said, nodding.
“
L’égalité
,” Marie-Louise agreed, both women looking at Carson.
“I’m all for it. I’ll cook, and Val can do the dishes.”
“Not!”
“Spoken like a twenty-first-century princess.” Carson smiled. He’d known how Val would respond—she was useless in the kitchen, capable of little more than pouring cereal and pouring wine. It was part of her charm.
“The Princess
de la Mer
,” Marie-Louise declared.
Val took the fact sheet from him. “And this house looks like the perfect princess hideaway. What do you think, Car? Want to go see it?”
He considered what might happen if he said no, if he told her he thought dropping
any
million on a vacation house felt ridiculous and unreal and contrary to what his life was about—not that he could fully define
about;
he considered how her smile would falter, replaced by confusion over his uncharacteristic—to her—behavior. She’d never seen him pessimistic or witnessed one of his “philosophical jags,” as Gene liked to call the lapses into dark introspection that seemed to sneak up on him now and again. He hadn’t had one since hearing that Meg’s mother had died so suddenly last September, just before he and Val met. Val wouldn’t know what to do with
that
Carson, much as he usually didn’t know himself. And maybe it was unfair to marry her without her having witnessed one of the spells—though he’d told her about them. Maybe he should make her see his full range, first.
Or maybe, in marrying her, he would effectively short-circuit his melancholy side and they’d live happily ever after. He stood, reached for Val’s hand, and said, “Let’s go.”
A few minutes later he trailed the women down a flagstone path to where the real estate agent had parked her late-model Mercedes. The reality of his surroundings—the ridiculous blue of the Caribbean sky, the palm trees so perfect they hardly looked natural, the sculpted shrubbery, the flash of the $79,000 diamond on Val’s left ring finger as she swung her arm—this reality was not the one he had planned for, growing up. It was not the reality he thought he was built for. Yet here he was. He trusted that if he tracked all his life’s events or decisions in the long sequence that had led him to this moment, this reality, it would all make sense. It had to: he was getting too jaded, too tired of the rock-star life to maintain its status quo. This vivacious young woman in front of him in her faded denim short-shorts and snug pink tank wanted to marry him. She was, if not exactly the sort of woman he once thought he’d spend his life with, a very appealing alternative. So, barring brain damage or death, in four weeks they’d return to the island with wedding apparel, parents, and friends, and get the deed done.
Maybe then, he thought as he held the car door open for Val, he could put the past behind him for good and all.
Ten
W HEN K YLE CALLED HER S ATURDAY NIGHT , S AVANNAH PRETENDED TO BE busy with family—her dad’s birthday gathering, she lied. Rachel had taught her by example how to string a guy along at first, to get him more interested. “But thanks for calling! Sorry I can only talk for like ten minutes,” she said.
“Nah, that’s cool. Nice that they still like having you around.”
“Yeah,” she said, wishing they truly did. This morning it seemed like her mom wanted anything
but
her company, and her dad spent the whole drive to Rachel’s on the phone. “So what are you doing?”
“Thinkin’ of you.”
“Seriously,” she said, turning on her stereo, low, so he’d hear background noise.
“Way seriously. I think about you all the time. I feel like we…you know, like maybe we belong together.” He laughed. “You think I’m a dork, right? But it’s just…you have this amazing effect on me. I can’t wait to see you in person.”
She tried not to give away how flattered she was, though from the sound of it, he didn’t need more stringing along.
“
L’égalité
,” Marie-Louise agreed, both women looking at Carson.
“I’m all for it. I’ll cook, and Val can do the dishes.”
“Not!”
“Spoken like a twenty-first-century princess.” Carson smiled. He’d known how Val would respond—she was useless in the kitchen, capable of little more than pouring cereal and pouring wine. It was part of her charm.
“The Princess
de la Mer
,” Marie-Louise declared.
Val took the fact sheet from him. “And this house looks like the perfect princess hideaway. What do you think, Car? Want to go see it?”
He considered what might happen if he said no, if he told her he thought dropping
any
million on a vacation house felt ridiculous and unreal and contrary to what his life was about—not that he could fully define
about;
he considered how her smile would falter, replaced by confusion over his uncharacteristic—to her—behavior. She’d never seen him pessimistic or witnessed one of his “philosophical jags,” as Gene liked to call the lapses into dark introspection that seemed to sneak up on him now and again. He hadn’t had one since hearing that Meg’s mother had died so suddenly last September, just before he and Val met. Val wouldn’t know what to do with
that
Carson, much as he usually didn’t know himself. And maybe it was unfair to marry her without her having witnessed one of the spells—though he’d told her about them. Maybe he should make her see his full range, first.
Or maybe, in marrying her, he would effectively short-circuit his melancholy side and they’d live happily ever after. He stood, reached for Val’s hand, and said, “Let’s go.”
A few minutes later he trailed the women down a flagstone path to where the real estate agent had parked her late-model Mercedes. The reality of his surroundings—the ridiculous blue of the Caribbean sky, the palm trees so perfect they hardly looked natural, the sculpted shrubbery, the flash of the $79,000 diamond on Val’s left ring finger as she swung her arm—this reality was not the one he had planned for, growing up. It was not the reality he thought he was built for. Yet here he was. He trusted that if he tracked all his life’s events or decisions in the long sequence that had led him to this moment, this reality, it would all make sense. It had to: he was getting too jaded, too tired of the rock-star life to maintain its status quo. This vivacious young woman in front of him in her faded denim short-shorts and snug pink tank wanted to marry him. She was, if not exactly the sort of woman he once thought he’d spend his life with, a very appealing alternative. So, barring brain damage or death, in four weeks they’d return to the island with wedding apparel, parents, and friends, and get the deed done.
Maybe then, he thought as he held the car door open for Val, he could put the past behind him for good and all.
Ten
W HEN K YLE CALLED HER S ATURDAY NIGHT , S AVANNAH PRETENDED TO BE busy with family—her dad’s birthday gathering, she lied. Rachel had taught her by example how to string a guy along at first, to get him more interested. “But thanks for calling! Sorry I can only talk for like ten minutes,” she said.
“Nah, that’s cool. Nice that they still like having you around.”
“Yeah,” she said, wishing they truly did. This morning it seemed like her mom wanted anything
but
her company, and her dad spent the whole drive to Rachel’s on the phone. “So what are you doing?”
“Thinkin’ of you.”
“Seriously,” she said, turning on her stereo, low, so he’d hear background noise.
“Way seriously. I think about you all the time. I feel like we…you know, like maybe we belong together.” He laughed. “You think I’m a dork, right? But it’s just…you have this amazing effect on me. I can’t wait to see you in person.”
She tried not to give away how flattered she was, though from the sound of it, he didn’t need more stringing along.
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