There was a pause in which David realized he needed a different tack.
“That doesn’t make you a coward,” David stated matter-of-factly. He spared a glance toward the ground. “It actually makes you smart. From this height, there’s no guarantee you’d even die. You could simply end up getting a horrendous injury, which could turn you into a braindead vegetable or put you in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.”
Zeke shot him a sharp look, and David shrugged.
“Just sayin’.”
Zeke looked away again. “I just can’t think of anything to live for,” he mumbled after a beat.
“I can,” David replied. “Burritos, movie sequels, filling the seniors’ pillowcases with shaving cream . . . ”
“Ugh, stop it, David.” Zeke groaned. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I,” David replied. “I also think your parents would surely prefer a living failure of a son to a dead failure of a son.”
To his satisfaction, that got a crack of a smile out of Zeke.
“Plus, I do suspect you’re exaggerating this whole ‘man-child’ thing,” David went on. “I, for one, have never seen a child with a beard as dark and luscious as yours. Hell, I can’t grow anything near as sexy. Even if you do go bald, you could totally pull off the ‘convertible.’ Chicks dig that.”
Zeke scoffed and rolled his eyes, though the smile on his lips kept spreading.
David briefly wondered what his birth parents might think of him—if they’d be proud to have a son at Harvard or if they wouldn’t care at all what he’d done with his life.
Not that it was at all relevant right now, when they were both still dangling off a roof.
“So, Zeke,” David concluded, patting the man on the back, “in short: suck it up. We’re going back inside, and you’re going to swallow your pride and go to tutoring or whatever it takes for you to start feeling better about life.”
Zeke sighed. “All right,” he grumbled. “I’ll try out this whole . . . living thing for a little while longer.” He gave David a rueful half-smile.
David still felt concerned about his friend, but for now, getting him off this roof to safety would be enough. He scooted backward, pulling his legs onto the hard surface, and rose slowly to his feet. He stepped away from Zeke, toward the center, to make room for him to twist around and move to safer ground.
“Thanks for being here, David,” Zeke mumbled.
David turned back to see Zeke approaching with his arms outstretched for an apparent bro hug and caught sight of the boy’s loose shoelace a second too late. Zeke tripped as he stepped closer to David, jerked in a failed motion to correct himself, and fell—backward.
David lunged for him with speed he hadn’t known he possessed. His fists closed around the man’s shirt, and for a terrifying moment, he was certain he was going to join Zeke in plunging off the edge. He lost balance as he attempted to both stall his momentum and thrust all his weight backward, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins somehow managed the stunt. He dug his heels in at an angle, and a heartbeat later, his back hit the floor behind him with a thud that sent pain rocketing through his entire body.
Zeke landed directly on top of him, his face crashing into David’s. If he hadn’t jerked his head to the side in time, they would have broken each other’s noses. As it was, Zeke’s nose dove into David’s throat, choking him.
As gently as he could, David pushed Zeke off, freeing his chest so he could breathe again. Both boys lay gasping for several minutes, trying desperately to catch their breath. Finally, David shifted onto his stomach with a wince. He glanced back at the edge, then at Zeke, who was still panting, and blew out.
“Well . . . you got your hug.”
Zeke snorted a shaky laugh.
“Next time you want one, can you please not try while we’re on a roof?” He rose slowly on his hands and knees, Zeke following suit a moment later.
As they made their way back to the skylight—exclusively crawling—and slipped down into the attic, it occurred to David that, after all this, they could both probably do with a healthy outlet for their stress before they lost their minds completely. Harvard was no joke.
* * *
Back in his room to collect some books, David realized he’d received another text, which he’d missed during his dealings with Zeke. He tapped it open and gazed down at the message.
“Hi . . . You brought my friend back safely last night. We just wanted to say a proper thanks . . . Could you text me back? We’d like to meet up.”
David frowned. A proper thanks. Who was this? Was it that brunette girl, Michelle, or . . . Underwear Girl, whom he’d seen in the window? Both had already thanked him for bringing the girl back, but he’d had much less interaction with the latter. And for that reason, his gut told him it was more likely to be her.
Which sent an involuntary thrum through his chest.
He positioned his thumbs over the screen to type a reply, the back of his throat suddenly feeling a touch dryer. Had she been the unknown caller from earlier?
“Hi,” he began. “Sorry for the delay. Been kind of busy. And, um, you’re welcome—really not a big deal. But sure. Okay. When would you like to meet? Call back if you like—I should be more or less available for the rest of the day. -David.”
He read it over once, and as he hit send, he felt a tiny hum of anticipation. He remembered that smile of hers, the sound of her voice when she’d called his name. And the unexpected warmth that had filled him . . .
He had to get on with things now. But for some reason, now that he was waiting on this call, the rest of the day already felt a little bit brighter.
10
Katy
Katy ambled toward the cashier, her gaze trailing along the rows of bookshelves. Her arms were filled with new copies of the textbooks Cassie had thrown up on. She had everything she needed now, but she couldn’t help but dawdle. It wasn’t often the campus bookstore was this empty, and it held the quiet, comforting serenity that only a bookstore or library could hold.
That, and she was still puzzling over her confrontation with Connor. She’d caught up to him after storming out on Mrs. Clarke and asked him in no uncertain terms what he was doing spreading lies about her. Of course, he’d claimed that although Mrs. Clarke might have overheard him gossiping about it, the rumor hadn’t come from him. Supposedly, he’d overheard a group of girls talking about it during lunch break, though he couldn’t remember their names.
It sounded like a convenient story, but Katy didn’t have the time or patience to pursue it further now. She was pretty sure she’d done an effective job of scaring Connor into not messing with her in the future, assuming he was the culprit. There was probably no point—while Katy had always believed that college kids were sophisticated adults, the gossip around here seemed to be stuck at high-school level.
Still, the incident irked her.
She reached the counter and plopped her books down, then fished in her bag for her student ID. When she placed it in front of the cashier, the woman glanced at it for a moment before giving Katy a narrow-eyed look.
Katy’s stomach dropped.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look a bit like the Princess of Lorria?” the woman asked curiously. “You know, Princess Katerina De Courtey?”
Before Katy could answer, the woman’s coworker popped up from behind the desk. She gazed at Katy with wide eyes. “Katerina De Courtes,” she corrected, seeming offended in her French accent. “And yes, my, my! You do look a lot like her. I follow all the European tabloids, so I should know! She’s stunning.”
Katy groaned internally. For the most part, her black hair, green contact lenses, and some strategically placed contouring were enough to hide her identity in America, where she was less of a household name. Trouble usually arose when she met fellow Europeans, particularly European girls. Cassie was lucky in this regard—she wasn’t nearly as well-known as Katy, even in Europe, which was why she hadn’t bot
hered with a disguise, just a change of surname.
Katy, on the other hand, had been in this situation a few times already since arriving at Harvard, thanks to the campus being so damn cosmopolitan. Still, she’d managed to keep her cool and successfully brush the questioners off. She could do it again now—she hoped.
You’ve got this.
Katy smiled and took a deep breath. “Aw, well if she’s pretty, I guess . . . thanks?” she replied in her best American accent. “I wish I were a princess.”
The French girl smirked. “Yeah, me too. I’d sell my soul to have a royal wedding. Especially one organized by the De Courteses. Apparently, they’re planning to spend a fortune to make it the most extravagant wedding the world has ever seen. Once their girl finally gets hitched, of course.” She chuckled. “She’s been dating that hot Russian dude for like, years now. He’s got to pop the question sometime soon. I’m hoping to get tickets.”
As the French woman ducked beneath the counter again, Katy had to work extremely hard to hide her grimace. Clearly, no official announcement had been made yet about their split, most likely because both of the families involved had been hoping there was still a chance they’d become an item again. Still, Katy supposed she didn’t really care. The more outdated the press’s information was, the less intrusive their articles felt. And the less likely they were to track her down at Harvard. If the paparazzi found out she was here, they would hound her night and day and generally make her life so intolerable she’d have to leave.
“Personally, I think that family is extremely wasteful,” the cashier woman said, scanning Katy’s card. “Imagine how many hungry children a wedding like that could feed. I mean, they could still make it nice without being so . . . extravagant. It’s just sheer vanity, if you ask me.”
Hearing those words from a stranger stung a little, but Katy couldn’t help but nod, because she agreed. Her parents’ habit of flaunting their wealth had never sat well with her, even though they could also be very charitable. As rulers of a small nation, it was almost like they had a bit of an inferiority complex. They went out of their way to attract attention, under the excuse that it was good for tourism and the country’s general economy; that was what had led Katy’s family to become the subjects of a reality TV show a few years back.
It had been that TV show—The Life of Royals—which had catapulted the De Courteses into international fame and left Katy constantly hounded by paparazzi. She heaved an internal sigh, remembering the arguments she’d had with her parents over that particular decision. Having a camera crew set up shop in their home for several weeks had been miserable.
“I wonder what a modern princess does, anyway,” the cashier continued. “Just sit around all day letting people wait on her?”
That remark made Katy bristle. “Of course not,” she retorted before she could stop herself.
Both women looked at her in surprise. Her tone had come across way too sharp, and she realized she’d dropped her accent a touch. “I mean, she probably does charity work or something . . . right?” she added quickly, rounding out the words into the correct accent and giving herself a mental slap. “That’s what most princesses do, I think.” Well, in addition to all the tough etiquette lessons, the boring dinner parties, and the endless private tutoring sessions that had made up the bulk of her early years. After she graduated from Harvard, her parents would expect her to completely take over planning charity galas and other events.
The women nodded slowly, though a note of suspicion lingered in their eyes.
The French girl then leaned forward, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Are you the princess incognito? I’ve heard she has a bit of a healthy ego.” She gave Katy a wink, and Katy’s cheeks heated.
“Plus, your name could be short for Katerina,” the cashier added, adopting the French girl’s low, conspiratorial tone.
“Just Katy, actually,” Katy replied, trying to keep her cool. She couldn’t afford to get found out. “Katy Navarre. Though feel free to call me Katerina De Courtes! How freaking sexy is that name?”
She glanced down at her books, which included one on theater, and hoped the perceptive women didn’t somehow make the connection between her surname and the play she’d chosen it from. She’d picked “Navarre” out of Shakespeare’s Love’s Labour’s Lost. She was also kicking herself now for deciding not to change her first name more. What had she been thinking?
“Okay, Katy,” the French girl said, continuing to smile slyly. She watched Katy for another moment, then leaned off the counter. “We shouldn’t keep our customer any longer, Heather. There’s another lady waiting in line.”
Thank God for that, Katy thought as she grabbed the books the cashier had scanned and stuffed them into her bag. “Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile and grabbing her card from the woman.
Just as she was turning on her heel, however, the cashier murmured with a wink, “Don’t worry, Princess. We’ll keep your secret safe.”
Katy couldn’t leave the store fast enough, her insides going cold.
* * *
The conversation haunted Katy on the walk back to her dorm. She had to pray those women would keep her secret. She had to be more careful. So much for her acting skills—they hadn’t helped her much just moments ago. There were plenty of papers that would be willing to pay a significant amount of money for leads on Katy’s whereabouts. If the women played their cards right, it could be life-changing kind of money. Enough to tempt even the noblest of people . . .
Her mouth felt parched, so she stopped by a bench and pulled out a bottle of water from her bag. She took several deep, calming swigs, then realized it had been a while since she checked her phone, and it had been on silent. She dug for it and flicked on the screen. Her breath hitched.
David!
She pulled up his text with an odd mixture of anxiety and anticipation and read the short message. He was willing to meet and wanted Katy to call him.
Except, he doesn’t actually know it’s you, yet, dummy.
He would know soon, though. She put her bottle away and cleared her throat, her heart mildly palpitating. Katy had never cold-called anyone, but she imagined it would feel something close to this, even though she had no reason to be nervous. She was just going to invite him for a casual coffee with her cousin.
She dialed the number and waited, the nails of her left hand digging gently into her flesh, while the other grew a little sweaty around her phone.
“Hello?”
Katy’s heart leapt at the deep British voice.
“Hi!” she managed quickly. “This is Katy. I’m the one who sent you the text and who called to you out the window. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier! Cassie is my best friend.”
“Oh. Katy . . . Hi! Thanks for calling.”
Katy felt a slight tingle on her skin at the way he pronounced her name—and she wasn’t sure if she was just imagining it, but he sounded genuinely enthusiastic. “Of course!” she replied. “We wanted to invite you for coffee, Cassie and me. I was thinking we could go on Thursday afternoon. At around three pm, if you’re free?”
There was barely a second’s pause before he replied, “That should work fine. I’ve got some errands to run at around two, but I’ll be finished by then.”
Katy felt her lips stretch into a toothy grin. “That’s perfect. Whereabouts are your errands? Maybe we could meet you nearby.”
“How about near Chutney’s?” David replied.
“Mmm. I love that place.”
“I know, right? Their curries are the best.”
“My favorite is the desserts. It’s also close to Cassie’s and my drama group, so that’d work great. We’ll be coming straight from the theater.”
There was a fraction of a pause, and then: “Drama group?”
“Um, yes. I’m part of a playwright and improv group. We’ll be meeting that day to work on character development.”
“Oh.” David’s interest sounded genuinely piqued. �
�How do you like it?”
Katy sighed wistfully. “Ah, well. I enjoy pretty much anything that involves make-believe, so I love it.” She tilted her head to one side. “Why do you ask?”
“Because my roommate and I have been discussing joining an interesting club. You know, stress relief and all that. My friend’s been . . . particularly stressed recently. Maybe it’d help him to step into somebody else’s shoes for a while.”
“Oh! Yes. I can’t think of anything more stress-relieving than stepping into the shoes of someone who doesn’t have a load of exams looming over their head. Ha. It works pretty well for me.” She paused, considering his words. “If you’d like, I can bring you in and you can try it out. See if it’s to your taste?”
“That would be pretty cool, actually. In fact . . . ” David paused for another moment. “I could probably skip the errands to come check it out. Who needs clean laundry anyway?”
Katy laughed, feeling her eyes widen in pleasant surprise. She hadn’t been expecting this.
“What time does it start?” he asked.
“One forty-five!” she replied. “I can text you the location.”
“That sounds great, Katy. And thanks. I’m looking forward to it . . . and to meeting you.”
Katy’s smile stretched wider. “Me too!”
“I’ll watch out for your text then.”
“Sure thing. Talk to you soon.”
“Talk soon.”
As they hung up, Katy jumped up from the bench, hardly able to contain her excitement. She was feeling ridiculously heady, given they’d only be having a friendly meeting . . . and he was supposedly Cassie’s Prince Charming. Still, she was curious to get to know the guy and figure out what circles he hung out in—it could be the first step toward both her and Cassie turning over a new leaf.
And, Katy realized with a slow grin, improv would be the perfect way to meet.
A Love that Endures Page 8
