London Dynasty (The Dynasties #1) - Geneva Lee Page 0,42

I didn’t distract him, this evening would turn into another disaster. I turned my attention to the window as we merged onto the A502 and watched as the world whizzed past with dizzying speed. I had no idea how fast we were going, but Spencer’s driving was a mix of recklessness and anger like he was pissed at the road for some unspeakable sin.

“What’s your favorite color?” I blurted out. It took effort to resist the urge to unfasten my safety belt and fling myself from the moving vehicle. Was that the best I could come up with?

Spencer glanced over, tension fading into puzzlement. “Are we five years old, Kerrigan?”

I had two choices: to be offended or to double down. “Well, since you’re being so conversational, I am forced to start at the beginning. Spoiler: I’m going to ask what you want to be when you grow up next. Think of your answer.”

“Red,” he bit out.

“Hence the car.” I nodded. No wonder he liked my dress. “I think mine is blue, but it depends on the day. And what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“You already know the answer to that one.” This time he didn’t look at me.

“Prime Minister. That’s...ambitious,” I admitted to him.

“When we marry, my grandfather will pass his seat in parliament to me. From there, it will be a few years. Although I am expected to be the youngest man elected to the position.”

He spoke of it in a curiously detached manner like he was reading from a map he’d been given. None of the passion that sometimes inflamed his words was present. It was a clipped, specific response.

“Spencer, do you want to be Prime Minister?” I asked.

“What?” He threw an insulted look in my direction. “Of course. What man wouldn’t want to be the most powerful man in the country?”

“I think the king is the most powerful man in the country,” I pointed out.

“Not once I’m in power,” he muttered.

“Isn’t your family more traditionally leaning when it comes to politics?” I asked.

“My grandfather is.” He didn’t offer any further clarification on this point.

I sensed it was time to move on. I wondered if he would ever open up to me about how he really felt about being groomed to be Prime Minister. But maybe our first date wasn’t the place to start. “Football team?”

He exhaled as if relieved to be talking about anything other than colors or careers. “West Ham.”

“West Ham?” I couldn’t contain a laugh.

“I’m a glutton for punishment,” he admitted.

“They’ve had a rough go of it for…” In truth, I couldn’t remember the last time that the team had been highly ranked in the Premier League. In another lifetime, probably.

“Since they first stepped foot on the pitch?” He shrugged. “It was my dad’s team. I guess I just have a soft spot for them. He used to say that you don’t love football for the wins. You love it for the game.”

“Your dad sounds wise,” I said softly.

“I don’t honestly know,” he said. “He died before I was old enough to know what kind of man he was. I only knew him as my father.”

“I understand that.”

“Your mother?” he guessed.

Of course, he knew that Kerrigan’s mother had passed away. I thought of the picture I found earlier today. Kerrigan had known her mother, but had she known her as a woman like Spencer said? Or only as a mum? I had no idea, but I did know what it was like to be left with bits and pieces of memories to put together where a person once was. “Yeah. I don’t think I really knew her.”

“What about your father?”

“I didn’t really know…” I cut myself off, realizing my mistake. Panic rose in my throat with a surge of acid. “Sorry, I was still thinking about my mum. Dad? I guess I don’t know him that well, actually.”

Spencer nodded like he understood and a weight lifted off my shoulders. “I feel that way about my mother. I suppose I know her. She’s been hovering over me her whole life, making plans and choices, but it’s like...that’s all she is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure I even know.” He grinned at me. “Maybe we should go back to talking about our favorite colors before we’re too depressed to enjoy ourselves.”

I laughed in agreement. We were in serious danger of ruining our night. “I already know your favorite color. What’s your favorite food?”

“There’s this little pasta shop in Venice,” he told me as