Still, it’s a good reminder that dating a royal isn’t the same as dating a normal guy. There are actual rules—not just silly made-up ones like Nana believes in.
I rub my temples, feeling both emotionally and physically exhausted. Mum and Libby arrived on campus at eight a.m., and I’m absolutely shattered. What I wouldn’t give for a venti latte right now.
The door opens and I look up, startled. Mum and Libby come out, both looking pleased.
I stand up. “How’d it go?”
Mum answers. “Good. We’re all sorted. She’s enrolled; we have her dormitory assignment; the master made sure she was in all the right classes. It’s going to be great.”
“Libby?”
She nods, a wide grin from ear to ear. “All sorted!”
“Yay!”
Mum pats her on the back. “Honey, didn’t you say you needed to use the lavatory? Why don’t Charlotte and I wait for you outside?”
As Libby walks away, Mum and I watch her go. It’s only when she’s exited through the heavy wooden doors that Mum whips back around.
“Did you know all that nonsense was going on at Greene House?”
I blink, surprised by the irritation in Mum’s voice. “Um, yeah . . .”
“Charlotte, you can’t imagine the nightmare this has been. It’s cost your father and me a lot of money.”
I frown. “Is that all? Money?”
“No, of course that’s not all. Money is no object when it comes to you girls. But it infuriates me to think she was heading back to that horrible school and nobody knew. It could have ruined her chances at getting into St. Andrews.”
We exit under the portico onto the wide green lawn. It’s sunny but cold—a typical early autumn day in Sussex.
Mum shakes her head. “How did I miss this?”
“You’ve been busy with Soles, and you’ve been traveling nonstop the past few weeks. Plus, it was summer.” I shrug. “It doesn’t mean you’re a terrible mother or anything. You were distracted.”
Mum sighs. “You’ll take her under your wing, won’t you? Show her the ropes.”
“Of course I will. You don’t even need to say it.”
“They’ve put her in your dormitory. She’ll be one floor above you.”
“Please stop worrying. I have it covered. My friends here are super nice,” I say. “Libby will be with me; I’ll make sure she fits in and makes friends, and everything will be just fine.”
“Thank you, honey. It’s always been easier for you socially. Poor Libby.” She crosses and uncrosses her arms anxiously. “Speaking of your friends, how is everything going”—she lowers her voice—“with Edward?”
I brighten up. “Amazing. He’s the best.”
“And?”
“And nothing. Everything’s going great. I couldn’t be happier. I’m pinching myself daily.”
“Good. You’ll let me know if you have any problems, won’t you?”
“Problems? Like what?”
“I don’t know—maybe he’ll pressure you to do something you’re not quite ready for—”
I roll my eyes. “Or maybe I’ll pressure him to do something he’s not ready for.”
Mum sighs. “Sure. That, too.” My mother is progressive enough, as far as parents go, but when certain issues, like sex, come up, I’m reminded of how differently our generations see things. At least she’s light-years ahead of Nana.
Libby exits the building, walking over to the imposing oak tree Mum and I are standing underneath. “I always found this place gorgeous.”
“Greene House was pretty, too.”
“Yeah, but not like this. It’s like a catalog.”
“What time is your first class?” I ask.
She pulls a piece of paper out of the blue Sussex Park folder she’s been clutching like a security blanket. “I’ve already missed my first class for today. I have a two-hour free period and then lunch. My next class is this afternoon.”
“Perfect. You’re coming with me,” I say, tugging on the hem of her floral maxi dress. She follows me up the hill toward Colvin. “We’ll get you into your uniform, have lunch, and then I’ll walk you to class.”
“What about your classes?” she asks. “Don’t you have things planned for today?”
“Who cares? My French seminar will survive without me for one day. You’re much more important.”
“Aww, thanks, Lots.”
“Her bags?” Mum asks.
“Right. Where’s the car?”
Mum points to the car park behind the administration building.
“How many bags have you got, Libs?”
“One.”
“One bag? Of course you do. Well, that makes it easy. Mum, you know where Colvin is, right?”
“Yep.” She starts walking toward the car at a brisk pace, calling over her shoulder. “Room thirty-eight, right? I’ll meet you girls there in ten minutes!”
Libby and I turn and walk up the quad. First period is still in session, so campus is quiet, the few students not at class tucked in their dorms studying or sleeping. She looks impressed by the columned brick building as we approach Colvin. “This is where you live?”
“This is where we live. Pretty, right?”
Colvin is on the far end of campus, nestled at the edge of a field of lush oaks and perfectly situated for privacy. The ivy-covered brick and wide, columned entryway make it look like a beautiful manor. With the exception of the library and main hall, it’s by far the prettiest building on campus.
She nods. “It’s gorgeous. Sussex Park is much grander than Greene House. It’s like a university campus.”
“You’re going to love it. I know you miss your friends, but everybody here is friendly, I promise.” I hold the front door open for Libby and then lead her left down the hall toward the sterile ground-floor sitting room. “This is the Colvin common room. It’s pretty much open all the time, although you can only watch the telly from five p.m. until ten p.m. Good luck getting a seat on the sofa Friday nights when Gogglebox is on; it’s always packed. Boys are allowed as long as the door stays open and three feet are on the floor at all times.”
“Three feet?”
“Two of yours and one of his,” I explain, shrugging. “Or vice versa. It’s one of those dumb rules nobody questions and everybody ignores. And use the microwave at your own risk: it hasn’t been cleaned since the nineties.”
I lead us out of the common room, back down the hall, and then up the stairs. “Which room are you in again?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Want to see my room?” We stop on the second floor, where I push my door open. “Voilà.”
“You leave your door open?” she asks.
“Yes—and you should, too. People who close their doors all the time are weird.”
“But what if somebody steals your stuff?”
“Nobody’s going to steal your stuff!”
“Yeah, but how do you know?”
“Oh my God, I just do, okay?”