My gaze drifted to the chicken growing cold over on the counter.
She eyed it like it was last year’s fruitcake. “Right. That. How about we get a real dinner too while we’re out?”
I could have said no. I could have sat down at my kitchen table and ate chewy chicken by myself, moping around until Kinsley and Becca finally got home, but I was too intrigued. “Okay, just let me change out of this onesie really quick.”
She frowned. “But then you’re just as boring as everyone else.”
I spent the next hour leading Georgie around our complex. I showed her the gym, the computer room, and the food court, all the while wondering how a person like Georgie Archibald actually existed. She was outspoken, beautiful, and slightly insane. When we poked our heads into the gym, she clapped her hands loudly and shouted, “Keep up the good work, ol’ chaps!” Every head turned in her direction, but she’d already turned and walked away, leaving me with the awkward task of waving before ducking out after her.
“You’re a brilliant guide, I promise, but so far, you’ve shown me every boring destination on Mt. Olympus. Where are the sex rooms?” She turned to me with wide eyes before rapping her foot on the solid ground. “Is there a dungeon?”
I shot her a skeptical glare. “If there is such a place, I haven’t found it.”
She pouted. “Well poo. Maybe we’ll have to make one then.”
“Were you and Freddie raised in the same house?” I asked with a half smile.
She nodded. “Yes, up until he went off to swim camps and all that. Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “You’re just much spunkier than him.”
Spunky was the only word I could think of that wouldn’t offend her.
She nodded. “I haven’t a clue what ‘spunky’ means, but I accept your crude American compliment.”
She poked her nose into a room we were passing. A sign on the door read No Trespassing, but she didn’t seem to care.
I smiled.
She hummed and scanned over me again. “You know, you’re not Freddie’s usual type.” She waved her hand in front of my face. “He usually fancies girls a bit more…”
I waited for her to fill in the end of her sentence.
“Posh.”
“Posh?”
She glanced over. “Girls like Caroline.”
My heart sank. “Right, well, I’m definitely not Caroline.”
“Thank god,” she rasped, stringing her arm around mine. “I know it must have been a shock to have us arrive yesterday. We weren’t due for another week, but Caroline insisted on coming early. I wasn’t going to let her come alone and muck everything up, so here I am.”
I nodded. “Well, thanks for coming.”
“Has Freddie filled you in on the dreadful situation?”
I glanced away, ashamed to admit that I hadn’t spoken to Freddie since Georgie’s arrival. “Um, a little bit, I guess. I know the betrothal wasn’t his doing and that he wanted to break it off, I’m just not sure what he’s telling Caroline. For all I know, he could be feeding her the same bullshit in reverse.”
“Bullshit,” she repeated, testing the word on her tongue for what seemed like the first time. “That’s a fabulous word.” She nodded before glancing back at me. “Oh, yes, I understand where you’re coming from, but I assure you that Freddie isn’t some kind of womanizing playboy. He’s been truly moaning on about you since he arrived in Rio. It’s been quite nice to hear him fancy someone, but the whole Caroline situation does ruin it a bit. He’s taking her to dinner right now actually to—”
I stopped walking. “He’s taking her to dinner?”
Georgie frowned once she glanced back and saw my face. “No, no. Not as a date! He’s taking her out so that they can have the conversation. Y’know, the whole ‘betrothal over, piss off, I don’t like you, yada yada yada.’ It’s all very mature of him, really.”
I took a deep breath. “Right. Okay. So you think she’ll just go away?” I snapped my fingers. “Like that?”
Georgie smiled. “See, that’s the brilliant part. Caroline Montague is as dim as a box of bricks. I’ll bet by tomorrow morning she’ll be back on a plane to London sipping a mimosa and reading He’s Just Not That into You: Duchess Edition.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Freddie
I ADJUSTED MY shirt. The thing was starched and stuffy—something I wore during interviews and ripped off the minute I got home. Caroline had come to my flat prior to dinner wearing a fancy dress and heels. When she’d seen my jeans and t-shirt, she’d laughed and told me she’d wait for me to change. Now, I regretted the slacks and button-down. It was too formal; the whole night was, really. The restaurant Caroline had picked was too fancy and quiet. The waiters fluttered around with champagne and wine glasses. Heavy chandeliers hung from the ceiling and there was a harpist in the corner, plucking away at a song that sounded like it belonged in a funeral dirge.