He nods, and something flickers in his expression, like the tiniest bit of ache poking through the love and admiration.
“She showed up to everything, but she never let me see the stress.”
“Is that why you keep her out of the press now?”
“Yeah.” He exhales slowly. “I don’t talk about her in interviews. I want to keep her life as simple as possible. I don’t want someone dragging her into this world.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Your parents,” he says, glancing over at me. “What was your childhood like?”
“Not bad.” I shrug. “I had two parents, but they were more like coworkers with a bedroom down the hall. I grew up in boardrooms. I think I learned how to manage a relationship before I learned how to actually make a friend.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“Yeah,” I say, quiet but sad. “But I adapted. It’s probably why I’m good at managing chaos now.”
“Still…” His voice trails off. “It was just you, right? No siblings?”
“Just me," I tell him. “It’s not like I grew up without love or affection, though. My parents are wonderful. Sometimes I wished I had a sibling to keep me company, but then I think we’d just have fought each other for their attention. Mom and Dad were so busy in those days. That’s why I was so happy when they brought Luke over in the foreign exchange program when I was in high school.”
“You guys are close then?”
I laugh. “He’s just… he’s Luke. He’s my brother. I’ve never seen him as anything else.”
We fall into a comfortable silence after that. Not awkward, though I’m sure the mention of brothers possibly stirred a feeling in Oliver’s chest. It just feels like we’ve both said more than we usually do.
Outside the window, the city fades away into the landscape of the English countryside. Fields stretch endlessly, green and wide open, like a postcard come to life.
Everything’s fine on the highway. It’s easy and straight. But then Oliver turns on an exit and the roads narrow. Trees crowd in on both sides, like an illusion making it seem even smaller. There are no shoulders. Just hedges and stone walls, and quick, blind curves that appear out of nowhere.
“Fuck,” I mumble, grabbing the door handle. “Why is it so narrow, Oliver?”
He’s relaxed, like he’s done this a thousand times before, and he probably has. “It’s just a country lane. Relax.”
“Relax?” I hiss. “I can’t relax. These roads are narrow, almost fucking medieval. I’m sitting on the wrong side of the car, and we’re driving on the wrong side of the road, and it’s—”
“You’re fine,” he says calmly, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching out to take mine. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, Addie.”
Addie.
Myheart does a full-on Olympic routine in my chest, and it’s hard to hide. He says it so casually, so easily that it hits me harder than any sharp turn in the road. It’s like he’s called me that a thousand times in his head and has only slipped up and said it out loud.
His eyes flick toward me, panicked like he’s realized what he said. “Shit. Sorry, Addison.”
“No, it’s okay.” I tighten my grip on his hand, and not because of the roads. I smile over at him. “I like it,Ollie.”
He stares ahead at the road, like he’s trying not to smile, but I can see his ears turn pink.
By the time we reach his hometown, Stratton Wood, my death grip on the door handle loosens. The roads widen slightly as he drives through town, the car bouncing slightly along the cobbled streets. Quaint storefronts and Tudor-style buildings line the streets, connected by strings of Union Jack flags.
“Wow,” I marvel, pressing my hand to the window like there are fresh pastries on the other side calling my name. “This is the most British thing I’ve ever seen.”
Oliver laughs under his breath. “Is that good?”
