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“I’m sure Joanna knew Tyler would be the last one to settle down, and she would’ve loved seeing him this happy in love …” My father served the remaining words of his speech on a slow and calculated platter, and I mentally rewound our short chat from earlier.
He never intended to talk to me ‘in private.’ This was all a part of his puppetry—his master class in showing me and everyone else that he controlled the strings of my life. That everything we said and did in public was a show for an audience who half-loved, half-loathed us.
As he continued to conduct the performance, it all but confirmed that I was right for never letting him in on the private moves I’d made in the States, never letting him know that I was following my mother’s final words of advice to the letter.
“Be strategic above all else, Tyler. Never let these people know how you really feel.”
The room erupted into applause once he finished, and I joined. Then I walked over to Victoria and clasped her hand, playing one last round of this charade.
It’s what “Princess Joanna” would’ve wanted…
* * *
Hours later,I highlighted a line in my Life in Seattle, Washington guide, taking down a few more notes.
What’s a Twinkie cake?
According to my research, London and Seattle shared the same wet weather and misty mornings, the same shade of dreariness that hung in the sky for weeks at a time.
Their traffic was also a similar brand of disaster, but the differences were what drew me to starting a new life there. That, and the publishing company I’d privately purchased with what was left of my mother’s estate.
As I underlined a spot called Pike Place Market, Dillon stepped in front of my desk.
“Your brother and sister just baked some throne succession biscuits with heads on them,” he said, showing me the fugliest sweets I’d ever seen. “According to them, you’re right after your father.”
“I’m more than aware of that.” I rolled my eyes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He bit off the one with my head. “Priscilla and Charlie are so much nicer than you.”
“They’re also a lot more brainwashed.”
He smiled. He hated my family as much as I did, and he’d helped me with a lot of my upcoming plans.
“Tell me something, Dillon,” I said. “If I told you that I wanted to fly to Seattle undetected for a few nights this week, how can you help me?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s risky and nearly impossible,” he said. “I’d have to charter a private jet, make tons of arrangements, and break every staff member rule in the book.”
“I’m not asking you as a staff member,” I said. “I’m asking you as my one and only friend.”
He sighed, shooting me a look of sympathy.
“How long do you think I can get away?” I asked.
“One night, probably. A full day if we’re lucky.”
“That’s it?”
“Maybe an extra six to twelve hours after that,” he said. “If you were ugly like your brother, I’d get you an entire week because no one would want you.”
I gave him a blank stare. “Is that a ‘yes’ to you helping me or not?”
“It’s a ‘yes,’ but I have a few questions.”
“I’m listening.”
