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“Mum?” I asked. I’d never heard an American use the word.
“Well, that’s what they say in England,” he said good-naturedly. “I don’t think she’d really like Mom.”
I blinked, missing something. “Your mother is English?”
Adam nodded. “Yeah, she’s from Hampshire. Dad’s the American, and so am I.” He winked, and I found it oddly charming.
I chuckled. I didn’t know why I found it so funny for Adam to say that. Maybe because the way he said it was so distinctly American himself, threaded with a cultural disdain for titles and aristocracy and things like that.
Honestly, I hadn’t known I’d even felt that way until I was here.
We walked a bit farther into the tent, away from the line of people, but toward a quieter section that was blocked off a bit from the noise of the crowd. The game had started again, but if I was being honest, I had no interest in watching. Not after what I’d just heard in the drinks line. I knew if I went out there now, I’d be obsessed with how many other women were currently making plans on how best to run into Xavier with every goal he scored. Meanwhile, I’d also be conscious of just how many of them had figured out who I was and were watching me too.
“What?” I asked when I caught Adam staring.
“Nothing,” he said. “You just…you look so different.”
“Well, so do you. It’s called not wearing stained elementary school teacher hand-me-downs, don’t you think?”
It was a joke, of course, but Adam shook his head. “I didn’t mean that. I’ve seen you gussied up before. This is different, though. You look like one of them.”
He cocked his head and continued to scan me up and down, well past the point where I felt comfortable.
I looked down at the polka dots and touched the brim of my hat with a gloved hand. “Er. I don’t feel it.”
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just surprised, that’s all. Never thought of you as the hat and gloves type.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Did I really look so odd in what was essentially a nice summer dress and a big hat? Apparently so.
“Xavier’s stepmother—” I started.
“The Duchess Georgina, you mean?” Adam interrupted.
I frowned. Did he know her too? “Yeah.”
Adam chuckled as if at his own private joke. “She’s a character, that’s for sure.”
“I didn’t realize you knew the Parkers so well,” I said. “I thought you and Xavier just ran into each other at Eton. You barely seemed to remember each other in New York.”
He stiffened slightly, like he’d been caught in a lie. “Ah, well, I don’t. Not really. Mum knows her. They grew up together, so I see her around whenever I visit family here. Plus, don’t forget that Xavier and I never really saw eye to eye. We pretty much avoided each other like the plague in grade school.”
“A bit more than just a diplomat’s son, then?” I prodded.
Adam finally looked a little bit sheepish. “Maybe a little, yeah. But it’s not really who I am. This suit is just a costume. Probably like that dress.”
There was an awkward pause until I realized he was staring again. Did I look that strange?
“I was just saying that Georgina thought I needed a stylist,” I admitted. “Xavier wanted me to come to these things with him, and she didn’t think I owned anything appropriate. She was probably right. All I can afford on a teacher’s salary is Target and the Goodwill.”
Adam shrugged. “So you got some new clothes. Nothing wrong with that. The red dress worked out pretty well for you.”
I chuckled. “The red dress was mine. She was pretty mad about the Ortham Ball, apparently. I got a big lecture on it this morning. They had this giant pink thing picked out for me that made me look like cotton candy. I changed it last minute.”
Adam grinned. “Well, I wasn’t disappointed. Gutsy move, though. Francesca Zola, Yankee rebel. Never knew you had it in you.”
I shrugged. “Xavi asked me to wear red, so I did.”
At Xavier’s name, Adam’s smile vanished. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but do you do everything he tells you?”
