“Are you two still doing that?” Mum asks, looking amused. “I haven’t seen you do that in years.”
When Libby and I were little, our absolute favorite movie was E.T. We’d re-create the scene where Elliott and E.T. bike through town, with Libby wearing one of Dad’s red zip-up sweatshirts and me sitting in a milk crate on the floor of our cramped living room or our shared bedroom. We loved the scene when E.T. touched Elliott with his glowing finger, and over the years, it morphed into our own private thing. Whenever we do it, it’s an instant code reminding us that we always have each other’s backs.
“Sisters forever,” we say together.
Mum beams with pride. “My little girls. You’ve grown up so fast.”
two
“I’m so chuffed you’re here, Lotte,” India says, hugging me as I get off the train in Gloucestershire. She holds me at arm’s length, looking me up and down. “You look wonderful. You’ve clearly been in the sun.”
India is tall and willowy, with the sort of quiet confidence I can only dream of. I’ve tried to mimic her graceful, glacial movements, and I end up feeling like a stiff robot. But somehow, on India, all the poise and maturity totally works. She has the bearing of an old-world empress trapped in an English teenager’s body.
“Here, let me help with that.” India reaches out and grabs my mum’s Louis Vuitton duffel bag, carrying it to her dusty VW Golf. “We’re going to have the best time tonight. Flossie, Alice, and Tarquin are already here, and there’s another group driving in from Tetbury before dinner. Mummy and Daddy are in Honkers, and my grandparents have promised to make themselves disappear. We’ll have the place to ourselves.” Her low voice is always scratchy, husky—as if she’s smoked an entire pack of cigarettes.
“Honkers?”
After three years at Sussex Park, surrounded by kids from the wealthiest families in the world, there are times when I still feel like a stranger in a strange land. The sharpening of my observation skills while at boarding school would put any private investigator to shame.
“Hong Kong, darls. You should come next time we go. You’ll love it.” India swishes her waist-length blond hair as she tosses my luggage into the boot of her car. I wince as Mum’s new Louis Vuitton duffel brushes up against a dirty pair of riding boots and a mud-caked saddle.
This is something I’ve noticed with India’s set. Unlike what you’d expect, new and gleaming is bad. The older, dirtier, and more worn-in something is, the fonder they are of it. It’s not like India’s running around in rags, of course. She favors J Brand skinny jeans, skintight tank tops in every color of the rainbow (which she buys in bulk during London shopping trips to Harrods and Harvey Nichols), and has an arm crowded with trendy bangles, charms, rubber bands, strings, and candy-colored concert wristbands. But during winter, I’ve caught her more than once wearing a cashmere jumper with tiny holes in the elbows or on the collar. My mother would worry about people thinking she was common—when it comes to clothing, the newer and more expensive, the better. India and her friends seem to wear their grandmothers’ ancient hand-me-downs as a badge of pride.
They’re a paradox, those old-money aristocrats.
At Sussex Park, money is everywhere—although nobody talks about it for fear of being branded tacky—but only a handful of students are true aristocracy. Boundaries and barriers are almost impossible to cross in the draconian English class system, which fascinates me. India’s set have a certain air about them: a worldly knowingness. They’re courteous and friendly, and they might not call you out for your protocol mistakes—but believe me, they notice.
After all, only people who know the rules in the first place are allowed to break them.
Even I think the prospect of Edward dating a regular, non-titled girl like me is very unlikely. Like clings to like—everybody in his crowd is the earl of this or the viscount of that.
Luckily, India doesn’t seem to care about all that. But still, I have to try harder to fit in—a lot harder.
“Hong Kong sounds awesome. Although I don’t know how keen my parents will be.”
“Parents are a damn nuisance,” India says, waving her hands in contempt as she starts the car and sets off toward Huntshire.
“You’re lucky,” I say. “Your parents never bother you—they’re not a nuisance at all. Mine are always up in my business.” India’s parents rarely come to campus, and when they do, they’re aloof and uninterested. They seem happy to let her run the show.
“The less involved parents are, the better. They don’t understand us. You have to train them. It’s like boys, really.”
I laugh. “Speaking of boys . . . who’s coming tonight?”
She raises an eyebrow at me and smiles. “Plotting your conquests already? Tarquin’s here—although everything out of his mouth is bound to be a complete disaster, as always. Oliver’s on his way as we speak. There’s a group of Eton boys arriving after dinner. And, of course, Edward.”
“Oh, yeah? Nice.”
“You’re as transparent as a plastic bag,” she laughs. “Don’t try to play it cool.”
I blush. “Fine, you caught me.”
The first time I ever saw Prince Edward, it was three days into my first year at Sussex Park, when I literally bumped smack into him on the quad while texting Libby.
“Oh! Are you all right?” he asked.
I looked up, ready to start offering my apologies. Then I realized the tall boy whose bony chest my forehead had just made contact with was Prince Edward. The Prince Edward.
Sussex Park had its fair share of royalty and nobility, but most of the princes and princesses were from faraway countries you’d never heard of and couldn’t pronounce—like Djibouti or Tuvalu. Going to school with the future king of England (and Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales, and the Commonwealth), though, was a very big deal. Edward sightings were still rare on campus. It was rumored that he mostly stayed in his dormitory, only coming out to eat and attend classes.
“Oh my God!” I said. “It’s you!” The second the words tumbled out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back.
“Last time I checked,” he said, looking down at his forearm and pulling on the sleeve of his rugby shirt. He was wearing a rucksack and faded trainers. “Yep. Still me.” He smiled at me before continuing on. “Have a great day—see you around!”
As soon as he’d passed through the stone arches at the south end of the quad, I whipped my phone back out and called Libby. “Oh. My. God. You are not going to believe what just happened.”
Students tended to stick with classmates in their own year, and like India, Edward was a year older than I was, so our paths rarely crossed. Sometimes he’d smile at me, but I wasn’t convinced he didn’t smile at everybody.
Of course, now that I’m about to encounter him again today, I can’t help but get excited. It’s three years later, I’m about to turn seventeen, and I’ve got my flirting down to a fine art.