When she uncovers his plan to lead an entirely uneventful life, Mia Evian is determined to teach Preston Maddox how to stop living like a ghost, but Mia and Preston have history, tension, and a lot of complicated feelings.
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I don't know how the hell I did it, or what the hell I said that got through to him, but on Tuesday the following week, Robbie is yelling down the phone to let me know that he spoke with his parents. Better yet, they've transferred ten thousand pounds into his bank account.
Ten thousand fucking pounds. Jesus wept.
I'm almost regretting encouraging him to open up to them. I forgot how offensively loaded they were. Seriously, for the most fleeting of moments, part of me regrets breaking up with him and shutting the door to a life of immense generational wealth. I quickly realise how horrific of a fate that would be, of course, but Jesus.
Robbie is demanding a night out with everyone in celebration of his newfound wealth, which while I acknowledge is an unmeasurably dreadful idea, it's going to happen regardless of my input. I'd rather be there to prevent any of Robbie's potential drunken slip ups about Preston's past. Besides, maybe I'm overreacting; sure, a night out with Robbie and Zack three years ago was total chaos, but Zack no longer exists, and Robbie has to have matured over the past three years.
It takes being in Preston's house barely a minute for me to realise how horrifically naive of an assumption that is.
I'm standing frozen in Preston's bedroom, the door clicking shut as I watch the scene unfolding in front of me. Preston's sitting in his desk chair, and he's tapping his foot with so much ferocity that he's on the verge of burning a hole through the floor while he chews at his fingernails. Robbie, on the other hand, is sitting on Preston's bed, his legs crossed and a rolled up bank note in his right hand. There's a closed textbook on the mattress in front of him, atop which is a credit card and a transparent packet of white powder.
'What the fuck are you doing?'
I don't address him directly, but I think it's pretty clear to Robbie that he's the target of my question. He's rubbing his nose with the back of his wrist as he looks up at me with that gratingly innocent look in his eyes. He sniffs, then rubs his nose again.
'I take it you don't want any then,' he says with a laugh like this is funny or something.
I flicker my eyes to Preston, but before I can even try to force his green eyes to meet mine, Robbie must notice me trying to do so.
'God, Mia, lighten up. It's fine! He didn't use—You used paracetamol or some shit, right? Not coke or anything like that,' he asks, glancing at Preston, then rounds the shitshow up with, 'when you tried to kill yourself, I mean.'
I stare at Robbie in stunned silence. Is he fucking stupid? Can he hear himself? Does he have any idea what the hell he even just said?
'Are you actually this fucking dull?'
'Mia, it's fine. Don't—'
'No, Preston, it's not. It's not fine. He needs to leave your house–he needs to leave London. Now.'
