Nobody in Particular(94)

I take every opportunity possible to text Danni, but it doesn’t make me feel any less filthy. I wonder if being a walking lie is something you eventually adjust to.

“What’s Danni up to?” Alfie asks after I pull out my phone for the fifteenth time tonight.

I return it to my pocket, chastised. “I’m being rude, aren’t I?” I ask. “Sorry, sorry.”

Glancing at the room, I find Eleanor on the dance floor with Santi, holding one of his hands as they sway. She’s so enraptured by him she doesn’t notice me looking.

Looking past the dance floor, I see Mr. Paget-Harrington, standing with my parents and Mr. and Mrs. Smythe, parents of one of the younger Bramppath girls. Mrs. Smythe belongs to the alumni association along with Alfie’s mother. Mr. Paget-Harrington spies me looking, and gestures us over.

“Hide your phone,” Alfie warns. “Dad’ll rip you to shreds if he catches you. It’s his latest thing. Apparently screens kill brain cells.”

“Noted.”

We don identical smiles as we join the group.

“Rosemary,” Mrs. Smythe says, craning her neck to look up at me. She’s a short, bird-faced woman who I’ve never liked all that much. The fact that she is greeting only me by name, though she knows me at least as well as she knows Alfie, does not improve that fact. There’s an interesting note to her tone, but I can’t put my finger on what. “How nice to see you. You look lovely.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smythe. Did you enjoy the wedding?”

Dull, dull, generic, dull, dull.

I hope Molly’s with Danni, at least. This will be the first night I’m not able to check in on Danni at all, even if only for fifteen minutes before she falls asleep. I’m sure she’ll be fine, but still. She shouldn’t be alone. She should be here, with me.

“It was just beautiful. And the two of you will be next, yes?”

I laugh a little too loudly at this, before realizing she’s only half joking.

Alfie’s eyes flicker sideways in surprise, then he melts into a practiced, coy smile. “I think Rose would like to finish school first.”

“Sensible,” Mum agrees.

“Young girls spend too much time being sensible these days,” Mr. Paget-Harrington says, clapping me on the shoulder. Hard. “There’s nothing wrong with a little risk. A little romance. Helen and I were married by twenty, and look at us now.”

“If it’s right, it’s right,” Father agrees, and I look at him pointedly. He doesn’t meet my eye.

“Don’t wait too long,” Mrs. Smythe says, “or he might run out of patience.”

Alfie laughs and takes my hand. “No pressure, but I’m kind of a big deal. You wouldn’t want to lose me, now, would you?”

The group titters. My smile is becoming more and more forced. I know he’s only playing along, but it’s bordering on turning me into the villain if I don’t verbally agree with them all. It is, I think, a step beyond what’s necessary to sell us.

“Just be sure to keep us in the loop if you do decide to take the next step,” Mrs. Paget-Harrington adds. “We could perhaps use my mother’s ring. She would’ve loved the idea of Rosemary having it.”

This doesn’t seem like a particularly appropriate conversation to be holding around non-family members, and yet here we are. What an excellent way to start a rumor.

Excusing us, I walk Alfie to a quiet corner, and keep a steady smile on my face while I speak. Always assume the room is watching. If I haven’t learned that lesson by now, I never will. “Are we getting engaged now?” I ask. “Because I thought it was customary to check with each other first before diving into something like that?”

Alfie just laughs. “Of course not. They were joking.”

“Were they?”

“Yes, Rosie. We’re seventeen. That’s what happens when you’re around your parents and you’re a couple. You get teased.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t know,” I say, still forcing the same smile.

“What, you don’t want to follow me to Oxford?” he asks, his eyes glittering.

“I’ll happily visit you at Oxford. How about that?”

“Maybe you should consider it. Your father isn’t all wrong, you know.” He pauses. “Have you … put much thought into your future at all?”

“We’re only in fifth year.”

“I know. But then suddenly, we’re going to be in sixth. And then, who knows? I admit, I’ve been curious. What happens to you in the long term? Are you planning on marrying?”

“I suppose so, yes. One day.”

He nods thoughtfully. “And I’d hazard a guess you’d want a husband who’s happy to cover for you while you partake in … other activities behind the scenes?”

“I imagine it would be rather difficult if he weren’t happy.”

“So do I.” He gives me a mischievous grin. “In that case, you know, you could do a lot worse than me.”

“Are you volunteering?” I tease.

He stops grinning, and I almost forget to keep my own expression pleasant. “Are you … volunteering?” I repeat.

He only shrugs.

“But why?” I ask, nonplussed. “If you’re honestly being serious, why on earth would you volunteer to marry me when you don’t lo—” I catch myself, and look at him in questioning horror.