The tears in her eyes were obviously genuine. Lucas felt a pang of guilt. Maybe the real reason he’d been against her from the start was not that she was a gold digger, but that she reminded him so much of his younger self, a poor, desperate self he wanted to forget, a self with ambition oozing out of every pore like sweat. Or maybe he’d simply been afraid that she was going to take Ben away from him? How pathetic if that were true.
“I’m sorry if I misjudged you,” he said, lighting a second cigarette from his first and offering it to her. Warily, Sian took it. “I made a lot of mistakes back then. Perhaps that was one of them.”
“Jeez,” said Sian, relaxing slightly as the nicotine flooded her system. “Lucas Ruiz, apologizing? Stop the press.”
Lucas looked awkward.
“What happened? First you want to help Honor Palmer, now you’re apologizing to me. You’re not in therapy, are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lucas.
“AA?”
“Hardly.” He forced a smile. “My doctor says I should think about donating my liver to science, and he’s a Frenchman.”
“NA?”
“Stop avoiding the issue,” he said gently. “I’m not in any kind of A. I admit I was wrong for the things I said about you back then.”
“You said them tonight, too,” Sian reminded him.
“Fine, so I’m a dickhead, OK? Maybe I should never have come between you and Ben in the first place. But the point is, it doesn’t matter now.” He looked her square in the eye. “He’s getting married. Bianca’s made him happy, happier than I’ve ever seen him. He loves her, and she loves him.”
“I know,” said Sian miserably, twisting a loose strand of hair around and around her fingers.
“Bianca’s a good person,” said Lucas. “I mean really good. Not like you and me.”
“I know that too,” whispered Sian.
“So don’t ruin it for them,” said Lucas. Stubbing out his cigarette on a dirty plate on the bedside table, he did the same with hers, then took her hand in his. “If you really loved him—I mean really—you’d let him go.”
“You sound like a Hallmark greeting card,” said Sian. But she was only bitching at him out of force of habit. She knew he was right. What could she possibly offer Ben that Bianca couldn’t? She couldn’t even say her heart, because Bianca’s feelings were obviously every bit as deep as her own.
The next thing she knew, Lucas had pressed her hand to his lips.
“You’re a beautiful girl,” he said, softly. “You’ll find someone else.”
“I don’t want someone else,” said Sian, the tears in her eyes at last brimming over.
“You and Ben would never work. He needs a calming influence. Someone steady. A homemaker. That’s not you.”
“It could be,” she said desperately.
“Not in this lifetime, sweetheart.” Lucas laughed. Leaning forward, he kissed her full on the lips. Shocked for a second, Sian found her mouth tentatively opening in response. Before she knew it, she was kissing him back, with more passion and longing than she could remember feeling since Ben.
“Oh my God!”
Lola’s screech was car-alarm loud. Lucas jumped out of his skin and off Sian’s bed, turning around midleap to see Lola standing in the bedroom doorway like a redheaded angel of retribution.
“What…what the hell is he doing here?” she screamed at Sian.
“OK, calm down,” said Sian, “I can explain. It’s not what you think.”
“No?” Lola gave her a look so laden with bitterness and disappointment it made Sian blush scarlet. “Well what is it, then? Because it sure looks a lot like Lucas Ruiz is in my fucking apartment, making out in bed with my so-called best friend! How could you let that freak in here?”
“It’s business. He’s here about the story,” said Sian, realizing at once how ludicrous an excuse it must sound, given that she’d just had her tongue halfway down the man’s throat.
“You can talk to me directly, you know,” said Lucas, regaining some of his usual sangfroid. “I am here.”
“Shut up!” yelled Lola and Sian in unison.
“What’s going on?” Marti, a little unsteady on his feet after two very good bottles of Chilean cabernet at dinner, washed down with a couple of grappas, appeared behind Lola, resting his chin on the top of her head as much for his own support as for hers. “Why all the shouting?”
Lola gave a hollow laugh. “This is Lucas,” she said, pointing at Lucas like she was picking the killer out of a lineup. “You know, Lucas, the guy who ruined my family’s life? But it’s OK,” she added bitterly. “He’s here on business. As long as it’s for the good of the story, right Sian? What’s a little thing like friendship and loyalty, if he helps you get your precious scoop?”
She was more than a little drunk herself. In a microshort gold dress from French Connection that clashed gloriously with her wild, titian hair, she looked like a space-age cavewoman who’d just been ravished by a group of marauding Martians and was pretty goddamn furious about it. Lucas, already aroused from his kiss with Sian, felt his budding erection start to strengthen and edged behind a chair in an effort to hide it.
“My mom tried to kill herself because of this guy,” said Lola, getting increasingly hysterical.
“I know, I know,” said Marti gently, trying to calm her down. He hated seeing Lola upset, but he especially hated seeing her upset with Sian. The two of them used to be such good friends. “He went to the press about your dad’s affair.”
“Actually, he didn’t,” said Sian, unthinking. “Anton was behind that story, not Lucas.”
“Again, I am here,” muttered Lucas, to no one in particular.
“Oh, what, so you’re defending him now?” said Lola. “Unbelievable. So what else don’t I know about him, huh? Please, enlighten me! Has he brokered peace in the Middle East since we were dating? No? Won a Nobel Prize for physics? No, really, I’m serious. I’m dying to hear what a great guy he really is and how none of the shit he did to me, or my family, was actually his fault at all. Please, go on. I’ve got time.”
“Well, it’s been lovely, but I should go,” said Lucas, emerging from behind the chair now that his ardor had died down, replaced by a splitting headache. “Nice to almost meet you.” He nodded at Marti, who nodded back. “Sian, call me in the morning to discuss where we go from here.”
“No.” Darting back into the doorway, Lola barred his way. “You stay and have your discussion now. I can’t stay in this building one more minute. Not until it’s been fumigated.” She looked at him with such hatred, Lucas shivered. It was hard to believe that they had once been lovers.
“But Lola, you live here,” said Sian, stating the obvious.
“That’s right,” Lola hissed. “I do. And as of tomorrow, you don’t. Marti and I’ll spend tonight in a hotel. I want you gone by the time I get back in the morning.”
“Honey, come on,” said Marti, following his furious girlfriend as she ran into her own bedroom to grab some underwear and a toothbrush. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a tad?”
Clearly Lola didn’t think so. Cramming her stuff into an overnight bag, she grabbed his hand and physically dragged him to the door. On the way out she turned for one last parting shot at Sian, who’d now made it as far as the sitting room. “You know what? I’m glad you broke it off with Paddy. I figure he had a lucky escape. You and Lucas deserve each other.” And with a slam that echoed around the building like a lone gunshot, she was gone, the hapless Marti following in her wake.
“She’ll come around,” said Lucas, putting a comforting hand on Sian’s shoulder. “Her boyfriend seems like a decent guy. He’ll talk some sense into her.”
With no one else to rage at, Sian turned on him like a pet cat gone feral.
“What is it with you?” she yelled. “Every relationship I have, you have to destroy it. Now, because of you, I’m fucking homeless!”
“Because of me?�
� Lucas looked astonished. “What the hell did I do?” But Sian was done arguing.
“Get out!” she roared, manhandling him toward the front door with surprising strength for one so slight. “Get the hell out of my life, Lucas. And don’t come back!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
TWO WEEKS LATER, at the Carters’ summer home in East Hampton, Lola helped Marti into his tuxedo.
“You know what?” he said, as she fiddled with his tie. “This whole dressing for dinner thing is starting to make me real nervous. I feel like I’m in a bad episode of Falcon Crest.”
Lola laughed. “Don’t let my mom hear you say that. My parents think soap operas are the root of all America’s problems. Them and MTV. And women being allowed membership into the Bridge Hampton Polo Club.”
“Yeah, that was a big one,” said Marti, deadpan. “Didn’t that knock the Iraq invasion off the top spot on CNN?”
He always made jokes when he was nervous. It was a defense mechanism he’d learned in childhood, when kids at school in Queens used to tease him for being so skinny and wearing such thick, nerdy glasses. He hadn’t grown into his looks until his early twenties, but a childhood marred by acne and bullying had had some positive side effects on his character. Wit was one of them. A ferocious drive and determination to succeed was another. Sadly, he doubted very much whether either of these attributes would mean as much to Lola’s family as the right surname. And that was the one thing he didn’t have.
When Lola first floated the idea of a few weeks in the Hamptons, the morning after her titanic fight with Sian, he’d been all for it. Though she put on a tough front, he could tell that Lola was deeply upset by what had happened and that she needed to get away. Returning to Tite Street to find Sian and all her things gone with not so much as a note or a forwarding address must have been like a bullet to the chest. Though he hadn’t dared ask her whether she regretted being so harsh to her friend, Marti was pretty sure that she did and that the trip to the Hamptons was her way of running away from that guilt and sadness. Not that she’d presented it like that, of course.
“I just need a break from the business. We both do,” she said, forcing the cheerfulness into her voice. It might have been an excuse, but it also happened to be true. Marla had been consuming both of them for months, and Marti also had his other online businesses to run. Physically, he was spent.
“Besides,” Lola added, “it’s time you really met my folks.” This was also true. The last and only time Marti had seen Devon, he’d been hiding inside a broom closet with his pants around his ankles, which didn’t really count as a meeting. So they’d made plans for the trip, with Marti spending the next week imagining long, lazy days on the beach with Lola, just the two of them exploring her childhood haunts together.
Unfortunately, as so often with vacations, the reality turned out to be rather different.
His first misgivings came on the drive from the airport, when their little Volkswagen rental car was overtaken by an eye-popping series of Porsches, Lamborghinis, and Bentleys, all heading for Walter Mill, the Hamptons’ hippest and most exclusive beach.
“I thought you said it would be low-key?” He looked at Lola nervously.
He could easily have afforded to hire a flashy set of wheels—since his Internet company had taken off four years ago, money was no longer an issue—but cars had always bored him. Now, though, he wished he had gone for something a bit further up the food chain. He wouldn’t want Devon to think he was a cheapskate who couldn’t take care of his daughter.
“It is low-key,” said Lola. “I mean, you know,” she added breezily, as a gleaming silver Vanquish roared past, burying them in a cloud of dust. “It’s all relative.”
Their arrival at the Carter house had done nothing to calm his nerves.
Karis greeted them at the front door in a daze, looking like a younger Miss Haversham, all white-blonde hair and jutting bones.
“Holy crap, she’s gotten skinny again,” whispered Lola, squeezing his hand for moral support.
“No shit,” he whispered back, a terrified grin of welcome fixed across his features. “She looks like Mary-Kate Olsen on Valium.”
Lola had conveniently forgotten to mention that this was the first time any of her family had been back to East Hampton since her dad’s affair had been made public. Karis, highly strung at the best of times, had insisted she could face it, but since arriving had spent most of her time wandering around the house like a shell-shock victim, permanently on the brink of tears. She point-blank refused to venture into town, even for groceries, in case she ran into Honor, which meant that Devon and Nick, strapped for cash and visiting on sufferance from LA, were under virtual house arrest too. By the time Marti and Lola showed up, the strain on everybody was already starting to show.
At least Karis had made a token effort to be welcoming. Devon, on the other hand, made a great show of bear-hugging Lola before stiffly offering Marti his hand as if he were greeting the guy sent to unblock the drains. After that he’d disappeared off to his study for the rest of the evening, not to be seen again until the following morning.
After four days spent climbing the walls in the house, the last thing Marti felt like was tonight’s ludicrously formal at-home dinner.
“Did you happen to see tonight’s menu?” he asked, as Lola finished with his tie and smoothed down the lapels of his gleaming new tux. “It wasn’t Grilled Jew, by any chance?”
“Don’t be silly,” she said firmly. “You’ll be fine.”
“Can I please not sit next to Nick?” asked Marti, feebly. Lola’s brother had turned out to be even more obnoxiously arrogant and dull than she’d described him, which was quite a feat. The way he talked about his business, anyone would have thought he was Warren Buffett, yet it was painfully obvious that the only reason he was here was to screw some more money out of his poor, tapped-out parents.
“Not my call,” said Lola. “Mom’ll seat us.” Flinging her arms around his neck, she gave him a long, lingering kiss.
“What was that for?” he asked, smiling. She looked more beautiful than ever tonight in an empire-line blue chiffon dress, with her glorious red hair flowing long and loose over her shoulders. Like a Pre-Raphaelite goddess.
“For being here,” she said. “I know they’re difficult. But they’re my family. And so are you now.”
Incredibly touched, he pulled her closer. “I love you,” he said. “But if they sit me next to your brother, I can’t promise not to strangle him.”
“Oh, please,” laughed Lola. “Don’t hold back on my account. I’ll bring the rope if you like.”
Dinner was predictably horrible.
“So,” said Devon, swirling the burgundy around his glass and sniffing appreciatively at the deep-purple whirlpool he’d created, “tell us a little more about yourself, Martin.”
“It’s Marti, Dad,” said Lola, through clenched teeth. “No one calls him Martin. And you know all about him. He’s an Internet entrepreneur, and he’s brilliant.” She beamed across the table loyally.
Marti smiled sheepishly back. “I wouldn’t say brilliant exactly,” he mumbled. “Well, maybe I would.”
Devon didn’t laugh.
Miserable douchebag. He was a classic closet anti-Semite, Marti had decided. Loads of Jewish clients, even Jewish friends, staunchly pro-Israel. But to have his daughter marry a Jew? Forget it. He’d rather die.
“Online business, it’s a tough game,” piped up Nick self-importantly from across the table. “Of course, I was lucky. I got in in ninety-eight. First-mover advantage. But guys like you, coming late to the party?” He shook his head knowingly. “Not easy. Not easy.”
“You got in in ninety-eight?” Marti looked baffled. “Weren’t you in, like, ninth grade in ninety-eight?”
Nick’s model-perfect features clouded over with irritation. “I was young,” he admitted. “But then I’ve never been a time-server.” He waved his hand airily to indicate his devil-may-care entrepreneur
ial credentials. “Very few of the big guys are. Trump. Branson. Gates. None of them went to college. It’s all about starting young.”
“Did you compare yourself to Donald Trump?” Lola sniggered, choking on her wine.
“Yeah,” said Nick aggressively. “So?”
“I’m pretty sure Bill Gates went to college,” said Marti.
“Did not too,” said Nick.
Nice comeback. Maybe he was still in ninth grade?
“Well,” said Marti, deciding to be the bigger man and take the high road. It’d be too easy to shoot Nick down, and it was unlikely to win him many points with the parents. If the looks on their faces were anything to go by, Mr. and Mrs. Frosty McFreeze didn’t need another reason to hate him right now. “I’ve nothing against people not going to university, or starting work young. Your sister’s business has been incredibly successful already.” Lola smiled at him gratefully. “But I guess I am what you would call a time-server. I had a wonderful time in college.”
“Where did you attend?” asked Karis.
“Wharton,” said Marti. “My grandfather came from Pennsylvania. He worked the mills in Pittsburgh. His side of the family always had this big thing about Wharton.”
“Pittsburgh?” said Karis. “Did your people know the Mellons?”
“Er, no,” laughed Marti. “I don’t believe their paths ever crossed.”
“His grandfather worked in the mills, Mom,” said Lola, crossly. “Didn’t you hear that part?”
“And what do your own parents do?” asked Devon. “Are they educated?”
“Dad!” Lola looked suitably horrified. “You can’t ask people questions like that!”
“It’s all right,” said Marti, determined to keep his temper. Devon was a petty-minded snob, but he was here for Lola, not anyone else. “No, they aren’t educated, not beyond high school, anyway. My mom’s a part-time nurse at the old people’s home down the street. And my dad runs a kosher deli. We’re not kosher ourselves,” he added, “but it’s a good business. He used to run a hardware store, but then they opened a Home Depot four blocks away and wiped us out.”
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