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The wind follows his statement with a sudden gust that makes the leaves rustle like a sigh.
“I can’t imagine how Lord and Lady Blackwood would ever be displeased with you,” I say.
“If I’m honest, neither did I,” he replies. “I would consider myself the perfect son, really.”
I suppress a laugh, envious of his self-assurance.
“You would, would you?” I murmur. “The perfect son: clever, handsome, modest…”
“You think I’m handsome?”
“I said clever and modest.”
“You saidhandsome,” he says. He pulls his phone out of his pocket with his free hand and mutters, “I’m adding it to my collection of compliments.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever complimented you in my life.”
He opens a note and points his phone screen at me. “Here. Written, dated evidence.”
I peer at his screen. “I don’t remember ever complimenting your handwriting.”
“That’s worrying,” Zachary mutters as he types into his phone. “Maybe you’ve filled your memory with so many Keats stanzas that you’ve not left room for any core memories.”
“I don’t think telling you that you have nice handwriting counts as a core memory.”
He shakes his head. “Well, you calling me handsome counts as one ofmycore memories—and now you can never deny it.” He shows me his screen. “There—three compliments. Three compliments in almost seven years. That’s how stingy you are with them.”
“All of this, just so you don’t have to tell me what you did to annoy your parents.”
He laughs. “You didn’t ask.”
“I’m asking.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
I roll my eyes even though he’s not looking at me. “Of course not.”
“They want me to pursue politics,” he says after a short silence. “And I have no intention of doing so. Since they have no way of forcing me, a stalemate ensued, resulting in tension at the dinner table. There you go.”
I didn’t expect him to be so forthright, to deliver so much information. I don’t know why since Zachary never shies away from asking or answering questions. Zachary, for all his wit and arrogance and sarcasm, lives grounded in truth.
And part of me knows he would never deny me anything I asked.
“How do you know?” I ask. My voice almost breaks. “How do you know they have no way of forcing you?”
He shrugs. “What are they going to do? Lock me up and fill out my university applications for me? Force me to sit my exams at gunpoint? Chain me to a bench in the House of Lords chamber?”
His answer is like him, full of airy arrogance and sarcasm. But it sends ripples through me.
I find myself asking myself the same question: how could my father force me to return to Russia? Take me to the airport at gunpoint? Lock me up in his house and chain me to whatever husband he chooses for me?
My blood runs cold. My father is infamous for being a man who’s willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants. I wouldn’t put anything past him.
Zachary turns to fix me with a curious look. Maybe he felt the ice in my veins—sensed it somehow. He frowns. “So what happened with your family? Why was the atmosphere tense?”
I swallow, trying to keep my voice from giving away too much.
“Same as you,” I say finally. “General disagreement about the future.”
