Six

Henley

2017

“You sure about this?”

I look up from the dresser drawer I’m digging through and smile. Sure? No, I’m not sure. I’m not sure at all. I am completely freaking out. I’m twenty-six years old, and I’m running away from home.

“It’s Boston, Jeremy—not Siberia,” I say, for the fourth time in thirty minutes. “Just a short, four-hour train ride away.”

“You have a fleet of private planes at your disposal,” he says, shaking his head. “Why you’re insisting on taking the train…” He looks up at me, his brow furrowed and set low over his warm hazel eyes. “It’s not safe.”

I smile, using it to fight the urge to roll my eyes. I love him, I do, but he’s a bit of snob sometimes. “I booked a train private car.” I grab a handful of underwear and shut the drawer, a little too hard. “After which another private car is going to take me to a very safe, very expensive hotel,” I remind him, closing the distance between us. “From which I will call you, upon my arrival.” He’s sitting on the edge of my bed, watching me pack. I toss the handful of bras and panties into my bag without bothering to fold them and watch while his skin practically starts to crawl. The first time he saw my underwear drawer, I was subjected to a forty-five minute lecture about how you do not wad La Perla. Every time I bring it up, his eye twitches. “I’d also like to take this moment to remind you that this whole thing was your idea.”

“I know.” Reaching into my bag, he pulls out a pair of underwear, folding them in half. “I know,” he says again when all I do is stare at him. “But, hatching plans after day drinking your way through three pitchers of margaritas isn’t exactly what I’d call best practices.”

“Hey.” I plant my hands on my hips. “I didn’t, day drinking my way through anything, Mr. I-have-a-margarita-machine-on-my-yacht.”

“You’re right,” Jeremy says, folding again, before smoothing his work into a perfect square. “How do you know they’ll even want to see you?”

Because we’re family.

“It’s going to be okay,” I reassure him, watching as he pulls out another pair of underwear. “I’ll do what I have to do.” I lay my hand over his busy fingers and squeeze until he looks up at me. “And then I’ll come home.”

He gives up on the underwear and squeezes them into a ball. “Will you at least change your mind about taking the train?” Despite the tone of his voice, I can see relief etched plainly on his face. That’s what this is about. He’s not worried about my safety—at least not entirely. He’s worried that if I leave, I won’t come back.

Six months ago, when he suggested my trip to Boston, he was supportive. Encouraging. Now that I’ve finally found my escape hatch and I’m using it, he’s not so sure pushing me to go through with everything is in his best interests.

“No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “And you know why.” If I take one of Spencer’s planes, I might as well send my mother a postcard when I get there.

“I know, I know—” He scowls at me and throws my wadded-up panties back into my bag. “Your sweet, darling mother will hunt you down and drag you home.”

“Lydia Halston-Day does not drag anything,” I reminded him, reaching between us to zip up my travel bag. “She hires people to do it for her. And there’s nothing sweet or darling about her.”

For the first time since I started packing, Jeremy smiles. “Cold and calculating?” he says, cocking his head to the side. “Heartless and cruel?” His smile widens into a grin. “Manipulative and backstabbing?”

“All accurate descriptors,” I say, laughing at his enthusiasm. My mother really isn’t his favorite person but he pretends to keep up appearances. “Which is why I need all the head start I can get.”

“Okay,” he says, picking up my hand from the top of my bag. “Do what you need to do and come home.” His nudge the ring he gave me with his thumb, peering into it like it’s a crystal ball, able to predict his future.

“You’re my best friend,” I say, my words drawing his gaze toward mine. “I made you a promise, and I’m going to keep it.”

He winces, squeezing my hand a little too tight. “You know I wouldn’t have asked if there were any—”

“Stop,” I tell him, pulling my hand free so I can stand. “We’ve been over this a million times. I’m benefitting just as much as you are, remember? Besides,” I say, lifting my bag off the bed, slinging its strap over my shoulder. “It’s hardly a lifelong prison sentence.”

And it isn’t a lifetime, or at least it won’t be. Not if everything goes according to plan.

“We’re really going to do this,” he says, his tone slightly dazed. “We’re really going through with it.”

“Unless you want to go with plan B,” I say, my heart suddenly pounding against my ribcage. For the first time since we hatched this crazy scheme, I hope he says yes. “There’s still time to change your mind.” Even as I say it, I know he won’t. Jeremy is my best friend. He’s kind and funny and honest—a rarity in this world of wealth and privilege I’d been thrust into nearly a decade ago. From day one, he was the only friend I had. His friendship kept me safe. Gave me instant access and acceptance into a world I’d never really belonged to. I owe him for that. But for all his attributes, there’s one thing Jeremy isn’t—brave.

Plan B would require too much of something he doesn’t have.

Courage.

As if to prove me right, Jeremy shakes his head. “You know I can’t.”

“Then yes, Jeremy Bradford—” I smile, nodding my head, even though I feel like crying. “As soon as I come home, we’ll announce our engagement.”