Page 156 of False God

“High praise.”

“The campus is so green. So different from Cornell. And the new buildings they built are really cool. Newer, obviously, thanmost of the campus, but they were so beautifully constructed. I sent a bunch of photos to my aunt Hannah. She’s an architect. Anyway, they have all these sustainability initiatives they’re wanting to implement, like rainwater capture and filtration. They also want to do a green roof and?—”

“Do you know what you’d like to order?” A woman—not the blonde from the bar—appears next to our table.

Charlie nods to me, indicating I should go first.

“I’d like the fish and chips, please,” I say.

She nods, then glances at Charlie.

“Two of those.”

“Got it.” The waitress ambles away.

Charlie’s staring at me, like he’s waiting for me to continue, but I’m feeling self-conscious.

“It was a good trip,” I conclude lamely.

“I’ve never been.”

“To Ireland?”

He nods. “Fig—you met him at the wedding—and I have talked about a trip, but it’s never happened.”

You could come visit me. I think the words, but I don’t say them because it feels like I’m treading a very fine line here and those would fall to one side.

“How long is the project?” Charlie asks me.

“Three to four months probably.” Not my longest project, but my longest one outside the States. I tilt my head. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“What doyoudo? I mean, I know you’re a duke. But I don’t really get what that means as far as a job description. Or is there not one? Do you really just get to do whatever you want?”

Charlie cups his glass of beer, and I get the distinct impression that this is a subject he doesn’t really want to discuss.But I’m socurious. Not only to know more about his life, but to also find out what all is holding him here.

“It varies a little,” he tells me. “The Duke of Manchester—that’s me—owns properties throughout England. Some for personal use, like Newcastle Hall or the villa in Saint-Tropez. Others are commercial. Hotels, apartment buildings, office buildings, commercial storefronts. Some of the spaces are leased. Some, like the hotels, are businesses I also own. There are employees in place who manage day-to-day operations for almost everything. But it all runs up through me. I have to sign off on staff changes or building repairs or lease renewals or tenant changes or press features. It’s a huge mountain of paperwork basically.”

“Could someone else do all that for you? If you wanted to do something else, I mean?”Like be a doctor?

“I’m not sure, honestly,” he answers. “That’s never been done before.” His expression twists. “My father would have …”

“Maybe he shouldn’t have a say.”

His nod is slow. Like he wants to agree but isn’t sure he really can.

Our dinner arrives a few minutes later. Crispy cod and greasy fries taste a lot better than I thought they would.

Maybe it’s the company. Or the beer I wash down each bite with, which tastes better with each sip.

By the time we leave the pub, it’s pitch-black out. We walk to an adorable ice cream shop down the street.

I order the chocolate-whiskey flavor. Charlie chooses sea salt, which I tease him mercilessly about until I sample it and discover it’s actually delicious.

He paid even though I tried to.

I’ve never dated a guy who had more money than I do. That would be a very limited list of eligible bachelors. And men have always seemed aware of it, which has made me self-conscious.

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