Page 74 of The Princess and the Fraud

A disbelieving scoff escaped me, but I should’ve expected it of him. I closed my eyes, every instinct within me rebelling, but my choices were either trusting him or going to the indoor pool. I knew what Ishould’vedone. But after everything, I was done doing what Ishoulddo.

When I opened my eyes, Grant must’ve seen the decision on my face, because he gave me his signature puppy-dog smile.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

“Ican’t believe you just walked out mid-shift.”

I stared out the passenger window in stony silence, my entire body angled away from Grant, where he all but lounged behind the seat of his father’s electric car. The radio was on, but he hadn’t changed it from whatever finance garbage his dad listened to. Honestly, though, I preferred rhetoric about investment banking over Grant’s annoying way of repeating the same thing over and over.

“Like, you were supposed to go to work,” he went on. “You wereat work. And you just—left. Without saying anything to anyone.”

I couldn’t tell if he was truly clueless or just trying to push me until I cracked. But every time he mentioned me walking out mid-shift, my nerves frayed a little more. Now, miles down the road from my impulsive decision, the implications hit me. Walking out mid-shift was an immediate dismissal. Especially when Mr. Roberts gave the clear warning to the staff against doing that before the Spring Has Sprung fundraiser. He already proved he was trigger-happy by firing Paige—and I just walked out of Alderton-Du Ponte as if I didn’t care if I lost my job or not.

Which… now that I had the chance to tamper down my anger, I definitely cared. I watched the scenery blur past, biting back the urge to tell Grant to turn around.

“The Lovey I know would never have done that,” Grant murmured, a strange quality to his voice. Almost something like admiration. “Never. You’ve changed.” He paused, and I thought he was finally finished. “Jeez, youwalked out?—”

“God, would you just—” The four words came out in a rush as I turned toward him, an exasperated snap of patience. He had his sunglasses on, but from the side view, I could see his eyes widen. I let out a sharp breath, voice lowering. “Would you stop talking?”

Grant’s lower lip puffed out in a pout. “Andyou’ve gotten snappy.”

“You must bring it out of me.”

“I didn’t last night.”

I cringed as the merry-go-round returned tothatstop. “Last night?—”

“You were surprised to see me, weren’t you?” Confidence dripped from Grant’s voice as he smoothed his hands down the leather of the steering wheel. “I—I was hoping for a different reunion, though. More… special. I wanted to bring you flowers?—”

“Why on earth would you bring me flowers?”

“To apologize.” I stared at him, long enough for him to shift self-consciously. “What?”

“Now?” My voice was flat. “You want to apologizenow? It took you six months to be sorry about cheating on me?”

Grant turned to look at me, then, pulling off his sunglasses as he did so. “I’ve always been sorry. I’ve always wanted to tell you I was sorry, except you blocked me before I had the chance to. No, it didn’t take me six months to be sorry, but itdidtake me six months to be able to try to make it up to you.”

I didn’t realize howirritatedI’d be, listening to him. Whenever I thought about Grant in the past, it’d always been accompanied by a sick feeling. Now, though, there was nothing but annoyance. “Watch the road,” I grumbled, turning to glare out the passenger window.

“We’ve got a little longer until we get to Bayview,” Grant said, giving away the location. “Can you just hear me out? Even if it’s just to pass the time?”

“I was willing to hear you out in September. It’s March, Grant.”

“You blocked me?—”

“So what? You could’ve used a friend’s phone to call me. Used their social media to message me. Hell, maybe splurge and fly home to express just howdeeply sorry?—”

“My dad blocked my credit card!” Grant’s own exasperation cracked through now. “I did buy a plane ticket to come home, Lovey—that weekend. He canceled the ticket, canceled the card, and only sent me just enough money every month to get by on. I didn’t come home for Christmas because my parents didn’t allow me to. Because they didn’t want me to come back to you.”

If Mr. Holland hadn’t all but cornered me the other day, mildly threatening me to stay away from his son, I might’ve called BS. Actually, even still, I wasn’t sure I bought it. I folded my arms across my chest, glaring out the window. “You could’ve still used a friend’s phone.”

“Well, it was the beginning of the semester, and then the end of the year, and then the beginning of a new semester, and then I figured—why not wait until spring break?” Grant’s voice returned to its hopeful tone. “I could convince my parents in the meantime that I moved on from you. I could come home and see you for longer than a weekend and reallytalk.”

It was such aGrant Hollandthing—to do things on his own schedule, his own timeline, uncaring of anyone else’s plans. That was the Grant I knew. In his mind, those six months meant nothing, because he’d been so busy. College, a girlfriend, a social life—he had it all to keep him busy. I had Alderton-Du Ponte, a place where the memory of him was inescapable.

“You thought I’d just be waiting?” I demanded. “Iwas the one that dumpedyou. Not the other way around.”

“We had something special,” Grant said. “I thought that you’d remember that, too.”

---