“I didn’t mean to overhear,” he went on. “I was on my way upstairs from the kitchen and wanted to say a proper good night to you both. I didn’t realize your conversation was so intense until I’d drawn closer . . .”

He let his words trail off.

“How much did you hear?” I asked, trying to recall everything that had been said.

“Only a bit. Including the part about not returning to Barrington. Because there’s nothing for you there.”

My body slumped. The worst part for him to overhear. “I’m failing, Arthur,” I said quietly. Wanting him to understand, to not hate me. “At everything.”

“Finley.” His beautiful dark eyes softened the tiniest bit. “Barrington is your first foray into a private boarding school, yes?” I nodded. “Then of course you’re failing. Those places are gladiator pits. Positively wretched. I’ve been in them from the beginning and I don’t think I figured out how to survive until I was somewhere in Year Five.” He saw my confusion and clarified, “When I was nine. And one could make the argument that I in fact did not survive, hence my studying in America. And you. Coming from a place like Christmas?” He gestured to the surroundings. “No wonder you weren’t prepared. And for the record, Finley. You may not have been the roaring success right out of the gate I suspect you’d envisioned for yourself, but you were far from a failure.”

“Tell that to Bronwyn,” I muttered, indulging in a pity-party wallow that wasn’t remotely attractive.

Bronwyn is awful. Everyone knows that.” He pointed at me. “But you let her get inside your head too much, too early, and far too often. That’s on you.”

Which was entirely accurate. Every school had their mean girls. It was unfortunate that the one at Barrington chose me to be her target. It was even worse that I’d allowed it.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at the Hummer, and Esha, who was watching us now. Though a good twenty yards separated us, I read the tension in her expression from here. However, despite whatever it was she was feeling, she still managed a small smile and nod for me.

I nodded back.

“Listen,” he said. “I’ve got to get going.”

“What happened between Esha and my grandmother?”

He hesitated then shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right. I’m sorry.”

I nodded, respecting his respect, even as I grappled with all the abrupt changes that had transpired in the span of my lunch with my dad.

“Arthur? Is . . . Would it be okay if, if I texted you? Sometime?”

There was a long pause and what I wouldn’t give to have some magic device to allow me to know what it was he was thinking because I didn’t have the first clue.