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The paparazzi had found my home.
What the fuck was I going to do now?
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
Over the next few days, I resisted going outside as much as possible. I wanted desperately to patch things over with Augustus, but the slowly swelling crowd of press prevented me from doing much of anything. My public display of affection toward Cruz certainly caused an influx. It wasn’t what I thought would happen. Now our first solo lovemaking session was all over the papers, and people were claiming I was cheating on Augustus, rebounding after his rejection, or I was an American tart who needed to be deported immediately for my indiscretions.
Sorry, assholes. Thatwasn’thow immigration worked.
Luckily, there were plenty of Christmas leftovers to devour. Riva and I got caught up onEastEndersreruns while Cruz and Jeremy braved the crowd to prepare for Mad Lurcher’stour. It was as good an attempt as any to keep my mind off my out-of-control life.
It didn’t help matters when Linda called me and asked me to think extremely hard about my future with Estate Styles.
A few days after Christmas, I finally ventured out of the apartment with the others. There were still some straggling paparazzi, but most had obviously gotten bored with my lack of scandalous actions and headed off to enjoy what was left of the holidays with their families.
Cruz, Jeremy, Riva, Ruben, and I were all on a high-speed train to the north of the country, and I was looking forward to having a break from everything.
The three-and-a-half-hour trip took us through the heart of England, past rolling hills covered in snow and cute villages. Every so often, I caught sight of a manor house or castle in the distance.
“I think I’m in love with England.” I sank back against our shared first-class booth seat with a sigh.
Cruz sipped from his glass of red wine. “In lovewithEngland, or in loveinEngland?”
A smile touched my lips. “Both.”
“It certainly seems she has a thing for Englishmen,” Ruben said without looking up from his science textbook. He’d been reading up a storm and making loads of notes for the entire trip.
“Ahem…” Riva arched her eyebrow. “Do I look like a man to you?”
Ruben paused. “My apologies.”
“Let’s amend the statement to Englishpeople,” I suggested.
“I love getting out of London to see the country I fought for. As much as I love my home city, Londoners are cold and disengaged. But out here, the people are kind and inviting. You could half expect to sit in a pub with a total stranger and have a good chat over a pint or a sweet old marm to take you into her kitchen for some tea and cake. It’s what the UK’s all about, and I love it.” Jeremy painted such a delightful picture of his homeland. My heart swelled.
“Did you know the UK has the best B&Bs in the entire world?” Riva said it as more like a statement, but I answered the question anyway.
“They do?”
“Yes. Some small villages even have more B&Bs than regular private homes. In fact, five were voted in the top ten best B&Bs in the world.” She flipped a page in her fashion magazine.
“I’m afraid we’re not staying in a B&B. We must stay the night with my family.” Cruz looked as though he was about to be tortured in the worst possible way.
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Bloody fucking brilliant. I’m so looking forward to this.”
“You guys will be fine. You’ll have us.” I shrugged.
“I think we’re going to have fun.”
Cruz was quick to ruin Riva’s hopefulness. “Fun? With my parents? You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”
We didn’t need to catch a cab or an Uber out to the Huntington Estate. We were sent a chauffeured car instead. I gazed out the window of a classic black Rolls Royce and gaped at the imposing stone building that seemed to stretch out forever. It wasn’t as big as Kensington Palace, but it was certainly a good contender.
Jeremy looked at his cousin. “You ready, mate?”
“No,” Cruz moaned.
The car came to a stop, and Jeremy opened the door right as a butler reached for the handle.
