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TWENTY-TWO ARABELLA

TWENTY-TWO

Arabella

I’M in the middle of a clothing crisis when my phone rings. I check to see it’s my mother and I ignore it, tearing through the clothes I hung up in my guest room closet, frantic to find just the right outfit. But nothing strikes me as appropriate. Not that this evening’s meal is a formal affair. Rowan’s mother reassured me I could show up in sweats and no one would bat an eyelash but just the idea of me doing that fills me with horror.

I love a good matching sweat outfit but to wear something like that for dinner with the Lancasters? Absolutely not.

My phone rings again, and exasperated, I answer it rudely, which is so out of character I don’t even know what possessed me. “What?”

“There you are! Darling, I have wonderful, amazing news to share with you!”

So typical of my mother to ignore my rude tone, and for once, I’m grateful for it. “What is it?”

If she tells me she got last-minute plane tickets to Hong Kong for me, I’m going to flip out. Now that I’m at the Lancaster estate, that’s the last place I want to go.

“Remember when I told you I had that friend who works for a certain prestigious jewelry atelier?”

“Mmm, hmm.” I don’t remember that at all but I’m going to pretend I do.

“Well, after many months of going back and forth, he’s brought me an opportunity. For you.” She pauses for only a second. “An internship with the jeweler. In Paris!”

I go completely still, my fingers curling around my phone so tight, it hurts. “What did you just say?”

“I know you used to enjoy making jewelry designs here and there, and when I became friendly with the creative director at the jewelry house, I started asking him about jobs there. It is a very tight-knit working space and they don’t allow any old person to start working there,” Mother explains.

“Okay.” I draw the word out, gobsmacked. I adore that word. It’s one Americans don’t use often enough and they should. It’s so apt for how I’m feeling in this very moment. “How do they even know I like to draw jewelry designs?”

“I showed him your designs, and he showed them to everyone else.”

My heart goes into freefall. “Mother. Some of those designs were—”

“Amazing? I know, darling. I saw them. Your talent is spectacular, and I’m surprised you never pushed us to help you pursue it further.”

Private, is the word I wanted to use. And old. But I remain quiet, remembering how I used to enjoy designing jewelry and she would encourage me. Little lockets and charms and pendants. Intricate bracelets dotted with precious stones in floral designs. It was a fun hobby but eventually I gave up because of my mother’s obvious shock and faint disgust at my possible career choice.

“You want to work?” She had visibly shuddered, her shoulders shimmying as she shook her head in tandem. “That’s so … beneath you.”

Yes, that’s what she said to me. Out loud. Talk about devastated. I was thirteen or fourteen and absolutely crushed by her response. I never brought it up to her again. As a matter of fact, I gave up designing jewelry and selling it to my new friends when I first started at Lancaster Prep because of what she said and how her words made me feel. Plus, it was just a phase. And now here she is, bringing it up to me like she’s always been supportive, and actually doing something about it.

Deciding not to bring those memories up, I choose to be grateful instead because I’m a bigger person and I refuse to be petty in this moment. “What jewelry house are you referring to?”

When she says the name out loud, I suck in a surprised breath, nearly choking on it. Okay, that jewelry house is huge. Well-known and of the highest quality.

“Are you sure they want me to intern for them? I’ve never done this sort of thing before in my life.”

“They’re sure. You’ll be an apprentice to one of the most prestigious designers there.” I can hear the giddiness in her voice. “Aren’t you excited? Isn’t this amazing?”

“I’m … finding it hard to believe it’s even true.” I give up on searching through my clothes and collapse on a nearby chair, my brain going over our conversation. “I don’t even know how you did this.”

“I have my ways,” she says, sounding mysterious. “Anything for you, darling.”

My suspicions rise at her comment because it’s a rare moment when she wants to do something for me. Everything my mother does is typically for herself. “When does this internship start?”

“January! Right after the new year. I thought it might be fun to spend the holidays in Paris. What do you think? We could stay at The Ritz and go shopping …”

Her words turn into a buzzing noise that I can’t decipher, my thoughts overtaking everything else. January? I’m still in school. Christmas in Paris? That sounds like a dream and I would’ve jumped on the idea before.

Before this new side of Rowan. Before coming to his family’s home and being so readily embraced by all of them.

“I still have school in January,” I remind my mother, interrupting her. “I’m graduating in May.”

“You have enough credits to graduate early. I’ve already checked,” she reassures me.

“I do?” I mean, I sort of knew that but I didn’t want to leave early because where would I go? I have no one to count on.

“Yes. Why stay at Lancaster Prep when you could be learning from one of the most prestigious jewelry designers in the world.”

She has a point. “But I’ll miss out on all of the senior things,” I say, my voice small.

“What senior things?”

“Ditch day. Prom. Graduation.” There are more special occasions throughout the rest of our senior year but I can’t think of any others.

“Well.” Her tone turns snotty, I can tell by just hearing her say that singular word. “If you want me to turn down this position for you because you don’t want to miss out on senior ditch day, then I’ll let them know.”

“No.” I clamp my lips shut, hating how I fell for her plan. She knew I’d protest. “I want to do it. I’ll do it.”

We’re both quiet for a moment and I wonder if she’s waiting for me to change my mind. But I won’t. She’s right. I need to take the opportunity and do this. I reach for my locket, the very one I designed for myself and had my mother’s family jeweler design for me, worrying it with my fingers. Everything my mother is dumping on me is sending me into a mental spiral, but stroking the lightly etched front eases my anxiety.

“Excellent,” Mother finally says. “Your father and I both think this is the perfect opportunity for you to further yourself.”

“Instead of college?” I applied but only out of obligation to my guidance counselor. She told me I was smart and could have my pick of universities to attend, and I went along with her suggestions, applying to a variety of colleges, not caring about a single one of them.

“Darling, you don’t want to go. You’ve been telling me that since you were ten.”

“I have?” I don’t remember ever saying that to her.

“Yes. Higher education isn’t for you. You’ve always stressed that, and I think studying with a jeweler and learning their techniques is what you need.”

“How long is this apprenticeship supposed to last?”

“As long as everything works out, it’s for two years.”

Two years. I’ll be twenty when it’s over. An entirely different person after living that long in Paris. Will I make friends? Have a boyfriend? A gorgeous Parisian man who whispers dirty French words in my ear while he slowly fucks me every night in my luxurious apartment my parents pay for?

I wrinkle my nose at the thought. God, that sounds awful.

“Does that deter you at all? The length of your apprenticeship?” Mother asks me.

“Not at all,” I say, my voice calm. I sit up straighter. “That sounds perfect.”

I ARRIVE in the formal dining room ten minutes early to find there’s no one waiting and the table isn’t set. Confused, I glance around, filled with the sudden and horrible feeling that maybe they’re playing a trick on me. Maybe they left.

“We’re eating in the kitchen tonight.”

I whirl around to find Rowan standing there, dashing as ever despite the fact that he’s wearing a faded pair of jeans and—oh my God—a gray hoodie. Sweats. To dinner.

Glancing down at myself, I take in the simple charcoal gray sweater dress I chose to wear tonight, my legs bare and my feet clad in white Chanel sneakers. “I’m overdressed.”

When I look at his face once more, it seems he’s using every bit of restraint he can come up with not to crack a smile. “You’re always overdressed, Bells.”

I offer him a curtsy as my answer. “Where’s the kitchen?”

“This way.” He offers his arm to me like he’s a true gentleman from the Regency and I take it, letting him lead me through the gorgeous house, neither of us saying a word. We haven’t spent much time together today. Rowan hung out with his brother while I was either with his mom or wandering around the house by myself.

When we eventually end up in the kitchen, we find his family already seated around the round table.

“There you two are!” His mother rises to her feet, clasping her hands together. “I’ll start serving right away.”

“Sorry we were late.” I settle into the closest open chair, right next to Beau. Rowan sits on the other side of me. “I was mistaken on where dinner was tonight.”

“Sorry about that.” Wren smiles at me. She keeps insisting I call her Wren instead of Mrs. Lancaster so I’m trying it out in my head. “We’re going out tomorrow if that helps.”

“I appreciate you letting me know.” I duck my head, grabbing the cloth napkin folded in the center of my plate and drop it into my lap.

The conversation is quiet, everyone talking about their day and what they did. I don’t add much to it, tempted to mention the phone call from my mother, but I don’t want to look like I’m bragging. Plus, I’m not quite sure how I’m going to explain the situation to Rowan. Will he be supportive? Glad to be rid of me? Sad that I’m leaving? I don’t know.

If I’m being real with myself, I don’t want to know his reaction. What if it’s not the one I want?

It’s when their cook—a lovely woman named Marilee—takes away our salad plates that Rowan leans in toward me to murmur, “Are you all right?”

I pull away slightly to look into his eyes, noting the concern I see there. I put on a fake smile. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You’re not very talkative.” He pauses for only a moment. “And you’ve always got something to say.”

“I’m just enjoying spending time with your family,” I admit, which is partially true. I don’t want to tell him I have a lot on my mind because then he’ll ask what it is, and I don’t want to explain myself. “Though I am a little tired.”

“You should go to bed early then.” The panic I see flare in his beautiful green eyes is almost comical. “And I’m not saying that because I want to sneak into your room later.”

“What did you just say?”

His mother just overheard him say that. And I am. Horrified.

“I was kidding, Mom.” I can practically feel the desperation radiating from Rowan as he tries to play it off.

“Are you sneaking into your guest’s room in the middle of the night?” And now his father has pulled out the stern dad voice.

“Absolutely not,” Rowan says with such conviction I could almost believe him. Almost.

The problem is, I know the truth.

Beau snickers, shutting up almost immediately when his father glares at him. I curl my hands into my lap, twisting the cloth napkin in my fingers and I put on a brave smile.

“Rowan didn’t sneak into my room last night,” I tell his parents, my voice calm. I am an excellent liar. I have been for years because I’m always having to mask my real feelings in front of certain people. Like my parents.

Like Rowan.

His parents’ matching intensity is aimed right at me and I don’t even squirm. I just keep my expression neutral, making sure I don’t look at Rowan for fear the guilt will cross both of our faces.

“Make sure he doesn’t,” Crew Lancaster finally says, his deep voice giving off I don’t mess around vibes. “There’s a lock on your door, Arabella. Use it.”

“Yes, sir,” I murmur, ducking my head once more. I feel bad, like I did something awful, which I did. I lied to Rowan’s parents, and I lie to my parents all the time, especially my mother. Not like she cares or notices. Nor would I ever get in trouble for doing it either. My mother is too oblivious to pay me any attention, even when I’m doing something bad.

With Rowan’s parents, I feel like my lie would disappoint them if I ever revealed it. And they would punish me and Rowan for betraying their trust. I’d have to agree with them. I’m tempted to put my arms out at this very moment, fully expecting them to put handcuffs on my wrists and cart me off to juvenile hall.

If this happened later in the week, I’d deserve full blown jail and oh my God, I’m devastated. I rest my hand on my chest for a moment, trying to calm my racing heart when I feel it. Rowan’s hand settling on my thigh and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Okay. Maybe lying to his parents wasn’t so bad after all.

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