The Bollingdons. Old money, older attitudes, and the proud owners of both a yacht collection and a desperate desire to merge our families through marriage. Drake’s already doing his part, engaged to Lisa, Marcie’s best friend. And I’m the last hold-out, constantly dodging their not-so-subtle attempts to push me toward Marcie Bollingdon herself.
Marcie, who my mother calls “a lovely girl from a good family.” Which is rich-person code for “has the right connections and won’t embarrass us at charity galas.”
“Listen,” I cut in before he can start lecturing me about family obligations. “I can’t make the trip this summer. I’ve got research commitments.”
“Research?” He says it like it’s a dirty word. “You’re still playing with rocks?”
“Conducting a geochemical analysis of—” I stop myself. No point explaining the intricacies of my research to someone who thinks science is something that happensin pharmaceutical commercials. “Yes, Drake. I am, in fact, still playing with rocks.”
“Not a problem, little brother!” His tone is too cheerful. I immediately tense. “If you can’t come to Portugal, we’ll bring Portugal to you.”
“What?”
“We’ll do a weekend at Mountain Springs before we fly out. Rent one of those fancy Airbnb’s near your campus. Give you a chance to spend some quality time with Marcie.”
My stomach drops.
“Drake—”
“She’s been asking about you, you know. Says she misses your stimulating conversations about... whatever it is you talk about.”
I resist the urge to bang my head against the desk. The last “stimulating conversation” I had with Marcie was about whether plants and rocks have emotions. She was serious.
“I can’t.” I hear myself say. “I’m seeing someone.”
The silence on the other end is deafening. Then Drake laughs, the sound sharp and dismissive. “Right. You. Dating someone. Good one, baby bro.”
“I am,” I say, irritation making me reckless. “She’s amazing, actually.”
“Sure, sure. Let me guess—some alternative girl with blue hair who reads tarot cards? Or maybe one of those environmental activist types who chains herself to trees? Isn’t your cute little campus full of those?” His voice drips with condescension. “Save it, Alfie. We both know Mother and Father would never approve. Stop pretendingwith this little fling and just give Marcie a chance. She’s exactly what this family needs.”
“She’s nothing like that,” I snap, anger making my voice sharp. “She’s beautiful and smart and completely normal.”
What the fuck am I saying?
“Oh really?” Drake’s tone shifts from dismissive to challenging. “Well then, this is perfect. We’llallcome up in two weeks. Meet this new lady friend of yours. Maybe she and Marcie can be friends.”
Shit. Shit shit shit.
“Two weeks?” My voice cracks. “That’s?—”
“Perfect timing! Father’s between board meetings, and the Bollingdons are free. We can make a whole weekend of it.”
“Drake,” I warn.
“Can’t wait to meet this mystery woman, little brother.” His voice hardens. “Unless, of course, you’re lying. In which case, I’m sure Marcie would still love to go on a few dates.”
“You’ll meet her. Two weeks. Fine. I’ll see you on the 21st.”
The 21stof July. Fine. Perfect. I have two weeks to figure out what I’m going to do about this.
“Excellent! I’ll have my assistant make the arrangements.”
Drake’s mockingvoice echoes in my head, drowning out whatever Janine is saying about campus improvement.Two weeks, baby brother. Time’s ticking.
Janine’s excitement for cleaning up trash around the grounds would be remarkable if I were actually listening to her.
Instead, I’m replaying this morning’s phone call. Imagining Drake going on about Portugal plans, about Marcie’s excitement, about Mom’s hints regarding grandchildren. As ifMarcie Bollingdonand her perfect society manners are what I want in my future.
