Chapter Nine
Adam
Fuck it.
Fuck all of it. My house. My company. My past. Lila. Whatever had happened between us. The note she accused me of writing. The parties I’d thrown just to put her back into my orbit. Fuck. All. Of. It.
After Lila disappeared it the back of the Volkswagen she’d ordered, I stood in the doorway a long time, watching the night and staring at the lines of luxury cars belonging to my guests. I didn’t care about any of them. They could all go to hell.
Goddammit, I need a drink.
I pushed back through my house and out to the back lawn, pulling my mask over my face as I went.
My guests crowded together, watching a trapeze artist wearing too much makeup and not enough clothing tumble alone a mobile tightrope near the water’s edge.
They laughed and clapped as the performer executed perfect backflips and twists, and as I moved through them, I remembered it had cost twenty thousand dollars to bring that artist and a few others up from Miami for the night.
Not that I gave a damn about the cost. This party had accomplished its original goal—it had brought Lila to me.
Too bad things had gone south after that.
“Bourbon on the rocks,” I told the bartender. “And make it a triple, please.”
He murmured his approval and delivered the goods.
I proceeded to knock back half of it in a smooth gulp, willing myself to settle down as the liquor coursed past my throat.
Lila wasn’t supposed to ruffle me anymore, not the way she had at The Breakers, and certainly not how she had in the dining room.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Patience was the name of the game here.
Why had she insisted I’d sent a letter I had never written? Even worse, why had she sounded so hurt? And goddamn it, why had I allowed her to leave?
A hand rapped my shoulder. I turned around to find Preston with his mask resting on his forehead, a goofy grin across his face.
“She came, didn’t she?” he asked. “She actually showed the hell up.”
I nodded and swallowed some more bourbon.
“And how did it go?”
“About as well as could be expected,” I mumbled into my glass.
“Since she’s not out here, I’m going to take that as not good at all.
” Preston clicked his teeth and turned his attention briefly to the trapeze artist, who was currently doing elaborate tricks with a handful of flowing ribbons in a variety of colors.
“But I gotta hand it to you, man. You were right. Lila Montague did eventually make her way here.”
“And then made her way out of here.” I slammed my glass onto the bar and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“What’s the plan now, Gatsby?”
I stared at him.
“You can’t just let her leave, can you? You didn’t go to all this trouble to have her walk out of your life again.”
“No, I didn’t.”
The trapeze artist dismounted, and the crowd cheered. Behind her, sparkling lights illuminated the water and the merest hint of Lake Worth.
“I’ll be back later,” I told Preston, suddenly feeling sober and clear. Whatever buzz I had from that night’s drinking had faded with Lila’s exit. Once again, I felt stone-cold sober. And pissed. “I’m going for a drive.”
It was the first time I’d ever physically left my own event, but I didn’t care.
I had enough staff to handle the guests and Preston would take over where I had failed.
My parties had always run on their own, anyway, without much influence from me.
Palm Beach wouldn’t know I had left. Moreover, Palm Beach wouldn’t care.
Navigating my Bentley to Lila’s old address didn’t take long. Like many things on the island, her street hadn’t changed much, a product of careful manicuring and rigid code enforcement from town leadership. And even though it was a warm, balmy night, I shivered as I turned down the road.
I didn’t have much of a plan, but I knew she still lived there. I’d looked that up online a few weeks before and saw the old Montague mansion remained in the family. From there, I made an educated guess that she still called the place home.
The house was dark, though, and closed off. And when the car headlights fell on the small, unmistakable for sale sign at the edge of the front lawn, my shiver turned into a shudder.
What the hell?
I took my phone from the console and recorded the name and phone number into the notes section. I knew one thing immediately—if the house had a for sale sign, then a lot had transpired for the Montagues in the last year or so. A lot.
After a few minutes of thinking about it, I threw the car into drive and left her street.
I might have a million questions, but those would be better served in the daylight, and not the evening.
When I arrived back at my own property, I ignored the continuing festivities on my lawn, went upstairs, and fell into bed.
I felt too exhausted and frustrated to give a shit about anything.
That night, I didn’t dream.
The following morning, I stumbled out of bed and downstairs to the gym, where I tried to knock out my growing annoyance and curiosity with a grueling TRX session.
Didn’t work. Annoyed, I downed a protein shake after the workout and gave Magda her instructions for the day.
My mind still raced with thoughts of Lila, and the house; they dominated every breath I took.
By the time I got to the shower, I couldn’t stand it any longer.
Forget whatever happened between us last night. I need to see her again. No matter what.
Leaving Magda to direct the rest of the staff, I drove out of Ibis Isle’s entrance and guided the car north, back into the main part of the community.
I unrolled all the windows, opened the moon roof, turned up Kendrick Lamar once more, and maneuvered the car through the winding streets, passing mansions and estates along the way.
Again, I played my previous night’s interaction with Lila in my mind. Damn, she was even more beautiful last night than she had been at the resort. More natural. More wholesome. Real, and raw, and more like the soft, delicate teenager I remembered, the one whose lips had invited me in.
When I arrived at the driveway, my stomach clenched. My suspicions from the previous night had been right.
Something is wrong.
The hedges gave it away. The short time I’d worked on the property, they’d been immaculate, trimmed to perfection, and groomed into an archway over the drive.
No leaf was out of place, no branch allowed to stay away from its expected growth pattern.
Now, though, I saw more than one leaf extend away from the arch, and the hedge that lined the sidewalk stuck out at least an inch too far.
It was the kind of thing no one would notice unless they were really looking, like the wrong line of code on an otherwise perfect program.
Still, I noticed.
I parked the car on the gravel about halfway up the drive and got out of the car before my thoughts took over and I second-guessed this decision before my nerves stopped me cold.
A chill ran through me as I approached the large front door, but I shook it off too.
It was only a conversation, a continuation of what had happened the night before in the dining room.
She’d left me with so many questions. Had she done that by design?
Had she thought of me at all through the years?
I knocked twice on the door. No answer. I knocked again. Still nothing. I stepped back and regarded the house. No sign of life at all. Is the paint peeling on the second-floor windowpanes? Surely not. I moved back to the front door and banged two more times.
The door flung open after the final knock.
“What are you doing here, Adam?” Lila moved to the front stoop as she asked that question, pulling the door almost closed as she did. One hand clutched the neckline of her blue silk bathrobe. “This is quite a surprise.”
“Is it?”
She nodded.
“Well, regardless, good morning to you too.”
“Good morning.” She squinted, studying me. “Why—what brings you here?”
“So, you do still live here, in the old house.”
“Y-yes. I stayed on after Dad died.”
“I read about that. Shame what happened.” I stared at her for a moment. “And you’re selling the house?”
She took a half step backward. “Y—yes.” She glanced down for a moment and shook her head. When she looked up again, her expression had turned unreadable. “It doesn’t make sense to stay here anymore.”
“Why not?”
“It’s…too painful. And too many bad memories.
” She braced her hand on the door frame.
“They found Dad by the pool, you know. Well, Delilah did.” Lila’s voice broke, and she cleared her throat.
“She went out there to ask what he wanted for lunch, and she discovered him in one of the lounge chairs. His iPad was still on his stomach, like he’d fallen asleep reading, and it had slipped from his hand.
And he was already dead.” She closed her eyes, shook her head once and opened them again.
“I’m sorry. Anyway. Yes. It’s been a hard few months. ”
“I’m sorry she found him like that,” I replied, and I did feel that way, even though I had hated Lila’s father.
He was the reason I had traveled down such a broken path over the last decade.
I was sorry he was dead, because Lila had worshipped him—had always wanted nothing more than his hard-earned praise.
Losing him must have been awful for her.
“How is your mother?” I added.
“She’s fine.”
“And everyone else? How is Delilah doing? Must have been horrible for her after your father died,” I added after a beat.
“Oh, she’s…she’s okay.”
“What time is she getting here today? I know it’s not my place, but I’d love to say hello to her again if she’s going to be here soon.”
Lila frowned. “That’s why you’re here? You want to see Delilah again?”
“Well, she was always so kind to me during the short time I worked here.” What a bullshit answer, and I knew it, but I didn’t want to reveal all to Lila. Not yet.
“She’s a nice person.”
I smiled. “She is. After last night, I started thinking about a lot of things. About us. And that’s why I’m here.”
“The past is in the past.” Lila’s eyes searched my face. “And it should probably stay there, Adam.”
“Regardless, there’s nothing wrong with saying hello to an old friend.”
“No, there isn’t,” she murmured and then her gaze slipped to the concrete stoop. “But anyway, you can’t. She doesn’t work here anymore.”
“She doesn’t?” I must have heard her incorrectly. “What do you mean?”
Lila shook her head. “None of them do, actually.”
“What? Why not?”
She raised her head and sighed. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. Things are complicated. I’m not sure you’d understand.”
I narrowed my eyes. The Montagues were nothing if not loyal to the people who had worked for them for decades.
Lila’s father had made that clear during our last conversation.
If I’d done things the way he’d wanted, I would have had my chance in the circle of loyalty too.
But I hadn’t done that, and he’d made me pay for it.
“Something must have happened,” I prodded.
Lila gulped. “It did.”
“What?” I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice, but judging by her reaction, I failed.
She looked down again, this time at her feet, which were covered in a pair of white slippers. When her eyes met mine again, though, they’d turned colder. “I woke up. That’s what happened. I stopped living in a candy-coated world and started living in the real one.”
Something in her voice made my heart jump a little. “Are you okay, Lila?”
She grimaced. “I will be.”
“Come on,” I tried once again. “If you need someone to listen, I’d be happy to. Or if you want to talk about—”
“No. I can’t.”
“Yes.” I stepped closer to her. “I was angry last night. I didn’t come across well. That’s why I’m here now.”
“I didn’t lie to you about the letter.” She studied my face. “I still have it.”
“May I see the letter?”
“I don’t—”
“Please. I want to see it. Please let me.”
She took a few heavy breaths, still staring at me. “Okay. Let me get it.”
I expected her to allow me in the foyer of the house, but she didn’t. Instead, Lila slipped through the crack of the door and shut it behind her, making it clear I wasn’t welcome inside.
And so, I waited.
When Lila reappeared, she’d changed from her robe into a pair of black leggings and a loose dark blue tank top. She’d also pulled her hair to a low ponytail and swiped some mascara on her lashes. She held a yellowed piece of paper in both hands.
“Here you go.” She presented the letter to me.
I opened it and read the greeting, then focused on her again. “I didn’t write this note. And I know you don’t believe me, but Lila, this didn’t come from me. It’s nothing like my handwriting. More than that, I have no idea who wrote this, or why.”