“Yes, if you’re twenty-one.” He sips the margarita. “But this isn’t bad.”
I taste it too. Although it doesn’t have any alcohol, the flavor is intense. I like the saltiness that lingers on my tongue.
The jet takes off smoothly. As soon as the pilot says we can move around the cabin, the cabin attendant appears with a platter of fancy finger food, including smoked salmon and caviar. I’ve never had caviar before, but I think I like it. It isn’t fishy like I thought. More like briny, with a hint of nuttiness.
“Now can you tell me where we’re headed to? If it’s an overseas destination, you may need to turn back the plane. I don’t have a passport.”
“Nothing as exciting as Formentera. We’re going to Malibu. Mom’s letting me use her beach house.”
“Are we going to be running into her?” I mentally go through what I packed for the trip, wondering if any of it is good enough for meeting his mom. I have a feeling she’s sophisticated and glamorous.
“No,” he says. “She’s not in the country, as far as I know. And she’s hardly ever in California. She only has the Malibu home for the few times a year she’s in SoCal.”
“Like Christmas?”
“She spends her Christmases in Malta. Or some other warm place.”
“Must be nice to spend your holidays overseas.” I sigh with longing. I’ve never been outside of the country. Maybe when I get a real job and have some savings, I might hit Buenos Aires. Maybe bring my grandparents, too. They’d love that.
“Eh. Europe is a lot like the U.S. now,” he says. “And if you go into the southern hemisphere, it’s basically like summer. So, it’s just Mom.”
Wow. I can’t imagine spending Christmas alone. My grandparents always decorate for the holidays, and I love the quality time we spend together. “You don’t go with her, ever?”
“Not anymore. We like different things during the holidays.”
“Like what? Hanging out with your dad in Hollywood?”
Grant’s gorgeous face twists like he’s just bitten into sand. “No. He goes out of the country, generally to the Bahamas or something. And I don’t join him. We have what you might call irreconcilable differences in taste.”
Guess he doesn’t get along with his parents. Maybe they like really weird stuff. Since the topic seems to make him uncomfortable, I decide to shut up and have more caviar.
Soon enough, it’s time to land. Apparently, we had a strong tailwind, but it’s a shame the flight’s ending so quickly. It’s probably the first and only time I’m going to feel this way about getting off a plane early. I could fly for days in this type of luxury, especially when the cabin attendant keeps refilling our drinks and food without anyone having to ask.
A ground crew member is there with our bags as we deplane. No baggage claim carousels to mess with. A silver Mercedes convertible is waiting for us on the tarmac. Holy cow. I didn’t know you could rent a Mercedes. A crisply dressed man hands Grant a tablet. He scrawls his name on the screen with a finger and gets the key to the Mercedes.
“Thanks,” Grant says.
The man smiles. “Enjoy your car.”
Another person places our bags in the trunk, and we get inside the car. As soon as the engine roars to life, a soprano starts belting out some tragic song, hitting several high notes loudly enough to shatter a wine glass.
“Wow. Is this your jam?” I say.
Grant sighs, although his eyes are bright with good humor. “Of course not. She sounds like a banshee.”
“Can I pick something else?” I gesture at the controls.
“Please. Anything is better than this.”
I laugh and pair my phone with the car’s system. The soprano’s singing cuts off abruptly, replaced by the Arctic Monkeys.
“Much better,” Grant says with an appreciative sigh.
I grin. “I have excellent taste.”
“That you do.” He smiles back, and I feel like a balloon flying in the warm sky.
We head to Malibu. Grant doesn’t rely on the GPS for directions. He already seems familiar with where we’re going. I grew up in Los Angeles, but don’t know this area at all. There was never any reason to visit such a wealthy neighborhood.
