In Love with a Gentleman Read Online Free PDF

of alcohol. Tom settles in between two of them, stretches out his legs, and begins to snore almost instantly. The girls find this insanely funny, giggling and shrieking. I stay in the front passenger seat. No one seems to notice. Nobody seems to miss me, either. If I hadn ’ t already been sitting here, they would have driven back to Münster without me , I think, a bit peeved.
    Jens turns on the navigation system and puts the car in drive. The girls settle down after a while, but Jens has to stop once, so that one girl can throw up. Then the limo smoothly continues on its way, purring gently. Occasionally the female voice of the navigation system gives a direction. Otherwise, it’s warm and silent in the car.
    At some point, the limo stops and I open my eyes. Confused, I realize that I fell asleep. My head is on Jens’s shoulder.
    “End of the line, Lea,” he says gently. “You’re home.”
    It takes me a second to come to my senses. Then I pick up my shoes and purse. I find my keys and get out of the car. Jens, still the perfect chauffeur, holds my door open for me.
    “Is it the end of the line for us, too?” he asks quietly.
    “I’m afraid so,” I mumble. I touch his stubbly chin, then hurry to my front door. Less than ten minutes later, I lie down in bed and fall asleep instantly.

Chapter 2
    The following week, I’m so busy with travel planning, packing, and running errands, I hardly think of Jens at all. My room is rented immediately by a female student from Portugal. I free up space in my closet by stuffing everything in large duffel bags and dragging them all up to the attic. When I come across my black high heels, I think of Hohensyburg. I was lucky such a disastrous evening had ended so well. Unfortunately, Jens wasn’t as happy with the outcome. I know he fell for me, but I’m sure he’ll forget all about me soon enough.
    I search my heart a little. Was I interested in him at all? My answer is definitely no. I’m even a little glad that I have a bona fide excuse for not seeing him again. He’s simply not my type, but he’s such a nice guy that it would have really been tough for me to tell him that.
    I look at my shoes, slightly perplexed. What should I do with these things? Should I take them to England? Then I remember that I’m going to a very small English village. There won’t be any wild discos or lavish parties where I’d need them. I throw the shoes into a duffel bag and take it up to the attic with the rest of my belongings.
    I’m heading to England for a year to work as an assistant teacher at a comprehensive school, the equivalent of a public high school. Although I was very diligent about studying English and got very good grades, my actual language skills are not very impressive. My hope is that a year abroad will change that. Also, I had no say in choosing a school—your assignment is always a surprise. I was assigned to a school in Gatingstone, about an hour’s drive northeast of London in Essex County. Although I’ve been assured that traveling to London is a no-brainer—many villagers commute to London daily—I figure a reputable teacher probably shouldn’t be hanging out in trendy London clubs on a regular basis. No, I’ll be better off hanging out with my books in the evenings. Anyway, over the course of the next year, I have to finish my entire required-reading list for the Cambridge exam.
    I did Google Gatingstone, of course. The village has about thirty-five hundred residents, and I saw a few nice pictures of cute little houses and a red-brick mansion. I imagine the village is very old; it’s said that Queen Elizabeth I once stayed there overnight. Judging by the description of Gatingstone, it seems they roll up the sidewalks way before midnight. Oh, and the student body is quite diverse. There’s a large car factory nearby, and the factory’s international staff from Germany, France, and Spain send their children to the school where I’ll be teaching.
    Instead