Page 27 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

Ellery lowered herself to the ground, crossed her legs, and pulled her backpack into her lap. Then began rummaging around inside it like Mary Poppins had gone seriously off the rails.

Not really knowing what else to do, I plopped down next to her and pulled my knees up to my chin. A suspicion was…not so much forming as being ominously confirmed. “Ellery,” I asked, “are we at the Proms?”

“Maybe.”

“Why are we at the Proms?”

She shrugged.

My knowledge of the Proms was scanty to put it mildly: they were an annual classical musical festival and the last night of them was a big deal and would be shown on BBC2 or something, with much pomp and circumstance and fireworks. “I thought you weren’t into rich people shit.”

“Arden.” Ellery hooked a finger under her glasses and pulled them down her nose so I could receive the full force of her appalled look. “Anyone can go to the Proms. That’s the whole point.”

“But I don’t know anything about classical music.”

“It’s not about knowledge.”

“Right now it seems to be about my arse getting numb. How long do we have to wait?”

There was a lengthy silence. Finally, Ellery took off her sunglasses and folded the arms with a click. “I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

Should have seen that coming. I stifled a sigh. “How can I get it,” I said, as gently as I could, “when you won’t tell me anything?”

Silence again.

“Like…” Ellery’s newly naked eyes looked oddly vulnerable—their shades softened by the sunlight “…ever since 1890-something the Proms have been about making music available to the people who get told that shit isn’t for them. All you have to do is turn up and pay a fiver—well, it’s six quid now. And you can go to a concert.”

I risked a small smile. “Wow, that’s pretty cool.”

“She’s right,” said Unasked for Queue Lady. “This way you get to be part of something that goes back over a hundred years.”

Ellery didn’t exactly strike me as a raging traditionalist. “I just don’t know what we’re doing here.”

“Because I like it, okay?” Her raised voice startled a couple of pigeons on a nearby wall and they took to the skies with a crackle of wings. “And you asked. You asked what I liked. And I trusted you. So either…fuck off and die. Or have a strawberry.”

“Have a what?”

“A strawberry. I brought strawberries.” She wrenched open her backpack and pulled out a brown paper bag.

“Oooh. Don’t mind if I do.” Unasked for Queue Lady leaned over me and helped herself.

“Well, maybe I won’t fuck off and die,” I said.

Ellery was still flushed and full of scowls. “Yeah, whatever.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Can I have a strawberry?” I made my cutest face.

For a moment, I thought she was going to say no, but then she relented. “Oh all right.”

It was probably the closest to forgiveness I was ever going to get. And the strawberry tasted amazing, sparkly sweet and bright as the juice exploded over my tongue.

“What are we going to see…um, hear?” I asked.

“Bluebeard’s Castle.”