“Dinner a deux on the beach,” Jakob puts in. “But you get, like, a million red roses and arrange them in a massive heart, like when Travis proposed to Kourtney. Jett could give her a diamond necklace or something. Nothing as obvious as a ring, but something almost as good.”
Jett and I exchange wordless glances of horror.
“Or we could fly them to Vegas,” Grace offers eagerly. “Lexie could post some selfies from the helicopter, then they go round some of the casinos, or go to see a show, maybe, and everyone will wonder if they’reactuallythere to get married.”
“… because we’ll strongly suggest that they are,” Asher says, giving her an approving look. “Nice work, Grace. I like it.”
Grace turns scarlet with pride, and I slam my hand down on the worktop next to me, sending my stool spinning crazily around, like some kind of strange fairground ride.
“No.” I say, swaying woozily as Leroy helps bring me to a stop. “We’re not doing any of those things. No offense, Grace—” I look at her apologetically — “But they’re just… well,terrible, really. I’m sorry, but they are.”
“Terrible?” Asher’s puzzlement is clearly genuine. “How so?” he asks. “What woman wouldn’t want to be treated like a princess for the day, like we’re suggesting?”
“Um, quite a few of us?” I reply, feeling a lot less confident now everyone’s eyes are on me. And really quite dizzy after my spin on the chair, to be honest. “The thing is,” I go on, “These ideas are just the things we’retoldto think are romantic. The things you see in movies and on TV.”
Everyone nods, not seeing the problem here.
“And?” Jakob prompts, helping himself to a grape from a bowl so huge I’d assumed the fruit wasn’t actually real. “What’s your point, caller?”
“My point,” I say, not taking the bait, “Is that those things are all very well on TV, but they’re not real. And if we do any of them, people will know that. They’ll know it’s just for show, because movie directors and romance writers mightthinkwomen want flowers and jewels and helicopter trips to Vegas, but that’s not what wereallywant. Well, notallof us,” I hastily amend. “I can only speak for myself here, obviously.”
“And what do youreallywant, then, Lady M?”
Jett’s tone is as deadpan as ever, but there’s a spark of interest in his eyes I haven’t seen there before, so, encouraged, I go on.
“I mean, I just want to feel like someone’s actually taken the time to get to know me,” I say, looking directly at him and ignoring everyone else. “Enough to know what my idea of the perfect date would be, rather than just copying something from the Kardashians or whatever.”
Jakob hisses like a cat. Jett, however, is still listening intently. He’s put his phone down and everything.
“Okay,” he says, coming over to join us at the breakfast bar. “So tell me, then. What’s Alexandra Steele’s idea of the perfect date?”
I consider this for a moment. Myactualperfect date would probably involve fish and chips — and definitely no crabs — on Heather Bay beach. Maybe a bottle of cheap wine stuck in the sand, and a fire to warm us up when it started to get cold. That’s not exactly L.A. appropriate though — and thinking about it is making me homesick — so I refine it a little.
“Santa Monica pier,” I tell him. “Cotton candy. The Ferris wheel. Then, I don’t know, maybe a drive up to Griffith.”
“The Observatory?” Jett says, surprised. “Why there?”
“I love it there,” I say simply. “It was the first place I went when I came here, so it’s always felt special to me. You can see the whole city from there. I just… I just like it. I can’t explain why.”
I can, actually. But the explanation involves being away from home for the first time; finally feeling like I had the opportunity to start over, and be myself, without pressure from Mum, or friends, or anyone else. That explanation feels like it might be a bit much for a kitchen table conversation surrounded by near-strangers, though, so I keep it inside, and offer up the one that makes more sense. Thankfully, Jett seems to buy it.
“I like it too,” he says softly. “It’s a good place for a date.”
I smile at him tentatively. Are we… are we having amomenthere? Because, if we are, I can tell Asher’s about to ruin it, and, sure enough…
“I still like the yacht idea,” he says briskly. “I think we should go for that one.”
“Nope,” says Jett, getting back up. “We’re going with her idea.” He nods in my direction. “We’re going to Griffith.”
“And to the pier,” I remind him, trying to jump down from the stool, but just sending myself spinning again.
“And the pier,” Jett agrees, wearily. “Why not?”
Chapter 15
Santa Monica Pier is yet another disaster.
From the moment we arrive — flanked by Leroy and another bodyguard, who introduces himself as Evan — I can tell Jett’s on edge.
