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I bite my lip and shrug. “Maybe.”
“Okay, what if I changed the hypothetical no to a yes? Would your maybe change to a yes?”
Would it?
Am I really, seriously considering this?
Holy shit, I really am. I’m gonna say yes.
Just like I did the night he put the first offer to me. I tell myself I’m gonna say no, but it’s always a yes when it comes down to it.
“I don’t know. Change it and find out.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “It’s done. I accept your terms to paying rent or whatever. So, will you come?”
I feel a flutter of happiness float through my chest. That can only be a good thing. Right?
“Yes.” I smile. “I’ll come.”
His smile widens. “Good.” Then, his smile disappears, and his eyes turn a little serious. “Now, there’s something I need to tell you.”
That flutter of happiness I was feeling? Yeah, it’s dropped into the pit of my stomach.
“Like?”
“Well, it’s just that …”
“Oh my God! You’re married, aren’t you?”
I knew he was too good to be true. Hot guys like him do not fall into my lap that easily.
“I’ve already told you that I’m not married. And really, if I were, would I have asked you to come stay at my place?”
“You might be one of those Pygmies!”
“Not sure what a short African tribesperson has to do with this, but no.”
“Not Pygmy! I meant, polygamist! You’ve got a bunch of wives back home, haven’t you?”
He coughs out a laugh. “No, definitely not. I couldn’t handle one fucking wife, let alone two.”
“So, what is it?”
“Well, if you’d let me tell—”
“Are you in a cult? I saw this documentary about this actress who was a part of this cult! I think she’s in jail now though. But is that it? Are you in a cult?”
“Dillon.”
“What?”
“I’m not in a cult or a Pygmy, and I haven’t married multiple times.”
“Then, what is it?” My heart is almost beating out of my chest. I’m so nervous about what he’s about to tell me. I can’t take any more disappointment in my life.
He glances away from me, out over the water. “Well, it’s not about me as such. It’s more about my dad. Who he is.” He takes a breath and looks back at me. “My dad is the president.”
twenty-two
West
“Dillon, are you okay?”
She hasn’t said anything since I told her about my dad. That was a good minute ago, and a minute is a long time to have someone staring at you. Without blinking. She’s starting to look a little scary. I know she’s freaking out because she thinks it’s a big deal. But it’s really not. Not to me anyway. And it’s not like she’s even from the States, so really, it shouldn’t freak her out this much.
“Dillon.”
Her big blue eyes blink at me. “I’m sorry, what? For a moment there, I thought you said your dad is the president. But that would be crazy because—”
“He is the president.”
“Of America?”
“Yes.”
“The United States of America?”
“Uh-huh.”
“As in the president of the United States of America? Lives in the White House? Leader of the free world? That president?”
“That would be the one.”
“And he’s your dad, as in …”
“He provided the sperm that helped make me.”
“Gotcha.”
Silence stretches out between us. Which is definitely not normal.
“I know you’re freaking out. But really, it’s not a big deal. It’s just something you need to know now that you’re coming to the States with me.”
“I’m not freaking out,” she squawks.
“Your voice has gone high, like really high-pitched.”
“It hasn’t,” she squeaks. She looks away and clears her throat. “It hasn’t,” she repeats in a deeper voice, sounding nothing like herself.
It’s actually quite funny. I’d laugh if I didn’t think it might push her over the edge.
“So, um … why didn’t you tell me who your dad was before?”
“Because it wasn’t relevant.”
Accusatory eyes come back to me. “But what if I’d gone home and then found out via the news or something? You might not think it’s a big deal. But a heads-up would have been nice. Especially after all the time we’ve spent together.”
She’s got a point. I blow out a breath. She went from smiling to annoyed in the space of a few minutes. That doesn’t make me feel good at all.
“You’re right. I should have said something.”
“Yeah, you should have.” She’s really pissed off. Her eyes look all fiery. It’s actually kind of a turn-on when she gets mad. “Imagine if I kept from you that my mum were … I don’t know … Elvis.” She throws her hands in the air.
“Well, that would be weird as fuck because he’s been dead for over forty years. And also, he was a dude.”
“You know what I meant! I meant, someone famous. Important or whatever. Stop being a dick.” She climbs up to her feet, standing on the jetty.
I stand, too, putting myself in her path. “I’m not trying to be a dick.”
