Page 112 of False God

I glance over, the glimpse of his profile reminding me of the man I met in Atlantic Crest’s polo stable what feels like forever ago.

It’s so bizarre how life unfolds sometimes. A little less than a year, and it feels like decades since we first met.

Most of my life, I didn’t know Charles Marlborough existed. And now, it’s hard to remember a time when he didn’t cross my mind hourly.

“Blamed you for what?” I ask.

“For everything. Nothing I ever did was good enough. At some point, I stopped trying to live up to his expectations. But I still wanted his approval. He’d take me for these long rides around the fields at Newcastle, and whenever he said something to annoy me, I’d get Kensington to gallop. Papa would get annoyed, but he’d also be proud. He wanted to control me. He also wanted a son who was strong enough to stand up to him. I realized I couldn’t be both. I don’t think he ever did.”

My chest aches. I assumed Charlie was still grieving his father. But I didn’t realize how … unresolved things had been between them. That their relationship had been complicated in addition to getting cut short.

Something else occurs to me.

I quirk a brow at him. “Kensington?”

It’s hard to tell for sure, but Charlie’s cheeks look a little ruddier than they did a second ago. “He’s named after the palace.”

“Uh-huh. It’s a good name.”

“Yeah, it is.” He pauses. “Hell of a lot better than Lexington.”

I smile, experiencing a sudden burst of nostalgia at the memory of our first meeting. Would we still be sitting here if I’d introduced myself as Elizabeth Kensington from the start?

“You’re a good polo player,” he adds. “Not sure I ever told you that.”

“I was going to be an equine vet. Back when I was going to be a vet, I mean. After that changed … I kept riding for a while. Polo was more fun than just cantering around in circles.” I slide a glance his way. “You’re good too.”

He’s better than me, but that’s as magnanimous as I’m going to be. I can still picture his smug smile when he accepted that trophy.

“Maybe we’ll have a rematch.”

“Does that mean you’ll be visiting New York soon?”

I sound hopeful. I’m not sure if he can hear the hope. If I want him to hear it.

Charlie runs a hand through his hair. His elbow grazes my shoulder. “Probably not. I, uh … things with my mom have never been great. She left when I was ten. Blythe was only five. I’ve tried to see it from her perspective. Tried to move past it. But this last trip, I spent more quality time with Ellis, my cousin. Don’t see myself showing up for another visit anytime soon.”

“She’s not the only person who lives in New York.”

Subtle, Lili. I might as well hand him a key to my penthouse.

“I have a lot going on here,” he says. “In Britain, I mean.”

It’s a gentle letdown, but it still prickles unpleasantly. “Right. Balls to attend and carriage rides to go on.”

He shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. “What about you? Do you know what project you’re working on next?”

“Not yet. I have some interviews next week.”

“All in the States?”

“The interviews are over the phone. If they make an offer, I’ll go visit the sites in person before accepting. Two are in the US. One’s in Canada. And one’s in Ireland.”

“Ireland?”

I think there’s more than polite interest in his voice as he mentions the location closest to England, but I could be imagining it.

I kick the water again, sending more ripples across the surface. “Yeah. There’s a university in Dublin that’s expanding its campus. They need a landscape architect for the exterior space.”

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