Page 17 of Royally Rivalled

“Okay, well, I think you’d have better luck in your little ivory tower. A nerdy girl you could respect would understand your words and world. We’re not all idiots, Parker. Just because we don’t speak your bizarre little language doesn’t mean we aren’t clever. That said, a girl who does might relate to you better.”

“You make me sound like another species!”

“Parker, you’re a pedant, and people think you are an asshole.”

I stared, gobsmacked and speechless.

“That’s rude!”

“It’s honest. I didn’t say youwerean asshole, Parker. People don’t get to know you because they assume you are judging them from the outset. I know it’s not like that. I know you are the sweet type of guy who would take your baby sister to dinner on a whim because she’s hungry, even if you don’t care to hear about her dancing.”

Our wine arrived, and I waited for things to settle again. My heart was a little bruised.

“I adore you. I care about your dancing. I amsoproud of you and amazed by your bravery, Ash. I could not do all the wonderful, wild things you do. Don’t ever think I don’t care. I love you to bits.”

“Okay, but my point is people would never expect that. Since Dad died, you’ve been even more guarded.”

“I had my heart broken—twice by the same person.”

“Don’t bring that baggage onto the next girl, alright? It’s not fair. The perfect person could be somewhere on that campus right now, but if you approach her like this, she will run.”

“Like what?”

“Dressed like a slob and always on the defensive.”

“I am dressedcomfortably.”

“If you always wear these trainers and shirts that are a size two big, how will a girl know you can clean up properly in a tux when you try?”

“You sound like Mum.”

“Maybe she has a point, huh?” Ashleigh gave a cheeky grin.

“I will give everything a better effort,” I said. “You make good points. I dispute the veracity of some of it, but I could stand to buy some new clothes and maybe a new pair of trainers.”

She rolled her eyes. “God, Parker, you kill me!”

“I’m your big brother. That’s my job.”

“Well, as your little sister, it ismyjob to tell you to buy some proper shoes and dress to attract the sort of woman you want rather than to wallow in self-pity and miss out on someone you can come home to. I know you don’t want someone showy, but even someone nerdy will expect to see your loving side. First dates and such are about putting your best foot forward, yes?”

I groaned. “Don’t say the d-word. It is so torturous to think of dating again, sister!”

“If you don’t try, you’ll never get laid.”

“Let’s never, ever speak of either of our sex lives again,” I said, mortified.

eleven

PARKER

Syllabus day—morelike Syllabus week—happened at the beginning of a new term. The students would pile in and complain about the weighting of their essays and assessments as if this were a chance to air grievances. After, we’d set them free. I’d been teaching undergraduate seminars for several years. I rather liked teaching and loved our quantitative analysis seminars as they were more like a research lab.

Today, I picked up my assigned classroom form. I was co-teaching with a new recruit. As we had twice the number of enrolees, I was always seated with one of the newer students—usually a student in the MSc program. It wasn’t unusual to fly blind. My past co-teachers were competent. The name on the form said only A Deschamps. I assumed it was a male student from France or maybe Belgium.

I settled in with neat stacks of syllabi on the desk. I liked to hand out paper copies so they could never complain they couldn’t find it online. I knew how to manage things and had a system, and I was glad to teach this strategy to my co-instructor. As I finished preparing, I spotted a female student using the instructor’s work machine. All Isaw of her was a blonde ponytail and painted-on trousers. I didn’t know what she was pulling.

“Miss,” I said. “This is an instructor machine. Can you please?—”

---