What the River Knows (Secrets of the Nile #1)

by Isabel Ibañez

He didn’t know me well enough to understand that once I’d made up my mind, there was no changing it. Mamá called it stubbornness, my tutors thought it a flaw. But I named it what it was: persistence.

“Egypt has been overrun with people who spend most of their lives in grand hotels, visiting many lands but not bothering to learn languages, who have looked at everything, but seen nothing. They ruin the planet with their footsteps, and they disrespect Egyptians by taking priceless historical objects and vandalizing monuments.

Grief was like a memory keeper. It showed me moments I’d forgotten, and I was grateful, even as my stomach hollowed out. I never wanted to forget them, no matter how painful it was to remember.

“Tell me,” he said slowly. “What do I have to do to get you to stop asking me questions?” “Answer one of them.”

Mr. Fincastle regarded me with keen interest. “You’re an artist?” “I like to draw, I’m not sure if that makes me an artist.” “Of course it does,” my uncle barked. My surprise robbed me of speech. It was the nicest thing he’d ever said to me.

I turned my attention back to the temple. This building was thousands of years old and it made me feel my mortality. It would be here long after I left. I wasn’t frightened but humbled by my realization.

“We’ve become friends, so please don’t let your wild imagination run away from you. You’re not Emma Woodhouse, despite what you may believe.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m telling you, were she real, we’d be the best of friends.

“I’ve made my life a mess,” I said. “I’ve been vulnerable, and embarrassed and ashamed. My mother is a criminal, my father is probably dead. You’ve seen me at my worst. And I still don’t know your name.” His arms tightened around me. “Yes, you do.” I shook my head. “Not the one that comes with your title.” “It’s Somerset,” he said softly, his breath brushing against my cheek. “But I never want you to call me that.”