Royal Holiday - Jasmine Guillory Page 0,67
key at him and left again? One thing was for sure: they definitely wouldn’t have made up. The stony expression on Miles’s face every time he’d looked at him had told him that.
Though . . . there were a few times, when they were all sitting at the table together talking about travel and U.S./British relations and everything else, where Miles had looked at him like he’d used to, like they were sharing a joke.
He wanted to get that back for good.
Midway through their tour of the Tower of London, Vivian looked at him.
“You need to apologize to Miles, you know.”
What? She’d taken that from what he’d told her?
“The hell I do,” he said. He stopped himself and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. What I meant was . . .”
She laughed.
“Oh, I know what you meant—you meant what you said. But I meant what I said, too. This fight with Miles is killing you, I can tell. I’ve only known you a little over a week, and I know he’s the most important relationship in your life. You can’t destroy it like this; you and I both know that. Apologize to the boy. Talk to him. Ask him questions about why he wants to do this.”
He dropped his hand from her back. He thought she would be on his side here.
“I know why he wants to do this! Because he has this youthful infatuation with the idea of being an artist, and he hasn’t thought it all through!”
Vivian nodded slowly.
“That’s one perspective. But you told me Miles said he feels like he needs to be passionate about this, that he doesn’t want to waste any moment of life, that he’s feeling his own mortality because his father died young—I’m not saying I agree with him, but after seeing what my sister has gone through, I understand what he’s saying. Talk this over with him; he’s obviously really thought about it. See if you can come to some sort of common ground. But don’t just expect him to bow to your will.”
This is what came of opening yourself up to people. He never should have told her about their conversation in that much detail.
“I’m not expecting him to bow to my will. I’m simply expecting him to act like an adult. He needs to listen to the people who know better about what he should do with his life. I’m not going to apologize to a nineteen-year-old for calling him ridiculous for wanting to go to art school instead of Oxford!”
She nodded.
“Okay, great. And where’s that gotten you so far?”
He turned away from her.
“You don’t understand. Just because you spent thirty minutes talking to Miles doesn’t mean you know him. Or me.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
“Okay. That’s certainly one way to respond.”
They were silent for the rest of the tour.
He checked his phone on the way out and saw an email he really should respond to.
He cleared his throat and turned to Vivian.
“Would you mind terribly if we went back to my apartment now? There’s some work I should get done this afternoon. I can order in for lunch, if you’re hungry.”
She shook her head slowly.
“I don’t mind at all, and I’m not hungry quite yet. I can read while you work; I’m excited to get back to my book.”
When they returned to his apartment, he fetched his computer from his messenger bag, where it had been ever since he’d gotten back from Sandringham. He sat at the corner of the couch. Vivian made another pot of tea and poured him some, without asking him if he wanted any. She sat in his easy chair, instead of on the couch with him, with a book and her own cup of tea.
She was wrong about what she’d said about Miles. She was obviously wrong about it. Why should he apologize to Miles? Miles was the one who was destroying his life. Miles was the one who had insulted him! He’d spent years helping him and indulging him and preparing him, and they’d gotten there, he’d gotten into Oxford, then Miles wanted to go and throw that away. He had nothing to apologize for.
He tried to bury himself in work, but it only took about ten minutes to respond to that email, and as much as he tried to focus on other tasks, Vivian’s presence across from him made it impossible for him to concentrate. Which in turn frustrated him—he’d used work as his distraction for