Chapter 15: The Wrong Passenger

The Rolls-Royce rolled north on the 5 with the windows up and the air conditioning set to sixty-eight, exactly how Myles liked it. Up ahead, the Grapevine climbed into brown hills. Behind him, LA shrank in the mirror.

It was Saturday. His grandfather's ninety-second birthday weekend. Every Crawford who mattered would be at the compound by nightfall, and tonight Myles would walk the woman he'd chosen into the old house and watch the whole family fall for her.

Everything was going according to plan.

Almost everything.

"Babe, can you not take the curves like that?" Serena flipped down the visor mirror and dabbed concealer over the faint pink mark on her cheek. "I'm trying to fix my face. Literally. Because of that psycho's friend."

"It's barely visible."

"It's visible to me."

Myles glanced at her and sighed through his nose.

He'd told her to dress conservatively. Twice. Once over breakfast at the hotel, and again in the elevator. "My grandfather's old-school. Modest. Classy. Think cardigan." And Serena had nodded and said, "Of course, baby."

She was wearing a hot-pink minidress with a plunging neckline, a gold chain belt, and stilettos sharp enough to count as weapons. Her hair had been teased so high it brushed the headliner every time they hit a bump.

"Serena."

"Hmm?"

"I told you what to wear."

"And I heard you." She snapped the compact shut. "This is for the drive. I packed something else for dinner. Blue. Very Grace Kelly. Your grandpa's going to cry."

"You'll change before we see my grandfather."

"Before we see your grandfather."

"Not one minute after."

"Myles, oh my God." She rolled her eyes so hard her lashes fluttered. "You're acting like I'm meeting the Pope. Is he scary or something?"

He didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"Okay, but real talk." Serena twisted in her seat to face him. "Did you see the numbers?"

"What numbers?"

"The video. From yesterday." She waved her phone at him. "Two million views. My publicist has been up all night. And the comments, Myles. They're all on her side. They're calling me and the girls the Mean Girls of Beverly Hills. Mean girls, Myles. Me. I volunteered at an animal shelter."

"Once. For a photo shoot."

"It still counts!"

"I've got PR on it."

"Is it gone?"

"It's being handled."

"That's not the same as gone."

"Nobody at the compound is watching viral videos, Serena. My grandfather doesn't even own a smartphone."

That seemed to satisfy her. She sank back into the leather, scrolled for a minute, then gasped.

"Oh my God. Chloe posted. She's getting a new veneer on Monday. She's calling it her 'glow-up tooth.'" Serena giggled. "Honestly, iconic. She should trademark that."

Myles said nothing. They drove in blessed silence for exactly four minutes.

"Speaking of teeth, you will not believe what Tatum told me. You know Kendra Vale? From that N*****x thing with the boats? So she told everyone she was in Cannes last month, right? She wasn't. She was in rehab. In Arizona. And then Jason Reyes, the one with the abs, unfollowed her, and now Marcy Dunn is going around saying Kendra slept with the director, which, like, everybody slept with the director..."

Myles nodded at the windshield. He didn't recognize a single name.

"...and I told Tatum, I said, babe, nobody trusts a woman in that much beige. She got so offended. Oh! And did you see what Dani wore to the Westbridge premiere? A tablecloth. I'm serious. It had fringe. Her agent called it avant-garde, and I said, sweetie, it's from Pottery Barn."

She went on.

And on.

Somewhere past Castaic Lake, a thought crept up on Myles and refused to leave.

This is the first time we've been in a car together for more than twenty minutes.

He was sure of it. Every other time there'd been a driver, a gala, a ten-minute hop to dinner, a photographer at the curb. Their whole relationship had happened in bright little bursts: a kiss at a party, a hotel suite, a smile for the cameras. He'd never had to just sit with her. He'd never had to listen.

It was exhausting.

Harper never talked like this.