“What does that mean?”
“He stopped texting me so much.” I drop my gaze to the floor. “But we’re meeting in Marina Village for lunch on Sunday.”
Charlotte doesn’t comment for several seconds, and my insides twist with pangs of unease.
It’s not like Marina University is the kind of place where everyone bares their business. At least half the students are connected to one of the major families in some way or another and the other half keep their associations confidential.
But there’s a huge difference between concealing the truth and telling an outright lie.
“Want breakfast?” I walk to the kitchenette, one of the few parts of this apartment that’s actually tidy.
“You have food?” she asks.
I flash her a grin. “The campus supermarket just delivered a truckload.”
Charlotte twists around in her seat. “Your dad sent you money?”
“Something like that.” I avoid her gaze and open the cupboards, which are crammed with groceries.
Charlotte slips off her stool and whistles. “You don’t usually have so much.”
“That’s what happens when you have a father who rations money, I suppose,” I mutter, wishing she would stop asking so many questions.
Charlotte and I make a breakfast of bacon, sausages, eggs, and toast, while she tells me about some guy she likes. I nod and hum in the right places, my insides brimming with the urge to spill my exciting news.
Ugh.
If only things weren’t so complicated.
I trust Charlotte, but it’s not my career that will flush down the toilet if information got out about Professor Segul and me.
Besides, it’s not like I don’t have anything to lose. A scandal like this might spread all the way to where Dad is hiding, and the last thing I need is his furious return.
“So, will you come?” she asks.
I give her a blank stare.
“To the Campus Café,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “You’ve got to be my wing woman for Tin Soldiers on Pluto.”
My gaze darts to the pile of clothes gathered in front of the open wardrobe. “I still have a bunch of washing—”
“Put it in a bag and call the campus laundry,” she says. “And don’t tell me you can’t afford it because the groceries here don’t come cheap.”
I grimace and flick my gaze up to the full cupboards. It’s the first time I’ve had so much money at my disposal, and maybe I went a little overboard.
“Please.” She tugs my arm.
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Fine. But I’m not staying out all night because I’m meeting that guy on Sunday.”
“You said it was lunch,” she says. “It sounded like he’d put you in the friend zone.”
The corners of my lips twitch. “I hope not.”
Hours later, Charlotte and I walk side by side across the sun-drenched campus. It isn’t as crowded as it gets during the week, because many students travel in from London each day, even though the commute takes ninety minutes.
Anyone with a degree of freedom travels out on the weekend to Marina Village, Brighton, Little Hampton, or any of the neighboring towns so it doesn’t feel like they’re stuck in a luxury, educational prison.
Charlotte must be sweating in her vintage leather coat, which she wears as a dress, and she’s parted her long, blonde hair in the center and ironed it straight. She looks like a young Marianne Faithful.