Page 29 of Forbidden Girl

“Yep, that makes sense.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t like seals. They are adorable. Adorable food for great whites.”

“I loathe you,” I guffaw.

“No, you don’t. You love me.”

“I do,” I reply.

She’s austere all of a sudden. Something serious has popped into her mind.

I tap her temple. “What’s happening in there?”

“You should catch the first flight back to Spokane. Get your mom to go with you if you can.”

“Do we have to talk about that right now? Can’t we just be naked together?”

“My dad is gonna find a way to bury your dad. And probably Teague. And whoever else is a minor inconvenience to him. I wouldn’t be shocked if that means anyone who shares your last name. I thought about taking him out. Or paying someone else to do it. That’d be the easiest way to end this, save everyone. I can’t, though. I hate his fucking guts, but he’s still my dad.”

“I know he is.” I sigh. “I don’t want to go back to school.”

“You have to. It’s the safest place for you. Anyway, it’s your last year, right? You can’t let all the hard work you’ve done amount to nothing. Besides, I wanna watch you saunter your gorgeous self across the stage to collect your diploma.”

“It’s not my last year, it’s my last semester.” The finish line is in sight. Four and half years, hours and hours poring over books, so many economic theories and mathematical models memorized. She’s right, I can’t quit. It would be a waste. “How could you come to my graduation? Assuming they’re all still living, my dad, Mom, Teague, his parents, they’ll all be there.”

“I’ll show up incognito in a hideous polka-dot dress with the ugliest permed ginger wig money can buy. God himself won’t recognize me.”

Ha! Even when Rowan’s serious, she’s funny. “I’d pay to see that.”

“I could go with you. I’ll get some plaid shirts, a few beanie caps, lean into that whole lumberjack lesbian vibe and fit right in.”

I smirk at the mental image of her trading tailored button-ups and leather jackets for flannels. “As much as I love the idea of you being there with me, you can’t give up your life to follow me to the other side of the country.”

“What life? I don’t have one anymore. I didn’t have one in the first place. You and I both know that Teague is as bad as my dad. He’ll try to kill me if I go back to Boston. I don’t want him dead, but I’m not about to let him put me down, either. If we cross paths again one of us is leaving in a body bag.”

The resignation in her voice is too absolute to argue. “You’re right.”

“I know I am.”

“It’s not as simple as you hopping on a plane to Washington with me. Do you actually believe your father will let you go? Or that mine will let me go? We are who we are; they’ll always have their hooks in us.”

Her forehead crinkles. She’s getting irritated, searching for a solution to an unsolvable problem. “Then let’s fucking change who we are! I’ll give up my name; it doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“We could both change our names. Petition the court, pay whatever fees. But there would always be a paper trail. Social security numbers, bank accounts.”

“You’re talking about doing things the legal way, Jules. I’m not.”

Of course, she’s thinking outside the law. That’s what comes naturally to her. She has a mind that functions on the periphery of societal norms. It’s brilliant, the balanced footing she keeps between right and wrong, moral and immoral, light and dark.

“False identities?” I ask. “Do you know how or where we could get them?”

“Not yet. But with some time and enough cash, I could square it.”

“That’s the other thing. Money. Something like that wouldn’t come cheap, would it? I don’t have any money of my own. I don’t even think my mom has her own; Dad controls every cent.”

“I have money. There’s a hundred grand in my bag right now, another twenty in a lock box at a bank that my dad doesn’t know shit about. It’s not enough to keep you stocked in Prada, but it might be enough to give us a fresh start.” That last part she says with a grin; she knows I have expensive tastes, but don’t need labels or fancy cars or a mansion to live in.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but that duffle bag of yours is Balenciaga, no?”

---