When Love Crosses Class

Episode 3MyColdFeet

MY COLD FEET

I stood outside the entrance of our house, hugging my books as I scanned the road, waiting. My supposed driver wasn’t ready to drive as he hadn’t sorted out his licensing issues with the British government.

My Dad has instructed me to exercise patiently for Tony to be properly licensed, so I had to go to school, and for the time being I had earlier spoken to Gray to come pick up, especially to school and nearby places. As I don't want to use any of my Dad's so-called domestic staff.

So this morning I was left waiting in the cold. I wrapped my coat tighter around me, trying to ignore the chill that crept in. But just as I sighed, a sleek, obsidian-black Aston Martin slid up to the curb, turning every head nearby.

The tinted window rolled down, revealing him. Gray. My ridiculously handsome, almost annoyingly perfect boyfriend. He had that effortless charm that came from a mix of sharp features, a jawline so sculpted it looked like it belonged in a magazine, and a gaze that could melt anyone with a glance. His dark hair was styled back, and he looked relaxed, leaning casually with one hand on the wheel. The leather interior of the car seemed almost custom-made to match his luxurious taste, all polished metal and smooth surfaces.

“Need a lift?” he asked, flashing that grin of his.

I slid into the passenger seat, instantly cocooned in warmth and the faint scent of his cologne, a blend of cedar and something sharp, clean, like a cool forest morning. The car was silent, powerful, almost purring as he shifted gears and pulled away from the curb.

He didn’t say much, he didn’t have to. I could tell he was enjoying this, playing the part of the rescuer. The city blurred past us, and I stole glances at him, at the easy confidence in his posture, the way his hands moved on the steering wheel, hands that were somehow both gentle and commanding.

As we head towards my school, I could not help but vent about my little frustration of what my Dad has conditioned me to.

“Dad has been mean to me in a way I hardly understand, he acts like I am not his favourite anymore, sometimes I wonder why I am being treated this way” as I paused and expected some consoling speech from Gray.

“What has he done this time?”He asked, with a half-smile, his voice smooth, barely louder than a murmur but enough to make my heart skip.

“I feel he brought me the African driver just to torture me for a sin I barely do not know of, he acts like he enjoys seeing me in distress, could you imagine he told me that, if I do anything to my driver and he resigned he would not assign any one to drive me around? Even if I wanted to do so with my money it would be forbidden. How I wish I had your Dad”

Looking at Gray in jealousy. Being with Gray was like stepping into another world. His parents adored him in a way I’d never seen before as if he were some rare, delicate treasure they had to protect and spoil at all costs. They doted on him like he could do no wrong, practically worshipping the ground he walked on.

Whenever I visited their mansion, I could feel it, the way their attention followed him everywhere. His mother would beam the moment he entered the room, dropping everything just to ask him if he needed anything. She had carefully planned every detail of his life, meals timed perfectly to his preferences, wardrobes stocked with designer clothes he hadn’t even touched yet, vacations tailored to his exact tastes.

And his father? A man of few words with most people, but with Gray, he softened completely. Never like my Dad. I once heard him say, “Whatever you need, son, just let me know.” And I knew he meant it.

One time, I remember Gray casually mentioning he had seen a particular classic car online, just in passing. His father barely said a word, just nodded with that thoughtful expression of his. The very next week, the car was in their driveway, polished and waiting with a huge bow on it. When Gray’s eyes lit up, his parents exchanged glances, almost as if they had lived for that moment alone.

It was as if Gray was their entire world, a symbol of everything they had achieved. They practically pet him, indulging his smallest whims. And while he didn’t flaunt it, I could tell he was used to it, like he had always known that anything he wanted would somehow appear, wrapped up in a perfect little package. It was the kind of life that felt unreal to me, a luxury most people couldn’t even imagine. And for Gray, it was simply life.

He looked at me and said “Do not worry my Lady, everything will be alright” touching my head with his soft palm which felt like he had never held a rod or anything concrete in his life.

We got to the school, he drew close and kissed me goodbye, I pleaded with him to come pick me up when I was done, he assured me he would come as soon as I was done with school for the day as he had nowhere to be but home at the moment. I snuggled in excitement and left.

Susan stood at the entrance waiting for me as usual so we could walk in together, I ran to her and gave her a warm hug and we walked faster into the school as outside was getting too cold.

As we walked in I told her that Gray was coming to get me after school hours. She told me to call him and tell him not to border as she drove down to school and had planned lunch for the both of us. So I called Gray immediately to hint him on the information which he took slightly well.

Susan was a force of nature. Even across the Atlantic, she carried that quiet American confidence, the kind that made her seem completely unfazed by anything. She was in London for her master’s program, but I knew she had other reasons too. Her father had some big project underway here, something high-profile, luxurious, and ambitious, the sort of thing her family name was practically built on. So, naturally, Susan had come to “supervise,” as she liked to put it.

She stayed in a penthouse in Westminster, right in the heart of the city, with a view that looked like something out of a postcard. It was extravagant but suited her life, with tall glass windows framing the skyline and every room filled with sleek furniture, all carefully chosen to match her taste.

She always had an eye for details, very observant, nothing was ever out of place. That was probably one of the reasons her father trusted her to oversee things here. Even though she was technically still in school, she had this incredible ability to command a room, to make people listen and respect her.

Every day, she balanced her classes with site visits and meetings. I’d join her sometimes, just to see her in action. Watching her negotiate with project managers and architects was almost mesmerizing. She spoke with such precision, so calmly yet firmly, that even the most experienced professionals would take her seriously without question. And then, after handling business, she’d switch gears and somehow manage to ace a seminar or submit a perfectly written paper.

It was clear she wasn’t here just for a degree. She was there to make a statement, to prove something to herself, maybe to her father too. But if she ever felt the pressure, she never showed it. She made everything seem effortless, living in her elegant penthouse, overseeing her father’s project, all while pursuing her master’s as if it were just one more item on a to-do list.

After school we headed straight to a reserved restaurant, where we sat and waited for our ordered meals and she brought me back to reality by asking ridiculously “How is your African driver?”

“Oh no!!! not this again” as I got scared due to the fact that my Dad had told me that next week Tony Driver’s license will be ready.