Page 93 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

“Thank goodness for that,” mumbles Dad.

“You’re satisfied. Okay.” An awkward high-pitched laugh bubbles out of me. One of thoseWhat 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.”

20

It’s dark by the time I drag Alistair out of the house and away from my parents’ adoring clutches. Safe to say they like him. There was a discussion on Nietzsche with my dad, a heated debate on the rejection of the euro by Denmark in the year 2000 with my mom, the swapping of stories regarding trips to the white cliffs of Møns Klint with both, and the perusal of many photo albums. Given that he told them we were engaged, I made no effort to save him from this dire fate.

From baby photos to my college years, he has seen it all. He didn’t even mock the unicorn costume I made myself for Halloween when I was five, which was basically just an empty toilet roll attached to my forehead and some sparkles stuck to my face. Maybe he is the perfect man after all. He even backed me up when Mom tried to get me to try on her heavily beaded wedding dress with organza ruffles. Of course, he did this by saying I wasn’t wearing any underwear.

We wave one last time at my parents, step into the garage, and close the door. Moonlight shines through the mottled glass window in the door. There’s enough light to see.

“Explain it to me, Ali.” I push him against the side of the Cadillac. “And use really small words, because my mind is worn out from chasing itself in circles for the last five hours trying to figure out what the hell you were thinking.”

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I asked you a question first,” I say. “Answer it.”

“Won’t they be wondering why we’re taking so long in here?”

“Don’t change the subject,” I order. “Why did you lie to them and tell them we were engaged?”

“Is it really a lie?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want to marry me, then?” he asks. “Do you think maybe you didn’t stop me because you secretly like the idea?”

I make a growling sound low in my throat. “Ali.”

“Sorry,” he says. “But you saw your mother’s eyes. They were full of the hope and worry and love for you and I just couldn’t let her down. Telling her it was all bullshit would have hurt her more than finding out the way she did.”

“Oh, really?”

“She wants you to be happy so badly. And between you and me, I actually quite enjoy making you happy.”

“Don’t be cute. We haven’t even been dating for twenty-four hours!”

“But you can’t say they haven’t been the best almost twenty-four hours of your life,” he says. “Right? Lilah? I’m waiting for your answer. Still waiting.”

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