Wild Swans - Jessica Spotswood Page 0,32
gives Connor an encouraging smile. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the living room with Grace.”
“We’ll be fine,” I promise.
We’re quiet as he leaves. I can hear the jingle of some cartoon from the other room. I crouch and pick up the first journal, the one from 1942 when Dorothea was only sixteen. Her mother and little sisters had just been killed, and her father was off fighting in the Pacific. She was terrified that Robert Moudowney was going to drop out of school and enlist, and a year later he did. He lied about his age to join the marines and was wounded at Iwo Jima. It’s all detailed in the next two journals.
When I stand, I meet Connor’s gaze.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.” I offer a shy smile.
“Did you really do that? Spill iced tea on one of the journals?” he asks.
I sigh. “Granddad is never going to let me live that down. I was fourteen. I swear to God, I’ll be super careful this time.”
“He’s right, you know. He could hire grad students.” Connor stares at the journal in his hand like it could grow fangs and bite him.
“Yeah, but he’d have to import them from someplace else. We’re right here, and we’re cheap labor.” I plop down in Granddad’s leather recliner and cross my legs. “It’s a good deal for him.”
Connor’s eyes land on my legs, but only for a second. “It’s a good deal for me.” For a second, my heart soars like a seagull because I hope he means working with me, but then he continues: “After I graduate, I want to get my MFA in poetry. This is the kind of thing that could really set me apart from other applicants.” He takes a breath, running his hand over the back of his neck. He’s nervous.
And it’s not about being in the same room as me.
My heart drops like a wounded bird.
It wasn’t me he was trying to impress with the coffee.
Connor puts the journal back before picking up his iced coffee and taking a sip. He leans against the desk. “This job is really important to me, Ivy. I don’t want to screw it up.”
I glance over my shoulder, making sure we’re still alone. “Screw it up how? By making out with your professor’s granddaughter?”
Connor’s pretty eyes go wide. “No. Well, uh…maybe.” His gaze drops to the floor. “I had an incredible time the other night, but—”
The “but” arrows into my heart, already sore from this morning’s skirmish with Erica and Saturday night’s battle with Alex.
“I understand,” I interrupt breezily. I might as well be the one to say it. “It was fun and all—” I just about choke on the words but force myself to keep going, my voice a shade too loud. “I mean, I don’t regret what happened—but it’s probably not a good idea for it to happen again. Especially if we’re going to be working together all summer. Things are pretty complicated for me right now anyway.”
“Complicated. Right.” Connor frowns.
“Right. So…” I glance over my shoulder again, then hop up, stroll closer—but not too close—and lower my voice. “If we’re going to be working here, you should probably know that my mother hasn’t told Gracie and Isobel that I’m their half sister. They think I’m their aunt.”
“She told them the Professor is your father?”
I shrug. “In a lot of ways, he is. He raised me.”
“And you agreed to this? You’re just—going along with it?” I guess maybe I’ve given him the impression that I’m a pretty forthright girl, not the kind to mince words or tell lies and half-truths—except, of course, the one I’m telling right now, about how it would be better if we don’t ever kiss each other again.
That is such a lie.
I find myself staring at his lower lip. Recall nibbling on it a little. I shrug again and paste on a smile. “Well, I wasn’t given much of a choice. That’s kind of how it goes around here.”
But that’s not true, is it? I could have pitched a fit when Granddad first told me Erica and the girls were coming. After they arrived, I could have been honest with him about how hard it would be having my mother in the same house, how much the things Erica’s said have hurt me. I could have said no to working with Connor. Just now, I could have told Connor I want to see him again—not as his professor’s granddaughter, but as me. Ivy.
“You have choices.” Connor