He nods. His fingertip rubs over one of my green nails. “Do you do them yourself?”
“I do lately. It’s really not that hard. Plus, out in Estes, I’ve kind of tried to keep to myself and stuff.”
“Have you?” His fingers close gently around mine as he leads me into what looks like a small library.
“Yeah.”
There’s a door in one corner. Liam keeps my hand as he shoulders through the door, then releases me so he can hold the door for me.
I grin. “Nice manners, Gael boy.”
He smiles back. “I heard that’s what you girls like.”
“Southern girls?”
He nods.
A few feet away, in the grass, I see a black Range Rover. Liam opens my door, tosses the pack in the back, and drives off down a road I’ve never noticed before.
“So how far away is this place?”
He gives me a smirk. “Afraid to be alone with me?”
“Pshhh. Not even a little bit.”
He shakes his head. “Not even a little. I’m losing my game.”
“You didn’t have it. Not with me.”
I watch with delight as his jaw drops slowly open, then his face splits into a grin. “I didn’t, did I?” he asks as he turns onto a little, cobblestone road.
“Nope,” I tell him proudly.
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re a ho.”
“A ho!”
“A big ole ho.”
“What proof do you have of this, Miss Rhodes?”
“Um, all your social media accounts? Page Six and every other tabloid?”
“Tabloids. We don’t believe what tabloids say.”
I shrug. “If the shoe fits…”
“Buy it. See?” He wiggles his brows, smirking. “I didn’t say steal it or get its milk for free.”
I laugh. “I think you’d get one of every pair.”
“That’s not true. Just the right pair.” He gives me an sly smile.
“And if you haven’t found the right pair? Just keep trying on?”
Liam shrugs. “I’m wearing a pair now.”
“What kind? Glass slippers?”
“Slippers that feel good.”
My heart rolls over. For a long second, it’s a struggle to draw breath. Finally I manage, “Well I hope they work out for you.”
“So do I.” The words are soft. His eyes are on me briefly—just enough to make my body buzz—then back on the road.
The car is filled with strange tension. I look down at my hands in my lap and try to think of something to cut through it.
“So tell me more about yourself, shoe hoarder.”
He chuckles. “Hoarder. Lucy, Lucy…”
“I call it like I see it,” I tease.
He shrugs as he turns onto another small, tree-choked road. “What do you want to know?”
“Hmm. So what do you do around here when you’re not traveling?”
Another shrug. “Not much. I’m not here that much. When I am… I hunt. Sail some. Ride.”
“Watch TV?”
“Some.”
“Do you like reading?”
I watch as his face slackens…then hardens. “It’s not my favorite thing.”
“Not as exciting as The Rhodes of Concord?”
“No.”
“So are you taking a break from school?”
“I left.”
“Do you think you’ll ever go back?”
“I don’t know.” He sounds annoyed. “I doubt it.”
“Not a fan?”
His lips flatten. All around us, foothills rise up. I realize we’re driving away from the ocean, back toward the mountain range.
“I’m not a school person.”
“What do you mean?”
He gives me a strange, sober look. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you, Lucy?”
“I guess so.” When he doesn’t say anything more, I ask, “Were you at Oxford?”
“I was.”
“And you went to high school with Declan?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry if my questions bothered you.” My heart pounds hard.
“I’m dyslexic, Lucy.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Is he saying he can’t read? Thank God I don’t blurt out that question. “What…does that mean for you?” I honestly don’t know that much about it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Liam take a deep, slow breath. “It means that I can’t read consistently. All the letters…move around.”
“Then how’d you text me?”
“Voice to text.” His eyes look guilty. “No one knows.”
Wow. I take a moment with my shock, then try to go on, acting casual. “Just not something that you talk about?”
“It’s a state secret.” He sounds bitter.
“You mean you went to some trouble to hide it.”
“Yes.”
“How come?”
He snorts. “Why do you think, Lucy?”
“I don’t know.”
“A king has to read.”
“Surely there are apps and things…like, ways around that.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is?” I ask.
He stares at the road as he drives, between two big lakes, his shoulders tight, his mouth tighter.
“It’s an embarrassment. To the family.”
“Did someone tell you that?”
“No one had to. It was hidden from the time I entered school. Dec was one of the only people at school who knew. They’d pull us both out for these private tutoring sessions, and everyone thought it was because of who we were. Our last names.”
“God. That must have been stressful.”
His mouth tightens.
“Do the other subjects come easier?”
“Math and science. Sure. I can memorize just about anything I hear. So that’s good I guess.”
“Is that why you left Oxford, though? Because it was too much, with the dyslexia?”
He nods. “I don’t need a marketable skill. You know how it is.”
“Yeah, but it’s boring to just sit around and live off family money.”
“That it is.”
“Someone told me once—Maggie, I think—that you run a charity.”
His mouth turns down. “Not exactly.”
“What do you do?”
“I make apps.”
“Huh?”
“I make and distribute apps, or rather I make them and others distribute them for me. Most of the money goes to charity.”
He pulls up at a huge, blue lake and turns the car’s ignition off.
“Apps? Really? Can I see?”
He gives me a strange look. Then he holds out his phone.
“You make Fireside?” It’s a British dating app. One of the biggest ones. “Don’t the same people make Fairgrub and Autopawn, too?”
He arches one brow, and my mouth falls open. “Holy hell.”
*
Liam
I didn’t plan on telling her. Have only told two people in the world who don’t work for me, lips zipped by my NDA. The company is called S.G. Enterprises—for my mother, Sarah Gael.
When I started it, I was a senior at Lawrenceville and barely passing my lit class. The professor, a short, intense man named Dr. Faar, was insisting I stay after classes twice a week with him to practice writing. He’d signed the NDA like all my other professors, and so of course, he knew the details of my disability.