Page 89 of False God

I can’t tell if she cares about what the answer is or if she’s simply curious. Can’t decide if I care if she cares.

“I don’t have any exes.”

“Right.Prat.”

I chuckle. “You were worried Cal saw your money first, you second? Iknowwomen look at me and see my title. Beatrice included.”

Lili sighs. “I know you’re going to make me regret saying this, but you have other redeeming qualities than some stuffy title.”

A gust of wind blows my snort away. “Thanks.”

“I don’t get it. The whole title thing … what’s the big deal?”

“Aristocracy is history. Tradition. Power. Prestige. Hierarchy. And you can’t buy it or create it. You have to be born into it … or marry it. The harder it is to have something, the more people want it.”

“I guess.” Lili’s still looking straight ahead, so I can’t read her expression. “And you’re okay with that? Some woman marrying you because of your title?”

“Wasn’t your parents’ marriage arranged?”

I know it was actually. Her brother Kit made a comment about it while I was hanging out with him and his friends at the Hamptons party I attended.

“My parents are in love,” she informs me.

“I know.”

That was obvious at that same party.

Twin lines appear between Lili’s blue eyes as she studies me. “You’re right; their relationship started as a … business merger, I guess. It changed.”

“If I don’t have a son, I’ll be the last Marlborough to hold this title. It can be … simpler to both have clear expectations in a marriage.”

“So, you’d be fine with it?”

I blow out a breath. “I don’t know. I just always assumed that’s what that part of my life would look like.”

“I couldn’t do it.” Lili’s voice is fierce. “Get married for any reason besides love.”

Ironic, our different stances. Her parents married for business but stayed together for love. Mine married for love—allegedly—and that marriage imploded so catastrophically that my sister hasn’t seen our mother since she was five. Different starts and different outcomes.

“I hope you find it, Lili.”

I can feel her eyes on me. Mine stay straight ahead.

“Why don’t you drink?” she asks abruptly.

“I do sometimes. Just not often.”

“Why not?”

I rub the back of my neck. “You don’t want to ask my favorite color first?”

Her laugh gets lost in the wind, and I wish I could have listened to it for longer. “You don’t have to answer.”

I pull in a deep breath of briny air. “My dad was pissed when he died. Drunk, I mean. Before then too. I’m like him in a lot of ways. I guess I was looking for one way to be different. And I like staying in control. Alcohol makes people unpredictable.”

Lili nods, saying nothing.

And I need to say something. Because this moment isn’t just uncomfortable. It’s unbearable. The salt in the air is burning open wounds.

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