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I nodded. It was one thing to grow up in this world. It was certainly another to suddenly find yourself newly minted, surrounded in opulent wealth and luxury. I would do well to see the world through Ciaran’s eyes, just to appreciate how lucky and blessed I was to come from a family where I didn’t have to worry about my next meal.
“I wish I could tell you that it’s a perfect life,” I offered. “It’s not. I’m jaded and hard on myself. I don’t trust others and for the most part, I’m playing a role, like I’m playing myself in a movie about my family. Ciaran, I would love to say that you’ll never have problems, but that’d be a lie. You’re now part of an elite society where you can point at someone or something, and it will be delivered to you on a silver platter.”
“But I don’t want that, Matty.” His eyes flashed with something between anger and indignation. “I can’t imagine pointing at someone and having them delivered to me like I was ordering groceries. That’s fucking gross.”
“I agree, babe. I do.” Worry filled my chest. If I was going to lose Ciaran, it would be over his principals and morals, and not some petty squabble. For once in my life, I wished I wasn’t a Vaulteneau. “Not everyone is cut out for this life. I have one cousin who shunned it completely. My oldest cousin, Lucian, cut us off after getting accepted into the US Naval Academy and joining the Navy. We only see him at the occasional family gatherings, like reunions and weddings.”
We entered Los Angeles proper.
Ciaran surprised me by smirking. “So your advice is for me to join the Navy?”
“First off, you’d look delectable in a military uniform.” I waggled my eyebrows at him and he scoffed. “But no, that’s not my message. Just be yourself. I know the college thing your mom did without consulting you is still hanging out there, but my advice is to go to the college of your choice, get a degree of your choice, and live life according to your rules. If I had to guess, my dad’s accountant already created an account for you, but you don’t have to touch it.”
“An account?” Ciaran stared at me. “How much are we talking about?”
“Let me put it this way, he gave my six cousins five million each when they were born and another five million when they graduated high school. You’re the son of his beloved wife. If I had to guess, I’d say somewhere in the range between ten and twenty million dollars. More when you graduate high school.”
Ciaran’s face drained of all color and he stopped breathing. “Fuck,” he wheezed out. That trip to the hospital might be a real possibility. Ciaran looked like he was in absolute shock.
“Like I said, you don’t have to touch it.” I squeezed his shoulder in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture. “Give it all away if you want.”
Ciaran’s expression went into a far-off place, like maybe he was imagining all the ways he could get rid of twenty million dollars, and I didn’t think he was considering houses or cars or vacations.
No, Ciaran was spending all that money on worthy causes.
With the interstate backed up, I exited I-10 and turned down a few side roads to get us to Santa Monica Boulevard.
“Okay,” was all he said after a few minutes. Color had returned to his face. “I can do that.”
“You can do what?” I asked because I needed a bit more. It wasn’t everyday someone learned that they’d inherited millions of dollars.
“Give it all away.” He offered me a cheeky smile that caused his nose to scrunch up, which caused his freckles to scrunch as well. I melted into my seat. “I’ll mooch off my Mr. Moneybags boyfriend. I will, of course, require a manual typewriter installed in every room in the house.”
I know he said it as a joke but I wasn’t about to reveal how much money was in my various accounts. He’d jump out of the car for real.
A typewriter would be a perfect birthday present for Ciaran, I thought.
As I navigated down Santa Monica Boulevard, I spotted Joan’s purple race car farther down the road.
“First things first. Let’s get off the embassy’s hit list by returning the fertility statue. Then I’ll buy you all the typewriters you want, Ciaran.”
65
CIARAN
As soon as Joan’s car came into view, something in my chest tightened. I wasn’t sure if Matty and I would need to stick around to deal with the embassy guards.
I didn’t know if I could process the fact that I’d inherited up to twenty million dollars on the same day I’d lost my virginity while also bravely facing armed soldiers who might actually want to shoot me over a sixty-five-pound statue.
Call me a coward if you want, but my nervous system couldn’t handle such an overload.
If anything, I could barely handle Joan’s enthusiasm as we pulled up next to her on a side road off of Santa Monica Boulevard.
“My darling Ciaran,” Joan crowed when I exited Matty’s car. “Whoa,” she exclaimed, and then I saw her mouth move as she counted: one-two-three-four.
“Hey Joan,” I said sheepishly.
“Four visible hickeys…my my my…” Her gaze danced to Matty who, facial bruises aside, looked pleased with himself. “Someone was busy.” With a conspiratorial whisper she asked me, “Does Andy look worse than Matty?”
