book didn’t go away because he grew into the body of a Greek god. I wonder if everything I knew of Sterling was just a facade built to protect the boy who wrote these notes. I wonder if it’s so easy. I wonder if it’s fair to judge from a note in a margin.
Suddenly, I get the feeling eyes are on me, and I shudder slightly. If Sterling could see me now he would definitely see me pining. Did he leave the book for me like an apology? Like, Hey, Lucky. I know I did you wrong. But maybe if you read this and try to figure out what happened, you’ll realize I’m not complete shit.
Or is it something else entirely? Am I Daisy to his Tom? Would that make Sterling’s blackmail of my father actually a test of me? If I’m Daisy, I’ll pick heartbreak if it means privilege. Sterling wanted to know if I meant it when I said I didn’t care about my family’s money, and so he did what he did…?
I throw the book on the ground and a disgusted, frustrated scream escapes me. I hear people around me gasp—my floppy upper lip must offend them. I grab my bag and take two full steps away from the picnic table I’ve been sitting at. The Great Gatsby lies there on the ground, but it asks me a question as plainly as if it were speaking:
Do you want to leave it all behind? It’s as easy as leaving me here in the dirt.
I think I do want to leave it—more than I’ve ever wanted anything, including Sterling himself—but it doesn’t stop me from stooping to pick it up, shoving it roughly into the bottom of my bag.
I feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, and I look for a restroom—anywhere I could have a bit of privacy, really. But there is only a gilded box on the corner, trailed by a line of fifteen people waiting to pay for the privilege of peeing. Why is there never a restroom on this godforsaken continent?
I wipe the corners of my eyes with my sleeve and hold my head high. This immediately puts the people around me at ease—so much so that a few of the women nod to me in solidarity as I pass.
Never let them see you bleed.
Taking an Uber is easier, but I decide to try a black cab—mostly so I can say I did. Poppy and Ava hunkered down in a pub talking to a few Scottish guys here on holiday, but I need to be alone with my thoughts. I tell the driver to take me to the British Museum, because somehow you’re always alone in a museum even when it’s full. We’re stuck in London traffic almost immediately. I think it’s worse due to the upcoming Royal wedding. My phone rings, and the screen tells me it’s Malcolm. I don’t want to answer—I don’t particularly want to think about Valmont at all—but there’s no telling what my brother or father might do if they felt like I was 2,000 miles away and unreachable.
As soon as I connect, I’m surprised to hear both Malcolm and Ginny on the line.
“We’re pregnant!” they say in unison.
“Wha—I...oh my god!” I splutter, blinking rapidly. The cabbie turns, a bushy eyebrow raised, as if concerned I’m having some type of fit. I smile sweetly.
“I know,” Ginny says. “The only thing more cliché than a Valentine wedding is a honeymoon baby.”
“It’s wonderful news, honestly. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“Neither were we,” Malcolm says followed by a slight grunt that suggests he’s been elbowed in the ribs. “But we’re very excited.”
“I think your brother is a little shell shocked. We hadn’t even discussed having a baby yet, but I guess life happens while you’re too busy to notice,” Ginny chirps. I can hear the look on her face: wide smile, starry eyes. She’d never talked much about kids before. It’s not that I didn’t expect them to have children. I just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. “We’re due sometime in late October, early November, so don’t get any ideas about staying in London. I expect Aunt Adair to be at all my showers.”
“Got it,” I promise, but I’m not sure I’ll keep that promise.
“Okay, we need to call a few other people. Your dad is planning some big party.”
“Already?”
“There’s no reasoning with him. Apparently, he’s thrilled to be a grandfather,” Malcolm says. “Keeps talking about securing his bloodline. It’s a