Читать книгу London Falling - Chanel Cleeton - Страница 9

CHAPTER FIVE

Samir

I LEANED BACK in my chair while the professor droned on. I hated the first day of school. In theory, I didn’t hate the material. I actually didn’t mind my major. I just hated the inevitability of it all.

This—me being here—was all a big joke. My grades didn’t matter. The material didn’t matter. None of it mattered. I was here for one reason—so my parents would have something to brag about to their friends. I was here because Khouris went to university. It didn’t matter how we did there, because we all joined one of the family businesses eventually. In my case, politics.

When I was a kid in Beirut, I’d told my mother I wanted to be a policeman. It wasn’t a well-thought-out career plan, but I was six and there was a TV show I really liked with a cool cop. She’d laughed and looked vaguely horrified.

That was when I’d learned I was meant to be a clone of my father.

Today, the first day of classes, felt like the start of a ticking time bomb.

“Enjoy your last summer of freedom,” my father had announced when I’d come home in May. “After graduation next summer, you’ll be married.”

I’d just turned twenty-three. I wasn’t ready to be much of a boyfriend to anyone, let alone a husband. But with Layla it wouldn’t matter. We both knew what we were getting into, understood the rules. We’d have a marriage just like our parents had—cold, indifferent, all flash and no substance.

It wasn’t Layla’s fault. She was pretty enough, nice enough. She was elegant and lovely, really. But I couldn’t talk to her like I talked to Maggie. She didn’t challenge me, didn’t fight with me. She didn’t make me laugh. She didn’t drive me crazy. She didn’t haunt my dreams or my every waking thought.

It wasn’t Layla’s fault; it was mine. I didn’t have the balls to stop this, even though I knew how wrong it was. Layla didn’t deserve to be saddled with someone like me; she just didn’t know to expect any better. She’d been raised the same way I had—we were both fulfilling the roles we’d been given despite the small, temporary reprieve.

It was a tradition of sorts. They gave you a limited amount of time. Time to go to some fancy Western university to get a piece of paper that was basically worthless for all we needed it. In my case, I got a little extra time—time to make sure my English was where my father wanted it to be. A year of studying in Boston before I went to the International School.

Every guy I knew from my world had a job waiting for him when he got back home. We had a few years to blow off steam, to party, to see the world, but when time was up, we were expected to go back to being the person they wanted us to be, to thinking the way they wanted us to think, to playing by their rules. On graduation day, we were supposed to flip a switch and forget everything, leaving the lives we’d built behind us like they were nothing.

Maybe I should have been grateful for the time I’d had. Maybe I was lucky I’d gotten that at all. But now, selfishly, impossibly, I wanted more. I had nine months of freedom left, and there was only one person I wanted to spend them with.

Maggie

“HOW WAS YOUR first day?” Michael asked. He sat down across from me at the dinner table, tray in hand. He was one of my closest friends—and my only American friend in London.

“It was good. Classes were interesting. No major disasters. You?”

“Boring as hell.” He grimaced, poking at his food. “What is this? Is it just me, or has the food gotten even worse this year?”

I stared at the lumpy mess on my plate. It was supposed to be some kind of Indian food. Not so much. The cafeteria food was a huge disappointment for a school as fancy as the International School.

“It’s definitely worse,” Fleur announced, sinking down into the seat next to mine.

“Did you manage to make it to any of your classes today?” I teased. When I’d left for mine this morning, she’d been curled up in bed, fast asleep.

Fleur rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom. I went to half of them.”

“Didn’t you only have two?” Michael interjected.

“Yes. So what?”

I shook my head, affection and exasperation filling me. “So technically you only made it to one class.”

“Or I only skipped one,” Fleur countered. “I’m improving.”

I laughed. “True. I guess it’s a matter of perspective.”

“What’s a matter of perspective?”

Heat rolled over me. Do not look up. Do not look up.

Samir stood over me, a smile on his face. Our gazes held for a moment before he sat down next to Michael, directly across from me. I stared down at my plate like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Do not look up.

I hated my reaction to him, hated that he made me this uncomfortable. I was entirely too self-aware, hyper-conscious of the fact that all of my lipstick had rubbed off and my hair was frizzing. I felt hot and edgy and flustered and off-balance.

“What did I miss?”

Thankfully Fleur answered for all of us. “Maggie and Michael giving me shit over my attendance—or lack thereof—for the first day of classes.”

Samir laughed. “Nice to see little has changed since last year.”

Bad choice of words. This time I did look at him. And glare. Apparently he was right. Little had changed. He still had a girlfriend. In the light of sobriety, I was still kind of pissed. I might have agreed to put things behind us, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. Or him.

“How was your day?”

I mean, why did he have to sit with us? Didn’t he have other friends? Where was Omar? Where was the rest of his Arab posse? If we were going to do “just friends,” I needed a break. He needed to disappear, just for a little while, long enough for me to get my head on straight.

“Maggie?”

My head jerked up. Samir shot me a quizzical look. “I asked how your day was.”

I blinked. Why didn’t he just announce to the entire table that we’d boned? Samir didn’t ask people how their day was, and everyone knew it.

“Fine.” My voice came back as an awkward squeak. “It was fine.”

“Any hot guys in your classes?” Fleur asked, thankfully oblivious to the undercurrent of nerves and awkwardness swirling around the table.

My face heated. “Not really. There aren’t exactly any hot guys in the International Relations department.”

“Really? Not a single one?” Samir drawled.

We had the same major. It was petty of me, but I couldn’t resist the urge to take a jab at him.

“Nope. None whatsoever.” I took a sip from my drink, annoyance filling me. Fuck him. “It’s a shame, really. I’ve heard the finance guys are pretty hot. Maybe I should take some finance classes.” I flashed a smile that was all teeth and no joy.

Fleur grinned. “The finance guys are pretty fine.”

I leaned forward, some perverse part of me wanting to screw with Samir. “Have you seen Alessandro Marin yet? He looks amazing this year. I saw him in the hall and he was wearing this gray shirt and jeans. His body—”

Samir stood up, pushing back from the table and lifting his tray. A scowl marred his handsome face.

Fleur frowned. “Where are you going?”

“Out. The food sucks tonight.” He shot me a look that said everything. He was pissed, and he definitely knew what I was doing.

I flinched, staring after his retreating back, a sinking feeling in my gut. I hadn’t lied when I’d said I wanted things to be normal between us. But everything felt so messed up. I was angry, and I’d never had much success resisting the urge to screw with him. But I also missed him. I couldn’t imagine my sophomore year without Samir in it. Somehow we needed to find a way to get past this thing between us. I needed to get to a point where we could be in the same room together without driving each other nuts.

“Speaking of guys—what’s the deal with George?” Fleur asked.

I blinked, tearing my gaze away from Samir. “Excuse me?”

“George. The residence life guy. The one who brought me flowers in the hospital. Aren’t you friends with him?”

I felt like my brain was struggling to keep up with the conversation. “Yeah. He’s nice. Why?”

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Fleur announced.

I’d seen the way George looked at Fleur, so I wasn’t so sure about that. “Why?”

“I ran into him today and I said hi. He looked at me like I had two heads. It was totally weird.”

Michael snorted. “At least one guy is immune to your charms.”

“Only you, baby, and that’s because you play for the other team.”

Michael laughed. “True. But if I were straight, I’d definitely try to get in your pants.”

Fleur blew him a kiss. “That’s because you have exquisite taste.” She turned her attention back to me. “Seriously though, what do you think his problem is? It was kind of rude.”

“I don’t think you should take it personally. He’s just shy.”

“I guess. But I said hi. It wasn’t a big deal. How hard would it have been for him to say hi back?”

Given Fleur’s reputation? I tried to be diplomatic. “I think you may intimidate him.”

Fleur rolled her eyes. “Not that Ice Queen shit again.”

“He may have mentioned it once or twice.”

“I’m so sick of that stupid nickname. And the asshole who gave it to me,” she muttered.

“And who was that?”

Fleur scowled at me. “Someone not worth talking about.”

“It was well-earned,” Michael teased.

I shot him a look. After everything Fleur had been through last year, I was scared of anything that might send her into a rebound. I alternated between wanting to treat her with care and trying to act like everything was normal. She wouldn’t really talk about what had happened—about me finding her on the floor surrounded by pills—but she seemed better. I still couldn’t get the image of her lifeless body out of my mind.

“I’m not an ice queen.” The hurt in Fleur’s voice surprised me.

“I know you’re not,” I answered. “But maybe you should try letting everyone else see that, too.”

“So what, I’m supposed to smile at everyone and start talking about my feelings all the time? I’m not that girl.”

“Tell me about it,” Michael joked under his breath. I elbowed him. “What? She’s not. We all know it.”

“You’re fine. Exactly as you are.” I was probably the last person who should be giving romantic advice, but I couldn’t resist. I’d seen her struggles with Costa firsthand—I desperately wanted her to find a nice guy. One who didn’t fuck around with her heart.

“Find a guy who doesn’t want to change you. A guy who loves you when you’re bitchy. We love you when you’re bitchy—mostly. The right guy will, too.”

Fleur made it hard for people to get close to her. There was the public version she gave the world—the girl who kept a tight circle of friends, wasn’t accepting of new people and appeared to glide through life, looking down on us mere mortals. Then there was the private Fleur—the friend I’d gotten to know and love—who was fiercely loyal and protective. The girl who made you laugh and could show you the time of your life.

She was quiet for a moment. “Maybe I’ll see if George wants to grab coffee or something. I never did thank him for bringing me those flowers.”

George was one of the sweetest guys I’d met in London. But I also knew Fleur. She was my best friend and I loved her to death, but she was still a bit of a mess. George wasn’t exactly the kind of guy you practiced on.

“Be careful with him, Fleur. He’s a nice guy.”

A flash of hurt crossed her face. “And what? You think I can’t handle a nice guy?”

“No. I think you need a nice guy more than anything. But George has had a crush on you for a while now, and he’s my friend, too. I don’t want to see him get hurt.” I knew firsthand how it felt to want someone you knew was out of your league, how much it hurt when they didn’t want you back. “Just be careful. Please.”