When he didn’t answer, she rubbed her hands together despite the fact that it wasn’t cold. “Well, I guess we better make a move.”

Refusing her offer to carry his suitcase—he was perfectly capable of that himself—Rio followed her toward the exit where, in the parking zone, she halted by a 4 x 4 covered in a thick coating of dust.

He climbed into the passenger seat, pulled his seat belt across his body, and chewed his lip, trying to ignore the sudden, desperate urge for a wee.

As if sensing his discomfort, Fran turned to face him and seemed about to say something. But again, whatever it was died on her lips. Instead, she just cleared her throat. “I’m . . . sorry about your mother.”

Rio felt the sudden hot sting of tears and rubbed his eyes furiously, hoping she hadn’t seen. To avoid any further conversation, he pointedly turned his face to the window, and after a brief pause, she switched on the engine with a rough twist of the key, and they were off.

California was the place where Rio’s mother had been born and where she grew up. She’d left when she was barely twenty, first on a music scholarship to New York, and then, upon graduation, as a violinist in the London Philharmonic Orchestra. In all that time, she’d only been back once, taking Rio with her when he was just a tiny baby.

So long ago, he couldn’t remember any of it.

But technically, by virtue of his mother’s birth, he was half-American. Although it was a very small half because he’d lived in London all eleven and a quarter years of his life and spoke with a decidedly English accent. And so, this exotic, faraway world of endless sunshine; tall, fluttering palm trees; and golden beaches had always felt like a dream. And in truth, Rio had been looking forward to coming back nearly all his life.

Just not like this.

Opening the car window, he took a deep gulp of the Californian air. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the cleverest thing to do on a highway. Rio coughed and spluttered and felt the smog on his lungs.

This was California?

Everything was so big here. The cars, the road signs, the buildings—even the sky, looping above their heads in a vast indigo silence. As if the car had been picked up and thrown into a world full of giants. London was a city, but it didn’t feel anything like this.

Rio’s mom had always said that California was different. That it was peaceful. That its temperament would suit Rio. That . . .

He closed the window with a snap. Then, ignoring his grandmother’s attempts at conversation, he shut his eyes and tried to pretend he was still in a universe where his mother hadn’t sent him away to the other side of the world to stay with someone he barely even knew.