I look over at Hope, who’s still sleeping peacefully.
She’s all creamy skin, long lashes brushing against soft cheeks, hair splayed over the pillow, naked shoulders exposed, because beneath the covers she’s not wearing any clothes.
I would know.
I’m the guy who took them off her.
Lovingly, tenderly, while imagining that maybe we were meant to meet.
I can feel that tenderness receding like a flower closing with the dimming of the sun.
Details of the past week come back to me in bilious waves. All the chatter at supper about my family’s private equity fund. My sisters boasting of Dad’s connections, nattering on about yachts and £40,000 handbags.
Hope talking about her debt. Her frustration at her low-paying job. Her stress over money.
Her delight at my title.
Her dream of living in England—my home.
I feel myself reduced from a person into a juicy fucking mark.
“Hope,” I say. My voice comes out in a rasp.
She doesn’t stir.
I touch her shoulder. “Hope,” I say again.
Her eyelids flutter open, and those eyes that just hours ago I was so lost in look at me groggily.
She smiles at me. It’s the kind of smile you only give to a lover.
It almost makes me ill.
“Good morning,” she says.
I hold up my phone, my hand shaking. “What thefuckis going on here?”
Hope
I’m disoriented—yanked abruptly from dappled, abstract morning dreams to Felix’s voice urgently saying my name.
I can see that something is wrong—very wrong—but I have no idea what. Only that he’s holding his phone up to my face, his fingers trembling and his jaw so taut it reminds me of a slingshot.
“Hmm?” I say sleepily, scrunching my eyes together and then apart to try to make out what’s on the phone.
Blearily, I see that it’s one of Lauren’s Instagram posts.
“Did you think I wasn’t going to find out about this?” he asks quietly.
I truly have no idea what he’s talking about. Lauren posts like ten videos a day, and I barely use social media.
I sit up. “What’s going on?”
“Play it,” he says, handing me his phone. “Right now.”
I tap the reel, and watch.
My confusion quickly turns into disbelief at her words: “I’m going with my bestie and we are going to find us some wealthy husbands, baby!” I jolt up. And then “Gold Digger” starts playing, and all I feel is panic.
