Page 37 of Cross My Heart

I look away, flushing, and gladly snatch up the crystal water glass waiting at my plate. I take a long gulp, reminding myself to keep cool. If I melt down in a pool of desire every time the man’s hand brushes against me, I’ll barely make it through the night. So, I collect myself, and offer a vague smile to the others, as the food is brought in and dinner gets underway.

“… I’m telling you, she tanked that company on purpose…”

“… No, it reminded me of that time in Chamonix, remember? On the ski lift?”

“… And then he said, it’s a good thingI’mpresident…”

The conversation washes over me as I pick my way through a delicious, family-style spread of roast duck and vegetables. Saint clearly goes way back with this crew, and they chatter on about old vacations and new business scandals, easily namedropping glamorous European cities and VIP events.

I’ve felt like an outsider ever since I stepped foot in Oxford, but hearing their casual, wealthy escapades, I feel even more out of place.

I couldn’t be more different to these people. Max’s father is one of the most powerful people on earth… Hugh runs an entire nonprofit division of his family’s foundation, Plus, of course, there’s Saint: heir to an empire. A futureduke, for Christ’s sake!

“… And what about you, Tessa?” Imogen looks over at me, clearly curious. “What brought you to Oxford?”

I pause. “Actually, it’s my sister, Wren,” I announce, keeping one eye on Max. “She studied here, so I wanted to follow in her footsteps.”

“Wren… Peterson?” Max’s eyes spark with recognition. “Why didn’t you say? You remember Wren,” he adds, gesturing to Hugh. “American girl, brainy as hell.” Hugh gives a baffled shrug, sipping his wine, and Max continues, smiling: “I ran into her at Ashford, back when dad was opening that media wing. Or rather, she ran into me, full force, trying to get away from one of the swans.”

“Ohhh,” everyone at the table makes a noise of understanding.

“The Ashford swans,” Saint explains, leaning closer. “Vicious, nasty beasts. Every year they almost maul some poor tourist, but the college won’t ever let them go.”

“Apparently, it’s in the original founding documents that they always have to have a home there,” Max agrees. “Anyway, I bravely beat them back for her, we went for lunch, and then she proceeded to confuse the hell out of me with talk of her research project.” He flashes me a smile. “I’ve never felt so dumb.”

Saint smirks. “I find that hard to believe.”

“So, you two were friends?” I ask, trying to sound innocent. Just a curious younger sister, learning more about Wren.

Max gives a casual shrug. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. I’ve got my reputation to think of, after all,” he adds with a teasing wink. “What would people say if I was out palling it up with a girl who thought theFast and Furiousmovies were the height of cinematic achievement?”

Everybody laughs, and I manage to smile and giggle along with them, but inside, my mind is racing. Because Wren’s love for big, loud action movies? That was her hidden guilty pleasure, the indulgence she only confided in her closest friends. She was surrounded by intellectuals all day, people with snooty, highbrow taste, she would explain. She would never hear the end of it if she told them she was at the movie theater opening weekend for anything starring Vin Diesel and a fast car. That’s why she would only admit the truth when she really knew someone, well enough to be honest about her tastes.

I always thought it was hilarious, that she held her Netflix habits like a well-guarded secret. Now, I’m glad for it. Because it tells me beyond a shadow of doubt that Max is lying.

However casual he’s being about their friendship, it’s clear that he knew my sister far better than he claims.

“Wait, when was this?” Annabelle gives Max a suspicious look.

“Last year,” I reply, still trying to gauge his reaction. He doesn’t seem suspicious, but what am I expecting, he’ll to leap up and declare that he secretly kidnapped and assaulted Wren?

“While we were dating?” Annabelle presses.

“It was all perfectly innocent!” Max protests immediately, but I don’t believe him anymore. “How is Wren doing these days?” he asks me.

I swallow my wine, ready to trot out the same old line about her being happy back in the States, but something makes me pause. “She passed away, actually. A tragic accident.”

There’s silence.

“I’m so sorry,” Saint murmurs beside me, and Max nods.

“That’s awful, my condolences.”

“Thank you.” I look around the table, not sure what to say next. The vibe is suddenly seriously awkward.

Way to be a buzzkill.

Imogen catches my eye and seems to understand my discomfort. “Annabelle, please tell me you’ve talked Max out of this wild elopement idea,” she says, swiftly changing the subject, and soon, they’re all chatting wedding plans again, and how Max wants to say his vows while leaping off a cliff somewhere.

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