Carl chuckled and rolled over, coming to his feet easily to switch off the holoprojector they’d borrowed from the campus library. “Nah. You’ll just film it, win an Oscar or two, and take his job. Can you imagine? A member of the Temple on faculty?”
Jenna grinned—and bushwhacked Carl from behind while he wasn’t looking, getting in several retaliatory tickles. He twisted around and stole a kiss, which turned into a clutch for solid ground, because she couldn’t quite bring herself to tell Carl the worst part of her news, that her aunt knew. Just how much Cassie knew remained to be seen. And what she intended to do about it, Jenna didn’t even want to think about. So she just held onto Carl for a long moment, queasy and scared in the pit of her stomach.
“Hey,” he said gently, “it isn’t that bad, is it?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s worse.”
“Cassie loves you, don’t you know that?”
She looked up, blinking hard. “Yes. That’s why it’s worse.”
His lips quirked into a sad, understanding little smile that wrenched at Jenna’s heart. “Yeah. I know. Listen, how about I clean up the place while you’re out, just in case she wants to visit, then when it’s over, I’ll give you a backrub, brush your hair, pamper your feet, spoil you silly?”
She gave him a watery smile. “Lover boy, you got yourself a deal.”
Then she sighed and stepped into the shower, where she could let the smile pour away down the drain, wishing the fear would drain away with it. Christ, what could she tell Aunt Cassie? She tried to envision the scene, quailed inwardly. Cassie Tyrol, cool and elegant and very Parisian, despite her New Hollywood accent and the ranch up in the hills, where Jenna had spent the happiest summers of her life—the only happy ones, in fact, until college and the Temple and Carl. . . . Aunt Cassie was not likely to take the news well. Not at all. Better, of course, than her father.