“Ugh, Rob.” She paused. “I guess we sort of trickled it in. Like, we’d sign emails. And then once he said ‘Love you’ when we were hanging up the phone.”
“Well, that’s not going to work. He’s here in person.” I brightened. “Unless I wait until he leaves.”
“You’re such a coward. Haven’t you ever told a guy you loved him?”
I paused. “Kevin Diaz said he loved me.”
“The high school boyfriend you slept with on prom night? The one you said surrounded you with candles and rose petals and took your face in his hands—”
“Hey, he was trying to be romantic! We were nervous!” I paused. “Do you think you can buy rose petals or did he have to pluck each one himself?”
She snapped her fingers in front of the camera. “Nat. Focus.”
“Right. I’m screwed.” I rolled over on the bed. “I can’t believe people are getting married and I can’t even tell my boyfriend how I feel.”
“Hello. I’m single. Oh, God, did you see that Tori from undergrad just posted two albums of her wedding? Go look at them.”
After dissecting the wedding of someone we never spoke to, I think we both felt better and like despicable human beings. “God, I miss you.”
“I miss you too. I wish you were here and we could make mudslides and hate watch reality TV and I could give you excellent tips on love confessions.”
I tugged the blanket up and rolled around a bit until I was securely snuggled beneath it. I eyed my book on the bed stand. “Maybe I should quote Yeats.”
“Is he romantic?”
“I’m not really sure. The intro said he was obsessed with some woman?”
“Like Heathcliff obsessed, or...”
I flipped the book open. “He proposed to her six times. At least he was poetic about the obsession.” I paused. “Wouldn’t it be nice if every time you got catcalled, it came out as a line of poetry? We should patent that.”
“No. Because that’s called magic, not science.”
“Right.” I took a deep breath. “Maybe I just won’t say anything.”
“For God’s sake. Just tell him after you have sex.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”
“Wait, actually, if Yeats was a creeper that would be totally appropriate because you’re a creeper!”
“I’m hanging up now.”
* * *
Grace and Duncan, who had been displeased but not scared off the excavation when only articles appeared, soured as reporters badgered them with questions. When I joined them and Jeremy at breakfast the next morning, they were whispering furiously at each other across the table.
They looked up, disgruntled, as I sat, and Grace shook her head at me. I almost smiled brightly, but I was tired of fake smiles and talking just to fill silences. “Any new ideas of how we’re dealing with them?”
“I think we should just ignore it,” Duncan said.
Grace shook her head. “Maybe if we made it clear Ms. Sullivan wasn’t actually associated with the excavation.”
It took a moment for that to sink in. “You want—you want me to pretend I’m not a part of this? No!” I looked to Jeremy for help. “I was the one who picked this location out of all the possibilities, because my research said this was the most likely spot for a city. I found the money. I got the permission. I’m not going anywhere!”
“Natalie,” Jeremy said quietly.
I ignored him. “Why should I disassociate? Because it’d be easier for all of you? To just put all the blame on the supermodel’s flaky daughter.”