Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Mathilda’s voice was like a whip: “Jeremy Alan.”
Looking away from Bryson’s cold sneer took everything Jeremy had. “He’s out of line.”
“Bryson, stop antagonizing your brother,” Mathilda said. “Go on, now.”
Bryson drained his tea, pushed the empty glass aside for someone else to deal with, and left the room with a last sly smirk for Jeremy. Jeremy wished the dining room had a door he could slam in Bryson’s wake. He had to settle for crossing his arms over his chest so hard his ribs ached. When he turned on his mother again there was no sympathy or warmth in her eyes, only disappointment. One day he’d stop looking for more than that.
She said nothing for a few moments before reluctantly asking, “Did you?”
“No.” When she looked unconvinced, he said again, “No. He’s not even my type.”
A complete lie, but the truth was a complicated mess she couldn’t handle. She was so discomfited by the reminder that Jeremy had a type that she didn’t bother to push it. Jeremy looked away as she struggled to find an emotional landing point somewhere between regret and disgust.
“I wish you would work things out with that girl. The mixed one you’re always visiting, whatever her name is. A diplomat’s daughter would be a good match for you.”
“It’s never going to happen.”
“Would it really be so terrible to try? She’s pretty enough, all things considered.”
Jeremy knew exactly what she meant by all things considered and it was enough to make his stomach roil. “Jesus, Mom. Can we please not do this today?”
Mathilda was relentless. “The war is taking a toll on public opinion. We need to make a statement: we have no quarrel with our Muslim neighbors here at home, just with the terrorists threatening our safety and sovereignty overseas.”
“She’s not even practicing,” Jeremy said.
“Even better.”
The relief in her smile irked him into saying, “Nabil’s Muslim. What about him?”
He regretted the cheek immediately; the revolted look she gave him had him fixing his stare on the floor. Mathilda didn’t waste her breath acknowledging his comment, but she did need a minute to get her temper under control. When she trusted herself to speak, she picked up right where she’d left off:
“Welcoming her into the family could be a good look for your grandfather, if his team can sort out how to safely spin it. He’s losing ground with younger voters. They have more opinions than common sense.”
“He is not my—”
“Enough,” Mathilda warned him. “We’ve been over this a hundred times.”
Jeremy dug his nails into the starchy sleeves of the shirt William had set out for him. Silence stretched between them, terrible and brittle enough to cut. Jeremy cast about for anything that would get him out of here and settled on the easiest lie: “I’ll think about it.”
“Good. That’s all I’m asking.”
She didn’t understand what she was asking, or she didn’t care. Jeremy didn’t want to know which. He tried to drag the conversation back on track with a peace offering: “I’ll bring the guidebooks back to campus with me.”
“Don’t bother. We ordered you a second set so you can keep one at either end. William knows where they are; see him before you head out.” At his weak nod, she finally crossed the room toward him. Gentle fingers smoothed his hair out of his face, and she hummed thoughtfully as she studied him. “It’s growing on me, but you’ll need to touch it up soon. I’ll tell Leslie to expect the charge.”
“Thank you.”
“Go on,” she said, letting go of him. “That’s all for now.”
He should have gone looking for the butler, but Jeremy made a beeline for the stairs instead. It was unsurprising to find Bryson waiting at the top for him. With him square in the middle of the landing, Jeremy had no choice but to stop two steps down and stare up at him. Bryson considered Jeremy with a heavy-lidded stare of lofty arrogance, his hands tucked deep in the pockets of his gray slacks.
“Personally, I’m glad you’re going to fail the test,” Bryson said. “It’d be disturbingly out of character if you finally got something right.”
“Let me by,” Jeremy said. “I need to get back to campus.”
Bryson’s smile was slow and oily. “I said, I’m glad you’re going to fail. The first few times you sit for it, anyway.” When Jeremy opened his mouth to argue, Bryson neatly spoke over him: “Tit for tat. You do this for me, and I’ll make sure Mom doesn’t find anything unexpected in your room the next time she goes on a scavenger hunt. What do you think?”
“That’s an empty threat. There’s nothing to find.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I bet I can find just about anything in there if I look hard enough.”
It took only a moment for Jeremy to understand. “Don’t you dare.”
“Please,” Bryson prompted him.