Do-Over Read Online Free PDF Page B

along. I don’t fall or even wobble on the way down. I manage to do this even though I know Georg’s watching me and even though I can practically feel him kissing me, I want him so bad.
    On the not-so-good side: Dad and The Fraulein stick to us like glue the whole way down. Even when I pause at the side of the trail and fake like I need to adjust my goggles, they stop and wait.
    Can they tell Georg and I are dying to jump each other or what?
    When we get to the lift, I tell Dad that I think Georg and I are going to head to another part of the slope now that we’ve done a practice run, but we’ll make sure we don’t draw any attention to ourselves. Georg adds that we can meet them for lunch and that if they need us before that, we’ll both have our cell phones.
    Dad agrees (hooray!), but then he maneuvers in the lift line so I end up riding with him this time while Georg’s stuck with The Fraulein.
    I feel bad for Georg, but better him than me.
    “You looked pretty good there,” Dad saysas we take off. “Must be the new ski pants.”
    “Very funny.”
    “Look, Val, I wanted to ride with you for a reason.” His voice is quiet, like he’s afraid what he’s saying might carry to Georg and The Fraulein on the chair behind us.
    Damn. Time to do a preemptive strike against his fatherly instinct to lecture me. “I promise, Dad, Georg will keep his helmet on. I don’t think anyone will realize who he is. And we’ll definitely behave if we go—”
    “It’s not that,” Dad assures me. “I trust the two of you.”
    He’s quiet for a minute, using his pole to pick some loose snow off the side of his boot as the chair ascends. Once he’s settled again, he says, “It’s just . . . do you remember when I e-mailed you in Virginia to let you know I’d be meeting you at the airport when you returned home from break?”
    “Sure.”
    “I said I wanted to hear all about your trip, but that I also had news to share with you.”
    “Oh. Sorry . . . guess I forgot.” Duh. I totally spaced that he said he wanted to talk about what happened with him while I wasgone. Or maybe I just assumed he was saying he wanted to talk because he always wants to talk, and it’s usually just to nag me about proper behavior. Or to tell me all about what dignitaries he had the chance to meet while he was at work that day. Then it occurs to me. “Are you going to have to travel for work?”
    I knew that travel was a possibility when I moved here with Dad. Part of why we’re living in the palace instead of some apartment in downtown Freital (the capital city and, frankly, the only real town in Schwerinborg) is so that if Dad needs to go along on any official trips with Prince Manfred, I’ll be where other adults can check up on me. Make sure I eat decent food and don’t skip school and all the usual stuff Mom did whenever Dad traveled during his last job, working for the president. And being at the palace—as Dad has pointed out on numerous occasions—means no one can get to our apartment (or to me) without going through metal detectors and showing ID first. It’s like being a well-guarded dignitary myself. Or a prisoner in lockdown, depending on how I feel on any given day.
    “No, it’s not travel. This is more, ah, personal.”
    “Oh.” At his tone, my throat instantly tightens up. This cannot be good. He never talks to me about personal stuff. At least not about his own personal stuff. He barely said two words when Mom made her off-the-cuff declaration that she was leaving him for Gabrielle. He hardly even got snarky when they were trying to divide up their stuff, even though I know Mom took a few things he really didn’t want to hand over. He’s the king of sucking it up and moving on, even when I know he’s pissed off and hurt. “Um, what is it?”
    “While you were in Virginia, I started seeing someone.” He rushes to add that it’s nothing serious; they just went out a couple of times. “I thought you should know.