Nobody in Particular(99)

I grit my teeth. I’m furious, but there’s something about his tone that makes me believe him. Whether or not it’s a blessing is another question altogether. What’s worse? The idea that my parents would separate me from my girlfriend without good cause, or the idea that my parents are unrelated to this, and therefore I’m not able to bargain with them to reverse the decision?

Although …

“Perhaps you can help, then,” I say.

“Help?”

“You’re my publicist. Manage this. If you talk to the headmaster, I’m sure you can make him see how unnecessary this all is.” And, failing that, I can always ask my parents to step in. What’s more intimidating, after all? The alumni association, or the monarchy?

William is silent for long enough that I know his answer without him needing to speak. “Why not?” I snap.

“I know you care for the girl, really, I do. But perhaps this is for the best. If she isn’t at Bramppath, there’s no risk of you being caught with her. Cold turkey, so to speak.”

“William!”

“I did my best to stop Danni from being punished for the crime of your relationship, Rose. But Danni got herself into this situation, and my job is not to protect her. It’s not to do what you want me to do. It’s to protect your reputation, first and foremost.”

I rise from my spot on the edge of my bed and start pacing my bedroom, agitated. “Well, perhaps if I lose Danni, I won’t much care what my reputation looks like. Perhaps I’ll take up a streaking habit. Or maybe I’ll pop a pill or two at a state dinner, god knows it’ll liven the night up for me. Or—”

“I think,” William interrupts wryly, “there could be a more productive approach.”

I stop pacing in the middle of the carpet. “Oh?”

“Yes. For example, if there were a bigger, more positive story concerning yourself, that would go a long way toward drowning out the speculation in all but the trashiest tabloids. And if that story gave readers cause to doubt the rumors regarding your sexuality…”

It doesn’t take a genius to pick up on the implication. “You mean something to do with Alfie and me?”

William proceeds carefully. “You know, your parents seem quite convinced you and Alfie may end up married one day. Were you aware?”

“It’s not the first I’ve heard of it, no.”

“Well, as far as a strategic match, you could do worse. He’s media competent, from a good family, he’s good-looking…”

I wait for him to get to the point, and, thankfully, he does.

“If this is something you feel would suit you down the track, then I would recommend an early engagement. The timing couldn’t be better.”

Though I knew where he was heading with this, it’s still astounding to hear him verbalize it. “I’m seventeen.”

“Yes, and marriage would be ludicrous at present. But if you were to undertake a lengthy engagement, would that be different in any substantial way than simply waiting to become engaged? Time will pass either way, but if it passes with a ring on your finger, you might see these rumors finally quelled.”

And then it won’t make a difference where Danni is, or if I accidentally glance at her.

“Unless you were hoping to wait until you meet the right man,” William says with an air of levity. I suppose, again, I see his point. But this is all happening so fast.

But Danni.

“What you’re suggesting is rather enormous,” I say. “All in exchange for you simply speaking to the headmaster?”

“This isn’t a deal for me. It’s a suggestion for you.”

“Oh, but it is, though. Because as you said, your job is to manage my reputation. This would make you look quite successful at that, wouldn’t it?”

It’s William’s turn to be silent.

“I would have conditions,” I say finally. “I would need a number of reassurances regarding Danni. Keeping her safe and happy will very much become a part of your job, because if it doesn’t, I swear to you, I will break off that engagement during a balcony appearance.”

When William replies, there’s a smile in his voice. It makes me queasy. “We can discuss conditions,” he says. “Lay out your terms.”





FORTY-TWO

DANNI




I try my best to do what Rose said and distract myself, I swear, but nothing works. A part of me feels like I should pack, but that also kind of feels like giving up. So, I kill some time by practicing in the ballroom—for what might be the last time—and spend the whole session turning over every second of the last week in my mind while my fingers fly over the keys on muscle memory. It’s like I think if I ruminate for long enough, I’ll get a eureka moment. Nothing hits, though.

By the time the afternoon rolls around and people get out of class, there’s only one thing I can think of that I want to do.

Harriet seems surprised to see me. She keeps the doorway blocked with her body and gives me a look that says she’s not sure whether to bolt or not. I suck in a deep breath and try to give off calm vibes. “Hey. Can we talk real quick? In private?”

After a long, awkward pause, she steps aside. Her room is, as usual, neat. Like, startlingly neat. The way the bedsheets are folded and tucked in you’d think there’s a trained hospital nurse making it. She’s got no notes lying around, no textbooks strewn on the floor or jeans hanging over her computer chair. I guess it makes sense for an RA. Someone who’s got this much of a handle on their own room can surely be trusted to keep an eye on others’ rooms, right?