Her words seemed to shock him, and Shoban took advantage of his surprise to move across the balcony and tuck herself behind a rattan chair.

“So you don’t have to go hunting with me,” he said with a shrug. “Truth be told, I don’t really enjoy it that much anymore either. Too many rules for what’s endangered and what’s not. We’ll find other things to do together.” The suggestive smile started to bloom across his face again.

“No, no we won’t. Bram, God, I . . . You’ve been a good friend. I . . . really had no idea that—”

With a laugh he rested a knee into the chair she was hiding behind. “Oh, look at you, you’re actually blushing. I didn’t realize you were this bashful. It’s me, Shobz. You don’t have to pretend around me.”

There was a wall behind her. His overpowering cologne clawed at her. Sliding out from behind the chair, she went back inside. “Good. Because I don’t want to pretend around you. I knew you’d understand. I tried to tell Daddy that you would understand.” God, please let him understand.

He followed her into the room, his lazy stride not quite so lazy anymore. “Of course I understand that you have to appear bashful. It’s okay to do all that drama for the photographers and for my family. I know you girls love the blushing bahu shit. But I like you spunky, direct, unafraid to ask for things. We’re going to be perfect together.”

That might qualify as the world’s most tasteless proposal.

He walked up to her again, not stopping until he was too close, and she realized that he might be the world’s most tasteless man. Why had she laughed at his inappropriate jokes? Why had she put up with his obnoxious opinions?

This time, instead of backing down she put out her hand and held him back and out of her space. “You aren’t listening to what I’m saying.”

He looked down at her hand on his chest as though no one had ever stopped him from doing anything before, but he stayed put.

She pulled her hand back, wanting to wipe away the unpleasant sensation burning her palm. “We aren’t going to be together, Bram. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m eighteen. I want to go to college. I haven’t heard from Oxford yet, but I am really hoping they accept me.”