Chapter 19
19
Saturday
My father stands waiting in the driveway to usher us straight into the garage. We’re still without the media on our tail, and it would be handy to have the Cadillac hidden from view. The car is not exactly subtle, though it hasn’t been linked to us so far as I’m aware. Better safe than sorry. It’s wild to think this might be my life now (however much life I have left), dating an unofficial prince and avoiding the paparazzi. Meanwhile, my insides feel light and buoyant for some reason (Alistair). And I don’t hate it.
For the second time today, the man himself seems nervous. Not the panic from earlier in the claustrophobic confines of the elevator. It’s more manageable than that. But he keeps nodding grimly at me. Like we’re going to war or something. Though he’s also been affectionate, or comfortable even, resting his hand on my thigh during the drive over when it wasn’t needed for such important tasks as steering and changing gears. Last night seems to have settled things between us in a nice way. It’s tempting to ask if he’s like this with the other women he’s dated. Touchy-feely. But I’m not sure I want to know. Never ask a question you don’t want the answer to—Mom taught me that. And I worry that if I mention his sweet behavior, he’ll feel self-conscious and shut it down. Which would be sad.
Never has holding hands with someone been so overthought.
As soon as we climb out of the car, he approaches my dad with his hand outstretched. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Dad shakes his hand with a bemused smile. “You should have told him it’s your mother he needs to beware of. I’m the nice one.”
“Right.” An impending sense of doom settles in my middle. And I was having such a nice time. “What did she make for lunch?”
“Meatballs.”
“Oh.”
“Oh what? What does ‘meatballs’ mean?” asks Alistair in a worried tone. “Why did your eyebrows just do a thing?”
“Meatballs means we haven’t earned any of her special-occasion dishes,” I say. “But it is the everyday meal that she makes best. So it’s sort of a fuck you with a side order of you better be impressed.”
“That about sums it up. Hearing about your wedding plans via the neighborhood gossips rubbed her the wrong way.” Dad scratches at his short beard. “But she does make amazing meatballs.”
“I was hoping she might have had a little time to calm down,” says Alistair as the hope fades from his eyes.
“Nope,” answers Dad.
I just shrug. Mom has always been a force of nature. I come by my dramatic tendencies and general anxiety honestly.
“Okay.” Alistair swallows hard. “I’ll just have to win her over.”
“Good luck with that,” says Dad cheerfully, opening the door. “Honey, did I ever tell you about the time your mother accidentally kneed me in the groin on our first date? At least, she said it was an accident.”
“He’s joking,” I say quickly as Dad disappears from view. “I’m like 55 percent certain that never happened. Forty-nine at worst.”
Alistair’s smile is closer to a wince. “Those aren’t great odds.”
“Hey,” I say. “I have every faith in you. You’re the most charming man I’ve ever met. Why, you charmed the pants off me just last night!”
“I do note that as one of the greatest accomplishments of my life.”
“You should. But also, it’s important to remember that it’s not my mom who decides who I date.”
“Thank you, Leannan.”
“We’ll just go in there and explain that it was all a mistake and we’re not actually getting married,” I say. “She might be a tad perplexed, but then she’ll be fine. Who knows...she might even think it’s funny.”
All he does is frown. Guess we’re not ready to think this is funny ourselves.
We head around to the backyard, where a riot of colorful flowers fills the garden beds. A fat drop of water falls on my head, making me look to the sky. Sunshine filters through the clouds like beams of light sent from heaven. Some days LA is just like that—a movie set come to life. And sometimes, if you’re really lucky, the movie in question is a romance with a happy-ever-after. More raindrops land on the cracked old walkway beneath our feet. The same one I played on as a child. It was a road for my toy cars and a canvas for my chalk pictures.
The warning drops turn into a sun shower, and Alistair takes hold of my hand. His skin is warm and his grip sure. Standing beside him forever would be fine with me. Just fine. The scent of petrichor fills the air and the world smells clean and new. Full of possibilities. Like magic, as a rainbow appears in the distance. It’s another one of those everyday enchantments. But then life gets busy, and you forget to stop and stare at the wonder. Warmth fills my chest as I reflect on how right things are in this moment. I am the fairy-tale princess holding the prince’s hand.
“You wanted to dance in the rain,” he says with all due seriousness. “It was on your wish list, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“Do you really want to do that now, with my mother waiting?”
He just nods and draws me closer. “This is more important. We might not get another chance for a while.”
“With no music?”
“I can sing if you like.”
I smother a smile. “I heard you singing Rihanna in the shower this morning.”
“And I was brilliant?”
“That is exactly what I was about to say. How did you know?”
“Just a guess. ‘Bitch Better Have My Money’ is one of my favorites. Anyway,” he says with a small smile. “Who needs music? Where’s your imagination?”
Dad chuckles and wanders toward the back door, where my mother is no doubt watching from the kitchen. They might as well be on the other side of the world, because when Alistair slides an arm around my waist, nothing else matters. He gazes down at me and wow . The feel of him and the scent of him and just everything. How does he keep doing this with such ease? We assume a waltz type position and, oh, God, I do not know what I am doing. Not dance-wise or heart-wise—which is beating double time. It’s amazing previous me was able to turn down his offer of sex the other night. I doubt I could say no to him about almost anything now.
“I never had dance lessons,” I say. “Tell me if I step on your toes.”
He spins me around with a small smile. “That’s all right. I had enough for both of us. You can tread where you like—my feet will be just fine.”
We dance in the rain with no music playing. Our own best intentions lead the way. He moves with ease and confidence, and he holds me tight. Tight enough that nothing else matters.
“Have I ever told you that your eyes are the exact same color as the California sky this time of year?” I ask.
His smile increases ever so slightly. “Are they?”
I just nod.
He looks around the yard. “So, this is where you grew up?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s nice.”
“It’s just your regular normal chunk of suburbia.”
“Yeah.” His gaze is thoughtful. “I think that’s what I like best about it.”
“Do you ever miss where you grew up in Scotland?”
He sighs. “Quite often, actually. But not enough to go back.”
Because being that close to his father’s side of the family would be horrible. Because the UK press would be unbearable. The media are bad enough here. I’ve seen more than enough to reach that conclusion. Now there’s a new item for my wish list: to be his knight in shining armor. To rescue him from the fuckery of his birth. But neither a long sword nor a faithful steed will help the situation. When it comes to privacy and his right to live his life, what his mother said was right. Alistair never had a choice, and he never stood a chance. The best I can do is stand with him. To not leave him to face it alone. As long as I don’t die tomorrow and he wants to keep dating me. Fingers crossed on both counts.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“How much I appreciate you doing this.”
The edge of his mouth eases up. “It’s not a hardship. I’ll dance in the rain with you whenever you like. Just say the word.”
We don’t talk anymore. Our clothes are damp and my hair hangs in tendrils. I had hoped to impress my parents with my put-togetherness and not look like trash if or when the paparazzi catch up with us. But oh well. I’m sure I resemble a drowned rat while he has more in common with a dashing, debonair hero facing down the eye of the storm. I can just picture him on the cover of a romance novel wearing a kilt and a rakish grin. His shirt clings to the cut of his shoulders. His cheekbones slick with rain stand out in stark relief. He is, however, so much more than his looks. So much more than his money and fame. The online gossip sites don’t know a thing about the real him.
Alistair smiles at me and I smile back. A cool breeze blows through the garden, but there’s enough warmth in his eyes for both of us. Oh, God, this man makes me giddy. Spin in circles and giggle like an idiot...the whole thing. My delicate little feelings are in such danger and I cannot make myself care. Not when he looks at me the way he does. Forget the contents of my wish list. Being with him is everything. And if I press my ear against his chest, I can hear his heart beat strong and steady, which is officially one of my new favorite things.
Which is when my mother opens the back door, throws a towel at us, and says, “That’s enough. Get in here, you two lovebirds, and explain yourselves.”
“Harsh,” I mutter, patting myself dry.
“Why do I suddenly feel as if I’m six years old getting caught stealing sweets from the pantry?” he asks in a low voice.
“Did you do that often?”
“Now and then.” He gives me a wink. “I was a growing lad.”
Inside, the kitchen table is set with the everyday silverware and plain beige dishes that have been around forever. Further evidence of my mother’s foul mood. There’s no sign of Grandma’s good vintage Furnival dishes with the pretty blue design. Nope. Not for this lunch. Though the familiar scent of Mom’s cooking makes my tummy rumble. And regardless of the arctic welcome, it’s nice to visit. To show Alistair this place and introduce him to my parents.
“Handsome, isn’t he?” Mom is not impressed. She also doesn’t allow a word to escape her intended prey. He has no sooner pasted on his most winning smile than she asks, “Why do you think you’re good enough for my daughter?”
“Ah,” he says with much wisdom. “I don’t think that I’m good enough, ma’am. I don’t know that anyone could be.”
“Then why should I give you my blessing?” asks Mom. “Hmm?”
“We need your blessing?” I cock my head. “What is this, the Victorian era? Should I go and put on a bustle and fetch my needlework? A gentleman has come to call!”
Dad smothers a smile.
“Alistair, I give you my word I’m a virgin.” I put my hand on my heart. “We’re an honest family. We wouldn’t sell you dodgy goods.”
“Thank goodness,” he says dourly. “I did have my concerns.”
Thunder crosses Mother’s face. “Very funny.”
“Mom, I’m sorry,” I say. “I know you’re upset. But listen, about the engagement—”
“The engagement is exactly what I wish to discuss. But not with you. Not if you’re not going to take it seriously!”
“Wait a minute,” I say.
But Mom just sniffs in disdain and takes another swing. “Alistair, my daughter is a bright and beautiful young woman. Most of the time. She only just escaped the clutches of an imbecile who couldn’t keep it in his pants. How are you any better?”
“Oh, he’s definitely better,” I say. “Take my word for it. Sooo much better.”
A faint red hue appears high on Alistair’s cheeks. The man is blushing. Hilarious.
Dad calmly takes a seat at the table. Like this is a dinner show or something. And honestly, it is giving off those vibes. Someone needs to start serving cocktails with smutty names or selling tees to commemorate the occasion.
Mom shushes me. “This is between me and Alistair. We’ll have the conversation without you if you can’t behave.”
Sweet baby Jesus.
There’s a definite flash of fear in Alistair’s eyes. I do not think less of him for it. My mother can be mildly terrifying, and I wouldn’t want to face her alone either. With her hands on her hips and her chin set sky-high, the woman is vexed as fuck. “Well? What do you say? Are you going to treat her better than that cheating butthead?”
“Yes, ma’am,” says Alistair with a ruler-straight spine. “I will definitely treat her better than that butthead. But as Lilah was trying to say, our engagement is—”
“I looked you up online. You’ve dated at least forty women that I could see. Some of them were very fancy.”
I put up my hand. “Ask me how many I’ve dated. Because I can assure you that thanks to online dating apps, I too have also been out with at least that many people. And some of the people I dated were also quite fancy, I’ll have you know. There was this one guy who said he was a poet and insisted on wearing a beret everywhere we went.”
Mom shushes me with more fervor than even a librarian could manage. It’s quite impressive.
“Dad, say something,” I plead. “Be the voice of reason here. Please.”
He shakes his head. “Hell no. Not even for all the money in the world. I’m staying out of it.”
“Coward.”
“What if you get tired of her?” asks my mother. “She’s not a countess or an Olympic cross-country skier or a famous Hollywood actress. She’s just herself and there’s nothing wrong with that. But you do get my point.”
“I don’t get your point. Please explain it to me, oh Mother dearest,” I say. “Ali, you never told me you dated an Olympic cross-country skier.”
“We dated for a few months about thirteen or so years ago. I would have mentioned it had it ever come up in conversation,” he says before turning to my mother with a pained expression. “Ma’am...um, no. I honestly never know what’s going to come out of Lilah’s mouth next. What she’s about to do. I don’t see being bored of her ever becoming an issue.”
Mom’s gaze narrows suspiciously. “She can be very stubborn too. Even difficult.”
“That’s true,” says my father.
“Oh, now you have something to say, do you?” I ask with much ire. “Turncoat.”
Dad mimes zipping his lips shut. As he should.
“Many others have disappointed and hurt her when they realized she was sometimes hard work.” Mom sighs. “They didn’t want to be with her badly enough to put in the effort. She didn’t mean enough to them.”
“You’re making me sound like a used car with a year’s worth of fast-food wrappers in the back,” I say. “Not a good look.”
“Is there a question in there somewhere, ma’am?” Alistair asks somewhat cagily.
Mom nods. “Do you want to be with her badly enough?”
“I believe so.”
“Credit where credit’s due,” says Dad. “He’s still standing here answering your questions.”
“Hmm,” answers Mom. “And are you so certain you can handle her, Alistair?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with all due seriousness. “I believe I have already proven myself adept at handling her.”
I try not to snort and fail dismally.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” says Alistair disapprovingly.
“My bad. Sorry.”
But back to Mom. “She’s independent, but that doesn’t mean she won’t need help now and then. And she’s not always good at admitting when she’s wrong. Certainly not something she got from my side of the family. But goodness can she be stubborn.”
“Are you just going to let her get away with that?” I ask, outraged. “Father?”
Alistair continues to ignore me in favor of my mother. Dad just shrugs. Which goes to show you really can’t depend on anyone these days.
“I am aware that your daughter can upon occasion be wrong.” Alistair continues to stand at attention. “Very, very occasionally.”
“Name one time,” I challenge. “Go on. You can’t, can you?”
“But I will always have your daughter’s back,” he says. “Whatever may happen and whether she likes it or not.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
He glances at me. “It was meant as a promise.”
“Then there’s your use of the word always ...” I say.
“What about it?” he asks. And he doesn’t back down.
Thus begins a staring competition of which I am not the winner. Not even a little. None of this is what I was expecting. “This isn’t what we came here for, Ali.”
“Is that necessarily a bad thing?” he asks, cocking his head.
I give him my very best What the fuck? look. The one I save for especially perplexing occasions. He remains undaunted and I do not understand.
None of this seems real. Not a word or a gesture. When Alice fell down the rabbit hole, she probably felt the way I do now. Tumbling head over ass without a clue. Because promises from this man make my world turn upside down. As if gravity has been given the afternoon off. The last person who made a commitment to me broke it while also setting a new land record speed for how fast they could exit my life. And we’d known each other longer than a week. I don’t want to hear these sorts of things out of Alistair’s mouth if he doesn’t mean them—if he’s only saying them to pacify my mother. Which of course he is. He has to be.
“Can we take a break?” I ask, my voice high and tight. Stress will do that to you. “Why don’t we sit down and have a strong alcoholic beverage and give this whole interrogation scene a rest for a second?”
Alistair looks at me.
“You have money and fame,” continues Mom in rapid-fire fashion, “but, from what I’ve seen, those things can cause trouble as easily as they can cure it. It’s all fine and well to be able to buy her nice things. But will she have your time and attention?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
“Relationships are hard enough without rushing into it this way. What makes you so sure of your feelings?”
“Honestly, ma’am, your husband is right. I wouldn’t be standing here doing this for anyone other than your daughter. That’s how I know.”
Dad chuckles.
Mom does not. Her gaze narrows more, zeroing in on the man standing at my side. While it’s nice that she cares, at the end of the day, this is unnecessary and ridiculous. This would all be funny if not for the fact that I want it with all my heart and soul. But Alistair’s professed love and devotion are a deception. A falsehood, a fib, and a fabrication. I hate the way his words are a barb in my throat. Because no one has ever said these sorts of things about me. No one has ever even pretended to care this much. There he stands with his serious face, and it scares me how much I wish his words were true.
I clear my throat. “Mom, like I was trying to say at the start, the engagement—”
“Is wonderful news that you should have heard directly from us,” Alistair finishes for me. Though that most definitely is not what I was going to say. Not even a little. “I sincerely apologize you didn’t. With the media’s interest in my life, this sort of thing unfortunately happens.”
Which is when I see the look in his eyes. The yearning for my family and this home and all that it means. For the normal humdrum life that we live. A life that he was never allowed to have. But this runaway train needs to be stopped. Fast. And yet I sit there in stunned silence.
The fire has gone out of my mother. She stares at us in silence for a moment before saying, “I can see that you have our girl’s heart, and I understand why. She’s always been a romantic. Even if she does try to hide it with sarcasm. But what I need to hear from you, and be sure that you’re being honest with me when you answer...”
He nods.
“Does she have your heart, Alistair?”
Blinks and takes a breath. Then he says nothing at all. And I’m just about to butt in and tell her how the whole engagement is a mistake. How everything we’ve uttered since entering the building is bullshit. But Alistair is already saying something. Just a word. Only the one. “Yes.”
“Wh-what?” I stammer. “What did you say?”
He turns to me and brushes a strand of damp hair off my forehead. He’s so careful about how he touches me. As if someone stamped Handle with Care on my forehead. “You heard me, Leannan.”
“I’m satisfied. You have my blessing.” My mom nods sagely. “Take a seat and let’s eat.”
“Thank goodness for that,” mumbles Dad.
“You’re satisfied. Okay.” An awkward high-pitched laugh bubbles out of me. One of those What the fuck is happening? type noises. Then I ask in a whisper hiss, “Holy shit. What are you doing?”
“Let’s talk about it later.”
“You let them believe the engagement is real. Why would you do that?”
Alistair pulls out a chair, waiting for me to sit before taking his own seat at the table and announcing to the room, “Of course, it’s probably going to be a long engagement. Give us time to get to know each other better. To give Lilah the chance to plan whatever kind of wedding she wants. Or to dump me if she decides that’s what she should do.”
“She’s not going to dump you. Not unless you do something terrible. I’ve never seen her so besotted.” Mom laughs and starts loading plates with meatballs, potato salad, and pickles. “There’s no rush, of course. Though a June wedding is always lovely.”
“It’s entirely up to your daughter,” says Alistair, giving my shoulder a squeeze.
“Something wrong, honey?” asks my father.
Alistair says nothing. But his smile is as calm as can be. He sits back in his seat and watches me, waiting to see if I am going to back him up or blow him and our fake engagement right out of the water. Though I’ve already blown him today. Another word would be better.
“No, Dad.” I take a sip of water. “Everything is fine.”
“My own daughter marrying someone with royal blood,” says Mom with no small amount of delight. “Who would have thought?”
“Not me,” I answer. “Definitely not me.”