Page 95 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

“Ali?”

This time, he blinks in my direction. “Lilah. Sorry, I...”

“I know. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Get in the car.”

It’s weird to be making the drive up the Pacific Coast Highway again under these conditions. And in a different prestige vehicle. A lot has changed since Monday. Just about everything.

Alistair doesn’t speak again until we can see the sea. All the charm and clever talking from the last few hours with my folks have disappeared without a trace. He is an entirely different man. The blank face that hides every last one of his feelings reappears for the first time in a while. “I met him once...the king. Though to say I met him is misleading. There was no introduction or anything like that.”

“When was that?”

“I was about six or seven. He and my mother were arguing in the billiard room. She always hated that room, said the glass eyes of Grandfather’s hunting trophies followed her around.” He smiles briefly. “The king wanted me sent out of the country for schooling, and she refused. Said that I was too little to be sent away just because he wanted to hide his dirty secret. She told him he could fuck right off.”

“I do like your mother.”

He grunts.

“Did he say anything to you?”

“He told me to move,” says Alistair, his brogue thickening. “I’d been standing in the doorway listening. I was in his way, and he wanted to leave.”

“That’s all he said to you? ‘Move’?”

“Aye.”

“What an asshole.”

“He just seemed so tall and angry. I didn’t even know who he was until the housekeeper curtsied and a groundskeeper called himYour Highness.” He sighs. “I’ll never forget the look on Helena’s face when she saw me there... She hadn’t meant for me to hear her call me that. His ‘dirty secret.’ For years, she’d been telling me I didn’t have a father and I didn’t need one. That we were better off on our own. She felt so bad about it she drove us to an ice cream parlor two towns over and let me order whatever I wanted.”

“Did you make yourself sick?”

“You bet I did,” he says. “Then she told me the same thing she always did. That we don’t need him. But also that he didn’t deserve us. I believed her that time.”

I steer the Cadillac through the nighttime traffic. It’s a heck of a vehicle. Huge and stately.

Out of nowhere, he says, “I’ll tell your parents the engagement isn’t real. Say that I just got carried away or something.”

“Decided you don’t want to marry me after all?” I ask, glancing at him. “That’s disappointing. I’ve been mentally shopping for my wedding dress for the past hour.”

He gives me a long look but says nothing. Then he fiddles with the radio until he finds some music. Then we sit in silence.

The tall gates swing open as we approach the beach shack. The palms and olive trees are lit to perfection from below, and a cool salty wind is blowing. The sprawling midcentury mansion is as impressive as last time.

There are a lot of differences between Alistair and me, with our families and lifestyles and finances. But I’m not sure much of it matters. Maybe it’s like Mom said: either you care enough to be there and do the hard work or not.

Lady Helena and Dougal stand waiting by the door. Her tousled hair is piled atop her head as always, and she’s wearing an ornate floaty cream silk evening dress with diamonds around her neck and a pair of flip-flops on her feet. Because of course she is. “Hello, darlings!”

Alistair nods.

“We’ve received an update. There was some sort of holdup and he’ll now be here in time for breakfast. I believe the menu will consist of lumpy porridge, tepid weak tea that’s been strained through an unwashed sock, and cold burnt toast with no butter. What do you think?”

“You’re in a right state all wound up, aren’t you, lad?” asks Dougal, placing a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you sorted and give you a chance to clear your head.”

The two men head off to one of the two smaller buildings at the back of the property.

Lady Helena frowns. “I wanted to talk to my son. Am I allowed to come?”

Dougal looks back and says “No” over his shoulder.

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