He closed the door and sat down across from me. “If anyone thinks less of you because of your mother, and because you’re dating me,
I pulled my laptop closer. “And it would be fine if it was just about me and you. Then it would be funny. Silly, sweet.” The first article that popped up was exactly that, a saccharine account of our romance, accompanied by a picture of us in our formal wear. “Or at least just celebrity gossip of no interest to the real world.”
He lounged in his seat. “I forgot I didn’t live in the real world.”
I clicked back. The first article had been dumb and flirty and flattering, if you were a football player or a model and wanted to be flattered.
I didn’t want to click the second link. Instead, I looked at Mike. “But it’s ammunition for Dr. Ceile.”
I opened the page.
Mike sat down behind me, reading off the screen. “‘Delusion Diggers.’ Catchy.”
I rubbed my hands over my nose and mouth, unable to look away.
Mike leaned closer. “‘Professor Anderson persists in his ridiculous quest for the lost city of Ivernis, accompanied by the daughter of ’80s supermodel Tamara Bocharov, playing Willie Scott to his Dr. Jones.’” He let out a snort. “The nightclub singer? Played by Spielberg’s wife?”
“We have a limited number of pop culture references.”
“‘Sullivan may be easy on the eyes, but she spends more time frequenting Parisian galas with her American footballer boyfriend than working in the field.’” He leaned back and grinned at me. “I don’t know, isn’t this a case of being so ridiculous it’s funny?”
I was pretty grossed out that Ceile called me easy on the eyes. “I get what you mean, but it plays into the feud between Jeremy and Ceile. And Ceile’s winning. People
He studied me for a long moment, and drew the computer toward him. He spun it back my way after a minute. “You’re not the only one damned by public opinion.”
I sat there for a while. He had a point. Still... “It’s different when these are actually true.”
“You think every scandal you ever read about is true?”
I was silent.
“You can’t let it get to you. So people think you’re crazy. So what?”
I shook my head. “We can’t dig without grant money.”
He cocked his head. “But they’ll give you money if you find something. Just not if there’s nothing there, and you want to start looking for Ivernis all over again somewhere else.”
I looked at him for a long time, and he looked back. I closed my eyes and fell back against the bed. He was right. So why did I feel so uneasy?
The words drifted out of me. “You know, that’s the real problem. That I’m afraid he’s right. That there’s nothing here. And I’ve been avoiding that for so long. I’ve believed in Ivernis for years. I don’t want it to just stop existing.
“And even if I’m able to let it go...I don’t know if Jeremy can. I don’t want to make him. I certainly don’t want the press to blow it up in a huge
I felt the bed move as Mike lay down beside me. “You haven’t failed. You tried. That’s all you can ask of yourself.”
I kissed him. “It’s all we
When we came back from the field the next night, after another day of uneventful digging, the reporters had arrived. They came in droves, like locusts, like the eleventh plague, and they brought cameras and recorders and improper shoes. They had Irish brogues and Southern drawls and British vowels and American twangs. They were from
Not a single respected journal wanted to talk to us.
Then came the offers.
The only ones that didn’t have to do with modeling had to do with football.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t deal with reporters fixating on the wrong things.
Cam, at least, had a positive outlook. She video called the next day. “New life plan. You model to pay the excavation fees! I’m brilliant.”
I settled back against my pillows. “I’ve always thought that.”
“I can’t believe you were in
I laughed. “Maybe you should’ve gone to the Statue of Liberty.”
“No, too much Frenchness in one frame. Unless there’s an American building in Paris? Oh. That would be
“Wait, wait, no—Do it later. I need to talk to you about Mike.”
“What, about your undying love for him and how you want to have his babies?”
I pulled a pillow over my head.
“Oh my God. You’re fucking kidding me. What?”
“Should I even say anything? He’s going back to New York in two weeks. And, yes, I’ll go back to New York for the conference, but I don’t think we’re going to find anything here, so I’ll probably end up staying in Ireland with Jeremy, because it’s way easier to look at other sites here than from home. And I finished my classes, so there’s no real reason to be over there.”
“Um. Me. Besides, you’re obviously just making excuses. If you love him, you tell him.”
I tossed the pillow off and flopped over on my belly. “How? What’d you say to Rob?”
“Ugh, Rob.” She paused. “I guess we sort of trickled it in. Like, we’d sign emails. And then once he said ‘Love you’ when we were hanging up the phone.”
“Well, that’s not going to work. He’s here in person.” I brightened. “Unless I wait until he leaves.”
“You’re such a coward. Haven’t you ever told a guy you loved him?”
I paused. “Kevin Diaz said he loved me.”
“The high school boyfriend you slept with on prom night? The one you said surrounded you with candles and rose petals and took your face in his hands—”
“Hey, he was trying to be romantic! We were nervous!” I paused. “Do you think you can buy rose petals or did he have to pluck each one himself?”
She snapped her fingers in front of the camera. “Nat. Focus.”
“Right. I’m screwed.” I rolled over on the bed. “I can’t believe people are getting married and I can’t even tell my boyfriend how I feel.”
“Hello. I’m single. Oh, God, did you see that Tori from undergrad just posted two albums of her wedding? Go look at them.”
After dissecting the wedding of someone we never spoke to, I think we both felt better and like despicable human beings. “God, I miss you.”
“I miss you too. I wish you were here and we could make mudslides and hate watch reality TV and I could give you excellent tips on love confessions.”
I tugged the blanket up and rolled around a bit until I was securely snuggled beneath it. I eyed my book on
