‘The keynote of American civilization is a sort of warmhearted vulgarity. The Americans have none of the irony of the English, none of their cool poise, none of their manner. But they do have a friendliness. Where an Englishman would give you his card, an American would very likely give you his shirt,’
Raymond Chandler
Chapter Thirty
Milo woke up, his face pressed a hard, cold, grey surface. His blue eyes opened, the blue of the colour not as bright as they usually where, and began to look around his surroundings, trying to figure out where he was. It wasn’t until he saw the bars caging him in did he realize where he was.
Milo stood up, now wide awake. He looked around, looking into the cells that joined on to his, watching the other inmates sleep.
“What the hell happened?” Milo muttered, dragging his hands through his hair, trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Why was he in jail? What the hell had he done last night?
The pounding pain of his headache and the sickly hungover feeling was the only clue Milo had to what he had done last night.
“Prince Markus?” A voice yelled, making the rest of the inmates groan as the loud voice woke them up. Milo walked up the the bars, looking up the corridor to see a police officer walking down to his cell. The police officer looked tired, like he had been on a long shift and all he wanted to do was go home and sleep, much like Milo felt. The police officer looked at Milo in question, “Prince Markus?”
“Yes?” Milo replied, his headache increasing as the inmates began to recognize him, yelling taunts as they woke up.
“Your bail has been posted,” the police officer replied, opening Milo’s cell, before leading him past the other inmates. Milo kept his head down, knowing that this couldn’t be good. His parents were not going to be happy.
Milo walked around to the office, the police giving him back his possessions in a carrier bag. He turned around to see Jeeves, his personal driver, accompanied by two body guards. Milo raised an eyebrow at the two body guards, wondering why the hell they had sent him body guards.
The police officers got him to sign some paper work, before clarifying that he had been arrested for public indecency after being drunk and yelling for Nora. Milo kept his head down as he walked away, just imagining in his head what his mother was going to yell at him.
They walked out of the police station without saying a word, Milo expecting the streets to be clear - but they weren’t. As soon as he stepped out he was blinded by the flashing of cameras as the paparazzi tried to get a picture of him. He suddenly understood why the body guards had been sent as he was ambushed by photographers yelling for him to look their way, or asking him questions about why he had been arrested or if he had been using drugs. They shouted questions about Nora, making Milo’s blood boil in his veins. He quickly ran through the crowd and into the blacked out car that was waiting for him before speeding away, Milo just wanting to crawl into his bed and sleep.
“NORA!” a voice screeched, walking Nora up. She bolted up right, all signs of sleep leaving her as she jumped out of her bed. She quickly tied her hair up in a messy bun, before grabbing a hoodie as she ran out of the her bedroom and down the hall. She ran downstairs, the voice calling her into the kitchen. Just as she ran into the kitchen, a glass smashed beside her head, missing Nora by inches.
YOU ARE READING
British Guys Aren't Cute
Romance'Fact: British guys are not cute. Never have been; never will be!' Meet Nora. During the day, she's a crazed, Irish student trying to survive the insanity which is London. At night, she's a blogger, trying to prove to the world that British guys ar...
