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27
NICOLE
One of the few things Papa taught me is that water and oil never mix.
You can jam them together, shake them for eternity, but the moment they’re in a static state, they each retreat to their respective worlds.
That’s what Astrid and I are. Water and very flaming oil.
Ever since I first met her when we were fifteen, she was this free spirit who rebelled against what was expected and couldn’t care less about her aristocratic blood.
She has Uncle Henry’s fortune, name, and connections at the tip of her fingers, but never made use of them.
If anything, she abhorred them, and our life, and me—rightfully so considering I acted like a bitch toward her.
All because of the twat sitting beside me.
We dressed up, or I did anyway, pulling a dress over my head and covering my arms with the shawl.
Daniel is only in some shorts he grabbed from the wardrobe. His hair is a beautiful mess of light brown locks, falling over his forehead haphazardly.
His expression is still sleepy, bored even. His stance is definitely the latter judging by how his long legs are stretched, crossed at the ankles, and he has both his hands interlinked behind his head.
In this position, his abs contract, visible for anyone to see. Namely Astrid, who’s been pacing for the past ten minutes.
Is it wrong that I want to momentarily blind her so she doesn’t look at him? Yeah, it probably is. Doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it.
“Sit down, you’re giving me a headache worse than my hangover.”
Astrid comes to a screeching halt and glares at him. She’s shorter than me, has long brown hair, and eyes so green they compete with the brightest grass.
She’s wearing simple short overalls and white tennis shoes. Nothing fancy, nothing flashy. This has been her fashion sense since we were teens.
Even though she’s now a renowned artist and married into the richest family in the country, nothing’s really changed about her looks or how she handles herself.
“Oh my God, look at that. You actually have a voice that you could’ve used to, I don’t know, call and tell me you’re in England after eleven years of leaving the country. That’s a decade and one year. Not a big deal or anything.”
“I didn’t know you added drama queen to your hobbies. As your friend, I must tell you it doesn’t suit you.”
“And it suits you?”
“I’m not the one screaming the whole house down and scaring my staff away, Bug. They’ll drink tea in your honor and call you a crazy hag behind your back.”
“I’m talking about your endless excuses to not come home.”
“Home is overrated.”
“And so is your reason for not coming to England.” She flops on the chair opposite us, crossing her arms like a stern teacher. “Now, let’s talk about another important issue. Have you grown tired of shagging your way through the States so you settled for her?”
My cheeks heat. For some reason, I remained invisible from their conversation and I’m not sure why I thought that would continue until she screams her head off and leaves.
I don’t know why I was slightly relieved that Daniel extended his lash of sarcasm to her as well.
“Her is Nicole,” he says and I startle, then I smile, fighting the urge to get up and kiss him.
Astrid be damned.
She narrows her eyes on me and speaks with pure mockery. “Don’t I know it?”
