“More like she’s on three different advisory boards with him.” His jaw tenses. “I’m sorry. I should have checked the family’s summer social calendar. I didn’t realize?—”
“This is getting kind of big,” I mumble. What started as helping him avoid one awkward family dinner is spiraling into somethingmuchmore complicated. “What if someone recognizes me from class? Or asks about our relationship? Or?—”
“I know.” He steps closer, and for a moment I think he’s going to touch me. He doesn’t. I hate how much I desperately want him too. “You can say no. I’ll figure something out.”
I look up at him, catching something almost vulnerable in his expression. “What would happen? If I said no?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.” But his voice is tight. “Mother would just... adjust some things.”
“What things? Eurgh, just...” I take a shaky breath. “Just tell me what I need to know. About the university politics and donor stuff. I don’t want to mess this up for you.”
His hand drops from my face and he takes a step back, suddenly looking tired. “You really want to know how fucked up my family is?”
“Tell me.”
“They’ve got their fingers ineverything- research grants, faculty appointments, building funds. And theyloveto remind me that my PhD funding comes with strings.” He lets out a harsh laugh. “Sorry - that’s not your problem. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”
“Hey.” I catch his arm before he can retreat further. “Talk to me. What kind of strings?”
He won’t quite meet my eyes. “The Spencer Family Foundation funds most of the geology department’s research. Including my boss’ summer project. My Grandpa set it up years ago. He has a trust that gives money to CalTech andUMS but now...” He sucks in a breath. “Mother’s made it clear that if I don’t ‘maintain appropriate family connections’ whatever that means, things might get... complicated.”
“They’d really pull your funding? Their own son?”
“You don’t know my family.” His voice is bitter. “They think they’re doing me a favor. Teaching me about the real world or whatever bullshit they tell themselves. To them,everything’sa transaction. Even family.”
“That’s messed up.”
“Yeah.” He finally looks at me, and something in his expression makes my chest hurt. “Look, I’ll figure something else out. You didn’t sign up for all this?—”
“I’ll do it.” The words come out before I can second-guess them.
“Tara-”
“No, listen. They can’t just- just hold your future hostage like that. Not over some stupid social politics.” I realize I’m still gripping his arm and make myself let go. “Besides, how hard can one donor dinner be?”
His lips quirk slightly. “You say that now. Wait until you meet the board of trustees.”
“Bring it on. I’ve survived family Thanksgiving with my drunk uncle doing magic tricks. I can handle some stuffy academics.”
He smiles. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“I know.” I bump his shoulder. “Now tell me everything about these trustees before I completely freak out. And Alfie?” I wait until he looks at me. “Your family sucks.”
He actually laughs at that, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah. They really do.”
The next morning,we’re in Alfie’s room while he briefs me on the trustees I might meet at dinner. He’s been pacing, scratching his stubble, his jaw clenching and unclenching. It’s unfairly distracting.
“And Richard Delany is basically a massive douchebag I try to avoid...” Alfie continues, but I’ve lost track of which wealthy asshole is which. The message is clear enough: smile, be charming, don’t give his mother any ammunition.
I’ve deliberately planted myself at his desk, the furthest possible point from where he keeps stopping to lean against his dresser. It’s a strategic choice. Because we’re both completely sober now, and it’s the first time we’ve been in a small space together since the other night. There’s this pull between us I can’t ignore. Every time he moves, I track it. Every gesture, every frustrated sigh, it’s like my body’s tuned to his frequency.
“Are you even listening?” He stops pacing to look at me, really look at me, and heat crawls up my neck.
“Absolutely. Delany’s a douchebag. Got it.”
His lips quirk. “And the other fifteen people I just mentioned?”
“Also probably douchebags?”
