about being dead broke. He was very aristocratic, had lovely manners, and seemed to know every titled aristocrat around the world. He had been to the Hotel du Cap in the South of France, nearly as often as she had. She was surprised she had never met him there, but they had spent their days there in their private cabana, and rarely met the other guests.
“I’m not sure I could ever go back without them,” she said sadly. “That was so much a part of all my summers with my parents. It would be too weird and painful without them.” He nodded and touched her hand again.
“You’re a brave girl to have gone through what you did for the last year.”
“There’s no other choice. Things happen and you have to deal with them. But it was very hard,” she said. She told him about Sam then and what good friends they were, and how he had been at her side for all of the past year. She didn’t mention Ed, who seemed irrelevant now, and a bad memory. She didn’t want to admit to her own stupidity, falling for the classic line of a married man, about having an understanding with his wife, planning to divorce, and never having felt for any woman what he did for her. It was all so trite and such a cliché, she realized now. At least Nigel was single, thirty-three years old, and had never been married. She wasn’t sure yet if they would be friends, or something more, but she was enjoying his company immensely, and he was so charming, amusing, and boyish that he seemed more like her age than his own. He wasn’t afraid to admit to his fears or feelings, which she found refreshing. There was no hidden agenda with him. He said whatever he thought.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?” she asked him over dinner, since he didn’t seem as though he was fully an adult yet.
“Rich and happy,” he answered very quickly. “Rich and miserable seems like such a waste,” he said and she laughed. She didn’t ask him how he intended to become rich, since he claimed to be poor now, although she didn’t quite believe that either. He was expensively dressed, and he lived in a stylish part of town. But he obviously had less than his older brother, due to the British laws of primogeniture, which had existed for centuries.
“What do you want to do?” she asked him directly.
“Have fun. As you’ve seen firsthand, life can be cut short. I think it’s important to live life to the fullest, and enjoy every moment. I can’t bear people who whinge all the time.” She had already learned that “whinge” was the British word for whine, and he didn’t. He constantly seemed to be enthusiastic, look on the bright side, and make everything fun. He never complained, which was refreshing, except about his brother, whom he very obviously disliked. But he appeared to have countless friends, and he was fun to have around. He was apparently a popular houseguest, and she could see why. “What about you?” He turned the question on her.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess I have to finish college at some point, though I seem to have run out of steam on that. I want to work for a magazine, and I am, even though it’s an entry-level internship. I don’t have a burning desire for a career, but I want to work. I don’t think I’ve found my passion yet, but I still have time, and I haven’t even graduated.”
“Marriage and kids?” he asked, curious about her. She seemed to have a sensible way of looking at life, which he liked.
“Not for a long time,” she answered his question. “My parents married right out of college, at the Elvis Chapel in Las Vegas.” She grinned and he laughed.
“I’ve always wanted to know someone who did that. I love it. How terrific.”
“They eloped. My mother’s family was fancier than my father’s. She was a debutante, etcetera, etcetera, and they didn’t approve of my father, who grew up poor, and they thought he would never amount to anything. So they got married anyway, and he proved them wrong. They were very happy, and getting married early suited them. I’ve never wanted that for myself, and I’m way too young to think about kids. They had me at twenty-five. I can’t even imagine having children three years