Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

“ A dam?” I gasped. “What are you—how did you?—”

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, really. If he was here visiting his family and was getting roped into these events, just like I was, it made as much sense that he would attend something like the Troop’s Cup as the Ortham Ball.

He was fully dressed the part of an English gentleman in a pristine white shirt and light gray suit, along with a jaunty straw fedora perched on his head. His knowing smile told me he understood how dashing it all was. As did the two women’s expressions when they caught who was stepping in.

“Frankie,” he said as he leaned in to press a kiss to my astonished cheek.

Then he turned to the women, who were staring with mouths so wide I honestly thought flies might buzz right in.

“Americans aren’t all brutish. I should know.” Adam nodded at them as a curt hello. “Beth. Chelsea.” Then he turned back to me. “Francesca, may I introduce these two busybodies I’ve known since childhood, Lady Elizabeth Ruckston and Miss Chelsea White. Ladies, this is Francesca Zola, lately from America. I believe you’re familiar.”

The women stumbled overtly, their expressions feigning kindness, though their eyes furiously ping-ponged back and forth between Adam and me.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, extending a hand, which they each clutched as lightly as they possibly could. “For a barbarian, I mean.”

“Likewise,” murmured Beth, the one with the ostrich hat. “Er—must go.”

“Indeed,” agreed Chelsea. “Don’t want to miss the rest of the match.”

“Nor the duke’s thighs,” I agreed.

The two socialites goggled at Adam and me for a few moments before rushing away to avoid any kind of confrontation. Adam stood by while I approached the bartender.

“Er—sparkling water, I guess?” I’d had enough to drink last night, and I wasn’t interested in making a fool of myself again. Well, no more than I already had even being here.

“Make it a Pimm’s,” Adam put in, setting a few twenty-pound notes on the bar top. “Two.”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary,” I told him. “Also, if anything, I owe you some money. Hold on, I’ll get it.”

“No, I insist,” he said. “You can buy me dinner back home sometime. Pimm’s is sort of tradition at these things, and honestly one of the few perks, unless you’re that into watching a bunch of grown men riding ponies and waving sticks around.”

I giggled a bit at that characterization as I accepted the drink from the bartender. “Thanks.” As we walked away, I clinked my glass to his. “Cheers. When in Rome, right?”

“Exactly.” He grinned.

“So, you never played at Eton, then?”

Adam seemed to visibly shudder. “Ah, no. I was too busy doing things like studying and reading. Novels, mostly.”

I perked. “What are your favorites?”

Adam tipped his head back and forth. “Fitzgerald is my jam. I’m a pretty big Gatsby fan, like everyone. But Tender is the Night is also great.”

“I can see that about you. You are sort of a Nick.”

Adam looked wounded. “Nick? Seriously? The guy has no guts. I’d rather be Gatsby. I’d want to be the guy who gets the girl.”

I smiled. “I don’t know. I think being shy and underrated isn’t so bad in the end.”

I took a drink of my Pimm’s, looking around. This was all right, so long as it didn’t catch Xavier’s eye. It was just nice having a real conversation with someone that was actually about something I enjoyed. “So, what about art?” I wondered, realizing I still didn’t know that much about Adam. “When did you decide to become an art teacher?”

“Well, that’s usually what happens when you’re not talented enough to make it on your own,” Adam joked. “Kidding, I guess. The truth is, I tried to go to art school after college, but found myself more attracted to what the teachers were doing than my own work. I’m not much of an artist—really a better mimic. But I thought I’d make a pretty good teacher. And so, here I am.”

“Here you are,” I said appreciatively, then held up my glass to clink with him once more. “Here’s to the teaching life.”

Adam grinned again, then looked over my shoulder, his attention caught by something. “Mum, Dad,” he called, waving a hand at a prim-looking couple in deep conversation with a lady in a bright blue summer suit who looked familiar from the back. The man turned and waved at Adam, but the woman continued speaking, deep in conversation, to the point where I couldn’t see her face. Neither could be bothered to join us.

Apparently, word was out about the harlot in the polka dots.

“Mum?” I asked. I’d never heard an American use the word.

“Well, that’s what they say in England,” he said good-naturedly. “I don’t think she’d really like Mom.”

I blinked, missing something. “Your mother is English?”

Adam nodded. “Yeah, she’s from Hampshire. Dad’s the American, and so am I.” He winked, and I found it oddly charming.

I chuckled. I didn’t know why I found it so funny for Adam to say that. Maybe because the way he said it was so distinctly American himself, threaded with a cultural disdain for titles and aristocracy and things like that.

Honestly, I hadn’t known I’d even felt that way until I was here.

We walked a bit farther into the tent, away from the line of people, but toward a quieter section that was blocked off a bit from the noise of the crowd. The game had started again, but if I was being honest, I had no interest in watching. Not after what I’d just heard in the drinks line. I knew if I went out there now, I’d be obsessed with how many other women were currently making plans on how best to run into Xavier with every goal he scored. Meanwhile, I’d also be conscious of just how many of them had figured out who I was and were watching me too.

“What?” I asked when I caught Adam staring.

“Nothing,” he said. “You just…you look so different.”

“Well, so do you. It’s called not wearing stained elementary school teacher hand-me-downs, don’t you think?”

It was a joke, of course, but Adam shook his head. “I didn’t mean that. I’ve seen you gussied up before. This is different, though. You look like one of them.”

He cocked his head and continued to scan me up and down, well past the point where I felt comfortable.

I looked down at the polka dots and touched the brim of my hat with a gloved hand. “Er. I don’t feel it.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just surprised, that’s all. Never thought of you as the hat and gloves type.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Did I really look so odd in what was essentially a nice summer dress and a big hat? Apparently so.

“Xavier’s stepmother—” I started.

“The Duchess Georgina, you mean?” Adam interrupted.

I frowned. Did he know her too? “Yeah.”

Adam chuckled as if at his own private joke. “She’s a character, that’s for sure.”

“I didn’t realize you knew the Parkers so well,” I said. “I thought you and Xavier just ran into each other at Eton. You barely seemed to remember each other in New York.”

He stiffened slightly, like he’d been caught in a lie. “Ah, well, I don’t. Not really. Mum knows her. They grew up together, so I see her around whenever I visit family here. Plus, don’t forget that Xavier and I never really saw eye to eye. We pretty much avoided each other like the plague in grade school.”

“A bit more than just a diplomat’s son, then?” I prodded.

Adam finally looked a little bit sheepish. “Maybe a little, yeah. But it’s not really who I am. This suit is just a costume. Probably like that dress.”

There was an awkward pause until I realized he was staring again. Did I look that strange?

“I was just saying that Georgina thought I needed a stylist,” I admitted. “Xavier wanted me to come to these things with him, and she didn’t think I owned anything appropriate. She was probably right. All I can afford on a teacher’s salary is Target and the Goodwill.”

Adam shrugged. “So you got some new clothes. Nothing wrong with that. The red dress worked out pretty well for you.”

I chuckled. “The red dress was mine. She was pretty mad about the Ortham Ball, apparently. I got a big lecture on it this morning. They had this giant pink thing picked out for me that made me look like cotton candy. I changed it last minute.”

Adam grinned. “Well, I wasn’t disappointed. Gutsy move, though. Francesca Zola, Yankee rebel. Never knew you had it in you.”

I shrugged. “Xavi asked me to wear red, so I did.”

At Xavier’s name, Adam’s smile vanished. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but do you do everything he tells you?”

I balked. “No.”

It was a weak response. Far too defensive.

“Really?” Adam pressed. “So you wanted to come to a polo match and listen to people making fun of you behind your back?”

I opened my mouth to say that was not why I had come. That I was genuinely curious about English society and always had been. That I’d wanted to support the man I loved.

But our fight this morning kept flashing in my mind’s eye.

“That was amazing back there,” I said instead, doing my best to change the subject. “With those women. I’m still trying to figure out how to put that type in their place.”

“It’s easy,” Adam said. “You just have to answer their snobby questions like they are real ones.”

“Well, thank you for standing up for me. I just—it’s so odd, having all these people know my name, assuming so much about me. It seems like it’s been that way all summer.”

I pressed a toe into the silky green grass, finding myself longing for concrete. For the first time since coming here, I yearned for New York. I missed the dirty sidewalks and the thronged subways. All the places I could sink into a crowd and not be noticed.

I missed being a nobody.

“We Yanks have to stick together,” Adam joked. “Besides, it’s true. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Any man would be lucky to have you. Even if he doesn’t know it.”

“That’s very kind.”

“So, does he at least know that?”

I didn’t answer, hoping Adam would let it go. But when I looked up from my now-finished cocktail to find him watching and waiting for my answer, I just sighed.

“It’s…complicated,” I admitted.

“Maybe because you know the truth?”

I smarted. I could talk about my relationship, but why should anyone else. “Oh, and what would that be?”

Adam tipped his head, then gently took my empty glass, and handed it to a passing waiter before continuing. “Look, I’ve known Xavier Parker for a really long time. Maybe we’ve never been close?—”

“You acted like you barely knew each other last spring,” I pointed out.

“But I’ve still known him,” Adam continued like I hadn’t said a word. “The guy I went to high school with didn’t think about anyone but himself. And from where I stand, not much has changed.”

I didn’t reply. Given Xavier’s and my argument earlier, I was having a hard time arguing with his points. But that didn’t mean I wanted to hear them.

“The guy was selfish, rude, and frankly an asshole,” Adam said emphatically before tossing back the rest of his drink as if to punctuate his sentence.

“He was damaged,” I said. “Show me a sixteen-year-old boy who just lost his mother, was yanked from his home, and shoved into a stuffy boarding school who wouldn’t be kind of an asshole.”

Adam just shrugged. “And has he changed? Can you honestly say he thinks of you and Sofia before he thinks of himself?”

Lord, it was like talking to one of my sisters. Except this guy didn’t really know Xavier. And as friendly as he was earlier, he didn’t know me either.

“What are you doing right now?” I snapped, maybe a bit more than was strictly necessary. “Honestly? What is the point of this whole conversation?”

At first, Adam tried to adopt that calm, placid expression I was starting to recognize as his “Butter up Frankie” face. But when he glanced at me, something seemed to tell him it wasn’t going to work. The mask fell, and his brown eyes met mine straight on.

“All right, you want truth?” he said frankly. “Here’s some truth. That guy out there doesn’t give a crap about you or your daughter.”

“And you do?” I set my hands on my hips. “We work a few classrooms down from each other. We went on one date. You don’t know a thing about any of us.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I know more than you think. For instance, I know he should have stood up for you in front of those two peacocks in there, not me. Just like I know he should have escorted you around the Ortham Ball, introducing you to the people in this world instead of letting you manage it on your own and drink too much.”

“He has to ride today,” I argued, albeit weakly. “He’s here to network. I can take care of myself.”

Adam just scoffed. “Please, spare me, Frankie. If that’s really what you think, you’re dimmer than I thought.”

I scowled. “Excuse me?”

“You think it’s easier to conduct business on horseback than mingling in a crowd full of rich, drunk people?” He gestured around toward the very men and women I imagined Xavier probably needed to be speaking to on Frederick’s behalf. On his own behalf.

I followed his gesture. Now that I looked around, it was obvious that certain people were doing more than just watching polo and gossiping. Across the tent, I caught sight of Frederick standing in a circle with his mother and several middle-aged men in expensive-looking suits. More than one of them pulled out a business card to give to Xavier’s stepbrother. Others pulled out their phones and took someone’s number. Notes were taken. Handshakes were exchanged. The same thing was happening all around the tent and in the stands too. And Xavier wasn’t a part of any of it.

Adam pulled me closer to speak directly into my ear. “Here’s another secret, Frankie. The Duke of Kendal is one of the richest men in the UK, second only to the crown and a very few older, richer aristocrats. He’s not here to network, honey. He doesn’t have to. They’ve been waiting years for the youngest duke in a generation to return to their little club. And they aren’t going to let him go just because he’s got a new American girlfriend. If anything, they’re going to make it as hard as possible for you to stay. And they’ll make your departure feel like his idea.” He released my arm, as if he’d just accomplished something particularly satisfying. “He’s not here to network, honey. He’s here to have his ego stroked. And he doesn’t need you to do it.”

I brought a gloved hand to my lips, as if I could taste the poison of his words. Suddenly, I could see it so clearly. The hunger in all these people’s eyes whenever they talked about Xavier. The utter disdain they had for me ran so much further than the fact that I was from another country.

I was infringing on territory they saw as theirs. The fact was that as soon as his parents’ marriage certificate was found, he was no longer the bastard son of Rupert Parker, a social outcast with funny eyes and too-black hair, but the true heir to the Duke of Kendal. He gained membership into one of the most exclusive clubs in the world. And you could only exit one way: death.

“But he loves me.”

My voice was small, like I was a child struggling to figure out why my mother kept leaving us. Trying to understand why she said, again and again, she would come back, but never did. Refusing to see the truth for what it was: that she just didn’t care.

“Does he?” Adam wondered. “Ask yourself this: are these the actions of a man who even knows what love is?”

It was like a pipeline to my innermost doubts. After all, hadn’t he told me that the very night we saw each other for the first time in five years?

I think we’re all lying when we say it.

Maybe fooling ourselves a bit.

Whether we want to admit it or not, there’s always something another person can do to ruin things.

I suddenly felt like I was choking. I was an idiot. Such a fool to think that he could change, really change, in just a few months. Xavier had told me from the beginning he didn’t believe he could ever really love someone. He thought that love was only real between a parent and a child.

Which meant that, sure, he had that with Sofia. I saw it every day when he looked at her and talked to her.

But that didn’t mean he loved me.

Not truly.

Not all the way.

“Frankie?”

I looked up to find Adam watching me with real concern. He reached out and touched my shoulder, chilled fingers lingering there a moment too long.

“There’s one more thing I know,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the bustle of the crowd. “I know if you gave me a chance, I could make you happy, Frankie. That’s all I need. One little chance.”

And then, before I could stop him, his lips were on mine.

They were warm, yes. And familiar. Sort of like a rubber hot water bottle, the kind that Nonna used to put at the end of our bed in the winter instead of turning up the heat.

I didn’t like them as a kid, and I didn’t like it now. Just like the last time Adam tried this, I felt absolutely…nothing.

He broke away, eyes bright, clearly expecting to see some kind of thrill reflected in mine.

Instead, I just started to shake as I set a hand on his chest and pushed him forcefully away.

“Oh my God,” I said. “Adam, what are you doing?”

“Yes,” said a voice that had rumbled through my dreams for five full years. “That’s just what I’d like to know.”