Chapter 11 #2
“That’s a good way to put it.”
The sound of a car engine drifted from the next street. Someone was doing laps in a rooftop pool across the road.
Lillian tugged her braid forward. “I’ve been applying for jobs.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere. Anywhere. I want to have money for things like this,” she said. “So I can say yes to more this year.”
Bea’s chest warmed. That was one of the more bold things she’d ever heard Lillian say.
“That’s so cool, Lil. When did you decide that?”
Lillian kept her eyes forward. “While I was in Melbourne, over the summer. I thought being back there would feel like a relief. And it did. At first.” She paused. “But it also felt like a holiday. Which I think means…this is home now.”
They rounded a corner.
“Is that a good thing?”
“I hope so.” Lillian adjusted her bag. “Last year I was more of an observer. But I don’t want to just watch anymore. I want to start making a life here. Like you.”
Like me. The girl who’d Googled “how to greet billionaires” before the welcome gala last year. Now she knew what foie gras was, how to spell it, and how to politely decline it.
“I think the UR would be happy to have us both, if we decided it,” Bea said thoughtfully.
They walked for a while.
“So you’re looking for a job. You’re exercising. What else is on the list?” Bea nudged her shoulder. “A date?”
Bea didn’t really expect her to answer. But to her surprise, Lillian said softly, “Maybe I’ll find him stretching it out in Pilates.”
Bea stopped short.
Lillian Clarke. Who avoided eye contact with ninety percent of the male population. Had just made a joke about dating.
Her jaw hit the pavement. Since when did Lillian joke about boys?
“I think you’d have a better shot finding him in the combat classes outside,” Bea said, playing along.
Lillian widened her eyes. “I’d die.”
There she is.
“They’re visually stunning, though.”
“Stop.”
Bea didn’t. And for once, it looked like Lillian might not actually want her to.
Nico strolled in, backpack slung over one shoulder, tanned and two inches taller than she remembered. His face was sharper, his posture more sure. Still Nico, but slightly more grown, like the edges of boyhood had been sanded down over the summer.
His eyes landed on her t-shirt. Black. Expensive fabric. Capital letters across the front that read: ‘I’M NOT A MILLIONAIRE YET.’
He’d given it to her last Christmas—printed with the line she’d used a dozen times to drag him back on track whenever he got lazy or smug.
He grinned. “You wore it.”
Bea grinned back. “Didn’t want you to think I was gonna let you coast this year.” She stood and gave him a sideways hug. “You grew.”
“Of course I grew.” He dropped into the seat across from her. “El Jefe thinks I’ll be taller than him by the time I’m out of the military.”
“If you’re taller than El Jefe, you’re going to be a skyscraper,” she said lightly.
“Works for me.”
“Speaking of El Jefe…why didn’t you tell me your godfather is Rafael Griffin?”
“You know him?” Nico sat up.
“He’s a year above me at St. Ives.”
Nico smirked. “What do you think of him?”
Bea’s heart did things it had no business doing. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s El Jefe. You’re a female.”
“He’s…fine.”
Nico blinked. “Fine? You’re the first girl I’ve ever met who said El Jefe is fine.”
“How many girls do you know that aren’t in high school?” she asked dryly.
Nico’s mouth opened as if to rebut. “Not the point.”
“You remember I have a boyfriend.”
“Yeah, the one you left for ten weeks,” he said pointedly. “How’d that go?”
Not so well, actually.
Might’ve gone more or less exactly as he had predicted. So he’d been right: he did understand men more than she did. Humbling, that.
But she was still the adult in the room. And adults were allowed to lie to themselves.
“I ended up coming back early for that internship,” she said primly. Then, before he could interrogate her more, “Did you bring your textbooks?”
He pulled them out with exaggerated solemnity.
She started flipping to the right page.
“You know, my barber had to redo my fade twice last week because he said my face changed,” Nico said randomly.
“What do you mean your face changed?” She blinked at him. “It looks the same.”
“Apparently I’m entering my ‘leading man’ era.”
Bea snorted. “You’re sixteen.”
“I’ll be seventeen soon. The transformation is starting.”
A smile claimed her face. She couldn’t help it. This kid. Sixteen going on delusional, with the kind of confidence you couldn’t buy—but if you could, she’d take a year’s supply. She couldn’t remember when exactly he became family, but he had.
“Where’d you go for the summer?” she asked.
“Mallorca,” he said casually. Like it wasn’t the most absurdly luxurious place a high-schooler could have summered.
A place her own papa, who emigrated from Spain to Canada as a teenager, still dreamed of one day going.
“Do you know how many carbs I consumed? I’m proportionally more bread than man now. ”
“Sounds delicious.”
“It was. I also read a couple of books.”
She pressed her whole hand to her cheek. “I’m sorry, did you say books?”
He nudged his chair closer to the table. “It’s junior year. El Jefe said if I want options in the military, I need to earn it.”
“Finally, Rafael gave you some good advice.”
“I told you he does,” Nico said loyally.
Bea’s eyebrow arched. “Does that mean no more whining?”
“Absolutely not. I plan to suffer loudly and often.”
“I guess that’s what your mother pays me well for.” Bea sighed, neatly lining up her pens and highlighters.
“Exactly. I’m giving you job security. You’re welcome.” Nico nodded, smug as ever. Then, endearingly earnest, “So let’s do it, tutor lady. Two years to get me on the officer track. Don’t mess it up.”
Her eyes caught his. Unspoken agreement, like a handshake.
She fired up her laptop, heart full. “Open your book.”