Page 52 of False God

I glance at Lili, who’s talking with a guy I recognize as Cal Winston. The man he called to during the polo match—Tripp—is here too. So is the woman who hit on me at the restaurant in Manhattan, whose name I can’t recall right now.

I scribble my signature on the last page of the waiver.

This feels like another opportunity to prove I’m different from James Marlborough. My father might have lost control—of his car, of his life—but I won’t.

We’re given suits to change into, the heavy fabric stifling as the sun’s unforgiving glare reflects off the blacktop. Four brightly colored cars are parked on the track, covered with sponsor logos. Older models no longer used for professional races.

The girls reach the row of cars first, laughing and posing for photos with the shadow of the huge stadium looming large in the background. Lili wanders toward the yellow McLaren, and I’m walking toward her before I’ve consciously decided to.

“You going to drive it?”

Lili’s shoulders straighten before she turns to face me. She’s wearing sunglasses, but I’m 90 percent sure her gaze dips to check me out. Her cheek puckers for a split second, like she’s chewing on the inside as she deliberates what to say.

“Have we met before?” she asks sweetly.

I grin, then take another step closer. She tenses even more, but doesn’t move away.

“You remembered my name just fine when you were moaning it.”

Lili flicks her ponytail off her shoulder. “Right. Good to see you again,Christian.”

My grin grows. “What are you doing here,Eleanor?”

She rolls her eyes at the purposeful mistake. “My best friend is getting married on Saturday.”

“Your best friend is marrying Theo Hughes,” I realize, glancing at the blonde he was with earlier.

She’s staring at me and Lili … same as everyone else. Like they’re all at a museum and we’re the only painting on the wall.

“You don’t even know her name?” Lili scoffs. “What areyoudoing here?”

“I was invited.”

“To waste gas by driving around in circles or to the wedding?”

I smirk without meaning to. I’m already losing track of how many times Lili has made me smile during this conversation. “Tell me you didn’t fly private here, Kensington.”

Her lips stay pressed tightly together.

“I’m attending the wedding too,” I tell her.

And this is the first time I’ve been the least bit enthused about it now that I know she’ll be there. But I keep that thought to myself.

“You know Theo?” Lili asks.

I shrug. “Eh.”

Her forehead wrinkles. “What doesehmean?”

“It means we went to the same pubs in university, and I got invited to his wedding because I’m the Duke of Manchester.”

“So … you were college friends?”

I shrug again because I wouldn’t really consider us friends, but that sounds sad and suspicious to admit aloud. I don’t want Lili asking more questions about why I’d attend the wedding of a guy I hardly know. She doesn’t see me as important—because she’s American, or because she’s from a powerful family and accustomed to influence, or both—and I actually appreciate that she doesn’t give a shit about my title.

I glance at the McLaren. “You never answered my question.”

Her nose wrinkles. “What question?”

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