Chapter Eight
Elizabeth
Two days pass before Dominic calls. I’m only in town because I delayed my trip…on the off chance that he’d call.
“Forty-eight hours,” I say, half teasing, half serious.
“I know,” he says with a soft sigh. “I would’ve called yesterday, but my sister caught me and insisted I had to wait three days.”
“Three?”
“One apparently makes you desperate. Four makes you uncaring.”
“Do people still believe that sort of thing?” Three would have meant I was on a plane to Tuscany.
“I guess. She told me while rolling her eyes in that superior ‘I know stuff, and you don’t’ way.”
“What did she think about you calling me after only two days?”
He makes his voice higher. “‘Nobody calls after two.’”
I laugh.
“I would’ve called anyway, but she hid my phone.”
“Your sister’s a riot.” The timing’s worked out pretty well, too. Dane’s assistant sent over a used green Civic. She said it’s a popular car among college kids who want good gas mileage and reliability.
“Still, it’s a good thing you decided to call. I wouldn’t have been in town if you’d called tomorrow.” I wouldn’t push back my departure date again for nothing. “I don’t think we had a typical beginning, and whatever ‘relationship rules’ girly rags advocate don’t apply to us… Don’t you think?”
“Yup.”
Then Dominic asks me out, wanting to know where I live so he can pick me up.
Oh.
That complicates things. I can’t exactly ask him to come get me from Uncle Salazar’s mansion after buying a Civic.
At some point, I’ll have to tell him. But not right now. I enjoy being with him simply as a regular girl he met during his shift. Too many guys I meet catalogue who I’m connected to, what kind of pull I have with wealthy families, and what I can do for them if they play me right. When I drink, they don’t keep an eye on me to make sure I’m all right. They do it to see when I’ll get intoxicated enough to agree to anything they suggest.
It’s thrilling to be wanted because a guy just likes me, not for what I can do for him or his family.
“Why don’t we stay in?” I suggest. “I can bring something.”
“Staying in’s cool,” he says. “But I’m asking you on the date, so it’s going to be my treat.”
“All right. I’m flexible.”
“So what do you like? Chinese? Thai?”
“Whatever. I’m good with spicy food.”
“Okay then.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“I’ll bring you your shirt, too.”
We agree on a time, and I hang up, saving his number to my contact list.
Our first actual date goes great, with Chinese takeout and cuddling with a romantic comedy movie on TV, and ends predictably with both of us sweaty and panting in bed.
The second date—which takes place the next day because I delayed my flight again—goes similarly, with me bringing some lasagna Uncle Salazar’s chef made. I’m not totally shameless, so I don’t take credit for it, passing it off as a friend’s mom’s.
“Marcella?” Dominic asks as I put the lasagna in the oven.
I choke back a laugh. “Marcella’s mom would rather die than work in a kitchen. And we’re all better off for that.”
The lasagna’s perfect, but then I’d be shocked if it weren’t. Uncle Salazar doesn’t pay for incompetence.
As lovely as our first two dates are, Dominic still seems to want to take me “out.” I resist pretty successfully over the next few weeks, except for one time when he suggests a hole-in-the-wall taco joint. He keeps trying to take me to the fancier places in the city, and I don’t want to be spotted by anyone I know. It’ll only lead to awkward questions. And if anybody blabs to Grandma Shirley…
I suppress a shudder.
She’s already getting suspicious over the continued delays of my trip to Italy. Not to mention she’s probably plotting a way to force me into doing what she wants—which is move into her mansion.
After a couple of weeks of clandestine rendezvous with Dominic, she summons me over to brunch at her place. It’s smaller than Uncle Salazar’s, but no less luxurious with polished stone, Italian tiles and citrus trees and a pool that nobody uses.
She’s already seated at the long table by the time I arrive. She’s impeccable as usual in a hunter-green dress, her hair shining like polished steel and pulled into a bun at the base of her frail neck. Despite her age, her skin is hardly lined and glows with liberal use of makeup, cream and medical technology.
As the head of the Pryce Family Foundation, she oversees all sorts of charitable causes the family champions. Unfortunately, her reputation is, well…ungracious…although fairly earned. I can’t think of a time when Shirley’s hard gray gaze hasn’t judged.
And I’m surprised to see her assistant Tolyan behind her. Well, not really an assistant, but you know… He isn’t her boy toy, either.
His tightly cropped sandy brown hair glinting in the morning sunlight, he stands military straight in a black suit and a crisp white dress shirt, no tie. He’s tall, built like one of those pro wrestlers with the broad shoulders and thick muscles. He moves like a jungle cat, but his pale blue eyes are barren and cold. It’s the kind of gaze Jack the Ripper must’ve had.
I don’t know his last name, and that has to be the least of what I don’t know about him. He’s always tight-lipped and secretive. I’m not exactly sure what his job is, but everyone calls him Grandma’s personal assistant…so I do, too.
Grandma is eating eggs Benedict, and the chef offers me the same. I know better than to ask for something else—Grandma doesn’t like it when I don’t go along with the menu, and I’m already on her shit list.
I pour a cup of strong coffee and stir in cream and extra sugar. I’ll need it to deal with what’s to come.
“I understand you’ve pushed back your trip again,” Grandma Shirley says, her voice as cool as a block of marble.
“Yes.”
“I thought whatever you had to do in Italy was too important to consider staying L.A. like I wanted you to.”
“It is.” I do my best to keep my answers short. Long, involved responses give too many bullets for Grandma to choose from.
Her gaze turns even harder. She loathes not being someone’s first choice. “Why the delay then?”
“It’s only for a few weeks, Grandma.” I put a soft emphasis on “Grandma” and smile the sweetest smile I can manage.
“Did Thomas change his mind?”
“No.” My paternal grandfather Thomas is an artist and one of a few people Grandma can’t control—and therefore disapproves of. He’s seen my work and decided to help me become a painter like him.
“The family foundation is your legacy. It needs you,” she says as the chef brings out my breakfast.
“Thank you,” I say, more to the chef than to Grandma. “The foundation is great, but I’m sure it’ll be fine without me. Besides, I will be leaving for Italy soon.” No way I’m staying in L.A. to do whatever Grandma has in mind. She didn’t insist on any of my brothers or male cousins taking over the family foundation, just the girls in the family. It’s totally sexist in the first place, and anyway, I want to be in charge of my own destiny.
What about Dominic?
I take a quick sip of the coffee to wet my suddenly dry mouth. I’ll have to figure something out. Maybe we can work something long distance, then he can join me in Europe. His sister Kristen is only sixteen, but she’s a year ahead in school. She can study at a university in Europe. There are plenty of great ones there. I’ll even have her tuition paid.
“You should eat your breakfast,” Grandma says.
“I’m not really hungry.”
Her eyebrow twitches ever so slightly. “Elizabeth…we may be Pryces, but we can’t always do what we want.”
“But we can strive to have a life we want, can’t we? Everyone has that right.”
She smiles, her thin lips curving just so. “Youthful optimism. I approve. A Pryce should be at least that ambitious.”
Sudden shivers ripple along my spine. I stand up. “I forgot I have an appointment. I have to go.”
“I hope the appointment was worth delaying your trip, sweetheart.”
My throat tight and unable to muster a farewell, I leave.
Is it me, or did Grandma sound vaguely threatening?