“That’s what’s so stupid about Daddy’s racism,” she had told him. “Half those rednecks are actually redskins. Creek or Cherokee or Seminole. How do you think I got my black hair and high cheekbones? My mom is one-quarter Creek.” Rebecca brushed tears off her face and jogged in place at a red light. “Daddy is a hateful man. He always has been and always will be. Mother is better, but she still isn’t great. Daddy will come right out and tell you to your face that you’re a dumbass no good you-know-what. Mother will smile and be friendly but curse you behind your back.”
Richard had taken the whole story in stride, nodding his head and supporting her without ever saying a word.
As he continued to talk about how his ice cream was the best because it didn’t need any added toppings, Rebecca smiled again. Richard’s eyes were glowing with excitement and he gestured his hands all over the place, looking much more like his fiery Spanish grandmother than his reserved English parents. He really is handsome, Rebecca thought. And kind. And smart. He’s . . .
She stopped herself from thinking the next words. To think it was to admit it. To admit it was to want it. You’re already thinking it, though, she told herself. He’s the kind of man I could spend forever with.
EIGHT
That Saturday evening, after their half-term projects had ended, Richard and Rebecca made plans to join some of their other friends for dinner and drinks at the student union. It got dark early in New England, and Richard stopped by Rebecca’s dorm so they could walk together to Spangler Hall. She had on high-waisted jeans, a pink sweater, and pink sneakers. Richard smiled and looked up and down her trim body. At 5’7” and a size 2, Rebecca didn’t have many curves. But damn those jeans make her ass look good, he thought.
“Stop it,” Rebecca said.
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
Richard shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t help it. You look amazing. I’m so used to seeing you in a suit or running gear . . . you should dress like this more often.”
She smiled and twirled in a circle. “I do look pretty good tonight, don’t I?”
You always look good, he thought. “You sure do.”
Rebecca laughed and linked her arm through Richard’s, making his stomach do somersaults underneath his blue button-down and Barbour jacket. They looked good together, and he knew it.
Does she? he asked himself. Some days he knew he was only a friend, and some days he wasn’t quite sure. But moments like this? With her arm wrapped around his and their bodies brushing against each other as they walked . . . moments like this made Richard feel like it was possible to dream of more.
When they arrived at the student union, they walked to a lounge area that had couches and TVs spread out around the room. A few other groups of people were there watching college football games, and Rebecca’s friend Emily waved them over to her couch. She was sitting with another friend, Joe, and there were pizza boxes and pitchers of beer on the table in front of them. Emily also had a pile of wedding magazines in her lap.
“My sister is getting married next summer,” she explained. “She has no idea what she wants, so I told her I’d cut out a bunch of ideas and mail them to her.”
Emily was short and overweight with mousy brown hair, and Richard couldn’t help but compare her to the stunning Rebecca seated next to her on the couch. No wonder all the men are hitting on Becks, he thought.
“What about something simple for the wedding?” Rebecca suggested. “Family and friends in your church back home?”
Emily shook her head. “We’re not really ‘church’ people. Besides,” she added, opening a magazine to a dog-eared page, “I’m thinking she should do a royal wedding.” Emily’s eyes sparkled as she turned the magazine around to show pictures of Prince Charles and Lady Diana’s wedding, along with a story about their new baby, Prince Harry. “I mean, look at her outfit. Ah-mazing.”
As the two girls went back and forth on flowers and dresses, Richard tuned them out and tried to watch sports on TV. He had never understood the concept behind American football – it’s so choppy with all the stopping and starting, he thought as he watched some team in blue smash into a team in white. Real football is so much prettier . . . so fluid and easy to understand.
“Richard? Hello?”
Rebecca’s voice cut into his thoughts.
“Huh?”
“Emily asked what you think about Prince Charles and Lady Di.”
“What about them?”
“Aren’t they so cute together?” Emily swooned.
“Really? You think so?” asked Rebecca. “I mean, Diana is gorgeous. But Charles is just so . . . blah.”
“He’s the next King of England,” Emily argued. “He’s automatically not blah.”
Richard laughed and shook his head. “Being the next King of England makes him more likely to be ‘blah’ than less likely.”
Emily looked at Richard with stars in her eyes. “Do you know them?”
“Charles and Diana?”
“Mmm hmm,” she nodded.
“I know Charles as an acquaintance – he’s a good bit older than I am. My parents know Earl Spencer, though. Diana’s father. They went to the royal wedding.”
“Psshh man, my mom watched that whole thing,” Joe chimed in. “Woke up at like three in the morning to see it all.”
“I think it might work between the two of them,” Rebecca said. “Everybody talks about how they don’t have any passion, but passion isn’t always good. I think a love like theirs is better: something steady and durable. Especially if you’re royalty.”
Emily shook her head. “No way. I want all the passion,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “But can we please talk about how your parents were at the wedding of the century? How in the world did they score those tickets?”
Richard laughed. “It wasn’t a carnival. It was a wedding. And, like I said, my parents know her parents. My father is House of Lords, so he would’ve been invited regardless.”
Rebecca turned to look at her friend. In all their time spent together over the past several weeks, all the lunches and dinners and studying and runs by the river, Richard had never mentioned anything about having an important family.
“Your dad is in Parliament?”
The pain in Rebecca’s voice was impossible to miss. She had told Richard things that she didn’t tell anyone – about her struggles to fit in at home and at school, about her father’s racist beliefs, about her hopes and dreams for her future. But he wouldn’t even tell me that his dad is in politics?
Richard tried to convey an apology with his eyes. “House of Lords. He’s the Marquess of Dublinshire.”
“Oh my God,” Emily shrieked, “you’re royalty!”
“Not royalty. Nobility. It’s different.”
“So how many people have to die before you become King?” said Joe.
“That’s an awful thing to ask,” Rebecca replied.
Richard shook his head. “People run the numbers all the time. It’s some sort of sick game to them. And I’m not sure. Way too far down the list for it to ever matter.”
“But one day you’ll be a Lord?” Emily pressed.
“I’m already a Lord.” Richard was trying to be nice and answer her questions, but this wasn’t how he had envisioned spending his Saturday night. He wanted to grab some food, get himself and Rebecca a bit tipsy, and maybe try for their first kiss. But now she’s mad at me and Emily won’t shut up.
Emily continued to be oblivious to the emotions flying back and forth between her two friends. “How are you a Lord?”
Richard sighed. “I have a courtesy title since I’m my father’s heir. I’m Viscount Arrington, or Lord Arrington when using it in conversation. My sister, as the daughter of a marquess, is Lady Sarah Arrington. My parents are The Most Honourable The Marquess and Marchioness of Dublinshire, or Lord and Lady Dublinshire.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s really not that important, absent my father’s se
at in the House of Lords. The rest of it is just for show.”
“It all seems weird to me,” Rebecca said, still simmering over his lack of candor.
“Weird because Americans don’t have titles?” Richard asked.
“We have titles,” she countered. “We just think people should have to earn them.” Rebecca stood up and put on her jacket. “I’m tired. Midterms took it out of me. I’m going to turn in.”
“Can I walk you back?” Richard asked. “It’s dark outside.”
“I’m fine by myself.”
Richard watched as Rebecca walked out of the lounge and toward the exit doors. “Great job, wanker,” he told himself under his breath. “She hates you now.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
Richard jumped in surprise, having forgotten that Joe was still beside him.
“It’s going to take a lot more than a few study sessions and runs on the river to get her to fall for you, though.”
“I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Everyone can see it. You’re the only one stubborn enough to not admit you’re crazy about her.”
“Is it really that obvious?”
Joe nodded. “To everyone but her.”
NINE
Sunday came and went without Richard seeing Rebecca at all. His stomach was in a knot by the time their first class started on Monday morning, and she refused to acknowledge him, even though they were sitting right next to each other. She’s even more upset with me than I thought.
Rebecca was still ignoring him that afternoon in Professor Craswell’s marketing class, and Richard could tell that she was angry. Like she’s itching for a fight, he thought. All because I was too chicken shit to open up and tell her about my family. Richard’s heart sank and he began drawing slow, lazy circles in his notebook.
Half the class had gone by when the person next to him started pounding on his desk. Richard looked up to discover a fierce debate raging in the classroom. Not surprisingly, Rebecca was in the center of it.
“Why don’t you go ahead and drop out?” asked a young man named Andrew. With curly red hair and freckles, the students called him Sniffles behind his back – a product of his cocaine habit.
“Everyone knows that as soon as your boyfriend back home proposes or you trap one of the guys here into getting you pregnant, you’ll leave.” Andrew leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll get your MRS and be gone. That’s the only degree you care about.”
Several men pounded on their desks in support, while others jumped out of their seats to challenge Andrew’s comments. Richard, for his part, stayed silent and kept his eyes on Rebecca. She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He didn’t even think he saw her blink.
When Professor Craswell finally restored order to the classroom, he turned toward Rebecca. The look on her face silenced the instructor, too.
“Are you finished?” Rebecca asked the other student.
He smiled. “Yeah, I’m finished.”
“What was your name again?” Rebecca asked, even though she knew full well what it was.
“Andrew. Andrew Philip Walters III. Why?”
“I want to make sure I get the name right on the tickets.”
“What tickets?”
“Your ugly ass is going to have a front row seat for my swearing in as Chairwoman of the Federal Reserve.”
Richard pounded his desk in approval and was soon joined by a chorus of other fists, all proclaiming their support for their female classmate. He had never really understood the point of the Harvard tradition – pound desks for approval, hiss for disapproval – but in that moment he loved it. And he could tell that Rebecca loved it too. Despite her best efforts to maintain her cold and icy glare, Richard saw a small smile creep onto her face.
“Alright, alright,” the professor said, “I think we’ve had enough politics for one day. Let’s get back to business, shall we?”
TEN
Later that afternoon, when classes were over for the day, Richard went looking for Rebecca. He had to mend fences; he couldn’t stand seeing her mad at him or picking fights with other people because of him.
“It’s not like I didn’t tell her about my dad on purpose,” he muttered to himself as he scoured the dorms and Spangler student union to find Rebecca. “It just didn’t come up. I don’t talk to him. I don’t talk about him.” Richard swung open the doors to the library. “She’s got to be in here somewhere.”
Five minutes later, he spotted Rebecca in a small, quiet corner in the basement of Baker Library. An all-brick edifice with white Georgian Revival columns and a white bell tower, Baker was the centerpiece of campus and loomed over the grassy quad. It was also one of Rebecca’s favorite study spots.
Richard took a deep breath before approaching her. He hadn’t been this nervous to talk to Rebecca since the first day of classes.
“Hello.”
She looked up and nodded her head in acknowledgment. “Hey.”
“What are you doing?” he asked, stepping closer and smiling as a peace offering.
“What does it look like? I’m studying.”
Despite the hurt she still felt from Richard not telling her about his family, she found it impossible to stay mad at him. Especially when he smiles at me like that.
“I can see that you’re studying. I meant, why are you studying here?” Richard asked, looking around the dimly lit room with rows upon rows of library stacks.
Rebecca shrugged. “I like it. It’s quiet.”
“It’s spooky.”
“Only at night, scaredy-cat,” Rebecca grinned.
“Well, regardless, you’re coming with me.” Richard closed her textbook and started gathering up Rebecca’s things.
“What are you doing? I have to study.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do,” Rebecca said, grabbing her textbooks from his arms. “Craswell hates me. I have to be 100% prepared for every single class.”
Richard shook his head and took her books and pens and put them in her briefcase. Then he grabbed her hand. “I know a better way.”
At the other end of Baker, in the section that housed professors’ offices, Richard loosened his grasp on Rebecca’s hand and knocked on a large, wooden door.
“Enter.”
“Hello, Professor Craswell?” Richard said, cracking the door open and leaning his head around. “It’s Richard Arrington. I spoke with you this morning about Caymus?”
“Ah, yes. Come in, come in.”
Richard stepped inside the professor’s office, followed by Rebecca. Craswell looked up at them and lowered his glasses. “I know you. The girl in my marketing class.”
“Yes sir. Rebecca Lewis.”
“Right. Well, Caymus is here,” he said, motioning beneath his desk. “Everything you need is on that shelf by the door.”
****
Before Rebecca knew it, she and Richard were walking a beautiful, giant Golden Retriever along the banks of the Charles. He was tall, thin, and had a red hue to his coloring – more like an Irish Setter than most Golden Retrievers.
“There’s more than one way to curry favor and get ahead,” Richard said in explanation. “Craswell will never think your answers are good enough . . . especially as a woman. But,” he added, “this dog is his pride and joy. Brings him to campus every day. I saw them together this morning and offered to help with walking him.” Richard flashed his trademark grin. “I get all the goodwill without any of the extra studying. And now, you do too.”
They walked together in silence for a few minutes before Rebecca stopped and turned to face Richard.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your family? I know it shouldn’t matter and I know I should let it go, but why?”
Richard also stopped walking, and he let out a deep sigh.
“It wasn’t intentional, Becks. I swear. I never meant to hurt you. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. I ju
st . . . I don’t bring it up. Back in England, everyone treats you differently if you have a title. Besides, I don’t talk to my family. We don’t have a good relationship. It’s hard to when I was sent away to boarding school at eight years old.”
“Eight?”
Richard nodded. “It’s a different way of doing things. A different world, really. After the first day of class when you told me ‘this is America, speak English’, I didn’t want you to think less of me because of my family.”
“How could I think less of you – especially after all the things I’ve told you about my parents?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I should’ve said something.” He stepped forward and put his hands on Rebecca’s shoulders, looking down into her eyes. “I’ve told you everything about me that matters, I promise. You know me better than anyone else in the world.”
Rebecca looked up and returned his gaze. A long moment passed and he breathed in slowly, not wanting to blink and break their connection. As Richard started to lean down toward her, a flock of geese flew by and Caymus took off running after them. Richard’s arm nearly popped out of its socket as he chased the dog down the river embankment.
“Caymus! Stop it! Get up here!” Richard pulled hard on the leash and got the Golden Retriever back up on the jogging path. “Good grief,” Richard huffed. “I thought he was going to pull me into the water.”
Rebecca shook her head in disbelief. “No kidding! I’m glad you were holding him. He probably would’ve drug me in with him.”
“Let’s go back,” Richard suggested. “I think we’ve had enough walking for today. I know I have.”
ELEVEN
Every Star in the Sky Page 3
