Page 3 of Saint
I roll my eyes and press the phone to my ear, mouthing “shut up” at her. “Hi, Dad."
“Lily.” His voice carries that familiar mix of relief and irritation, the same tone he uses during press conferences when reporters ask about budget cuts. "I’ve called three times."
“I was in class.” I don’t mention being late; I pick at a loose thread on my frayed jean cuff. “Everything okay?”
"Just checking on my favorite girl. How’s Manhattan treating you?”
I look around at the crowded campus quad where students sprawl on the grass beneath century-old oaks, the city’s constant hum of traffic and construction pulsing through me even here. A siren wails in the distance. "It’s perfect. I love it.”
“That’s what worries me.” His heavy sigh travels through the phone like static electricity. “Sweetheart, I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s time you consider transferring to Albany. The university there is excellent, and you’ll be closer to home. Safer. The campus has those beautiful brick buildings you always loved as a kid.”
I stop so suddenly that Zoe nearly collides with me, her silver bangles jangling as she catches herself. The autumn sun glints off the screen of my phone as I clutch it tighter. “Dad, we’ve been over this. I’m not moving to Albany.”
“After what happened last month—” His voice carries that distinct gubernatorial tone, the one he uses at press conferences when he’s about to announce something unpopular.
“It was just a mugging attempt.” I kick at a fallen maple leaf, watching it skitter across the cracked concrete. “Nothing even happened! The guy grabbed my purse, I screamed, and he ran away like a startled pigeon."
“This time,” Dad counters, his sigh crackling through the speaker. “What about next time? Manhattan isn’t safe, especially for someone recognizable like you.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginning of a headache pulsing behind my eyes. "I’m hardly recognizable. Most people don’t spend their time memorizing what governors’ kids look like.” A group of students passes by, laughing loudly, completely oblivious to my existence.
“Lily...” My name in his mouth sounds like worry solidified.
“Dad, please. I love it here.” I gesture at the sprawling campus around me, the ivy-covered buildings, the sea of students moving between classes. "I’m making friends, I’m doing well in my classes.” I conveniently omit my perpetual tardiness, twisting a loose strand of hair around my finger. “I need to do this on my own, you know? Not as Governor Moore’s daughter, just as... me.”
Silence stretches so long I wonder if we’ve lost connection.
“Your mother and I worry,” he says at last, softer.
“I know. But I’m fine, really.”
Another pause. “Alright. But I’m in the city tomorrow night. I’m having drinks at Le Bernadin with Luca Ravello—he’s running for mayor, very promising candidate. I want you to join me for dinner when that wraps up. I should be ready at seven.”
I open my mouth to protest—Le Bernardin means uncomfortable dresses and political small talk—but something in his tone stops me from complaining.
“Fine,” I concede. “But I’m not wearing heels.”
His laugh eased something in my chest. “Deal. Love you, sweetie.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
I hang up and find Zoe watching me with raised eyebrows.
“Le Bernardin? Fancy.”
“It’s a political dinner. Dad’s vetting some mayoral candidate.” I shove my phone deep into the chaotic abyss of my bag, where it disappears among crumpled syllabi and half-eaten granola bars. “Probably some ancient, boring suit with thinning hair and yellow teeth who’ll lecture me about registering to vote while drinking eighteen-year-old scotch.”
"Well, you can tell us all about the geriatric politician over that four-cheese pizza at Luciano’s tonight." Zoe’s emerald eyes narrow. “Which you’re still coming to, right? The one we’ve been planning since before midterms?”
I grin and link my arm through hers, feeling the cool metal of her bangles against my skin as autumn leaves crunch beneath our boots. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world. Though fair warning—if I lose another phone between now and then, you might have to send a search party with bloodhounds and those little flasks of brandy.”
As we head toward our favorite coffee shop, I push thoughts of tomorrow’s dinner from my mind. One more night of being Governor Moore’s perfect daughter. I’ll survive it like all the others, with a practiced smile and a silent countdown until I can escape back to my gloriously messy life.
Chapter 3
Lily
“Hold still,”Zoe commands, wielding an eyeliner pen with surgical precision. “Unless you want to look like a raccoon instead of a sophisticated woman.”
