurry up, Texas. You’re on drink duty for that.”
My heart slams in my chest.
No, I can’t go downstairs if Kitt is here. He completely ignored the fact that we kissed, acting as if it’d never happened at all.
How am I supposed to be around him?
You can’t. You’ll make a tit out of yourself.
I raise my hand to my forehead. “But I’m sick, and I think it’s really serious. I should stay in bed because it definitely feels like influenza.”
“You’re fine. Get downstairs. I’m serious,” he replies, grinning like he just won another Grammy.
Dad leaves my room, and I know he’ll be up again if I don’t go. I can’t get out of this.
It’s fine. You’re okay. You can do this. Don’t stare at Kitt, and don’t let him know you’ve thought about that kiss every second since it happened. Don’t let him know that every day that passes without contact from him kills you a little bit more. Don’t let him know that you’re falling in love with him and terrified that your heart is going to be trampled.
Drink beer. Hide the sinking feeling behind a flawless smile. Be normal. Pretend you’re okay with being just a friend.
Laugh. Joke. Pretend, pretend, and pretend.
I take a deep breath and force that bloody smile onto my face.
KITT
MONDAY, MAY 4
OXFORD, ENGLAND
Mark had headed upstairs to tell Texas to come down, so we’d let ourselves into the living room.
Their house is massive, far too big for two people, but it feels like home. Pictures of Texas, from a tiny baby to now, are everywhere. She has an expressive face, always smiling or pulling a funny expression, and just by watching her, it’s hard not to feel like the whole world is okay.
If Cynthia, the housekeeper, didn’t clean it a few times a week or do their shopping, they would probably call for takeaway every night. Neither of them has any time at all for cooking.
“I’m starving,” Milo complains.
It’s been at least twenty minutes since he ate last, so of course, he needs feeding again.