while she was at Princeton hanging in her hallway! Darlene was beautiful and brilliant. And he was a ridiculously randy idiot.
“Go away!” he hissed at his lap. “Seriously, Jolly Roger, get the hell out of—”
Someone rapped on the passenger window.
“Darlene!” He hurriedly adjusted his pants, abandoning the plan to open the door for her. She slipped in next to him, filling the car with the sweet smell of coconut and jasmine. Somehow she managed to look both adorable and ravishing. Zach did not let his gaze linger on her luscious mouth. Or her perfect breasts. Or her gorgeous ass.
“Were you yelling at your penis?” Darlene asked, placing her purse on the back seat.
“No, don’t be absurd.” Zach started the engine. The Mercedes purred to life. “You look glorious,” he added, risking another glance over as he pulled into traffic. “I like the wig. I mean, I prefer the ’fro, but I like the wig.”
Darlene smoothed her neat, glossy bob. “Not a lot of Black people in the Hamptons. Didn’t want to freak your folks out with the ’fro.”
“Ha. They could handle it.”
Darlene flipped the passenger mirror down, checking her makeup, which was, as always, immaculate. “I want to make a good impression.”
“You always make a good impression.”
Darlene’s smile was complicated. “That’s because I’m always trying.”
Darlene did always look incredible when they were out in public or onstage.
“But, you’re not always trying around me. I seem to recall some pretty ripe T-shirts and very baggy sweats at rehearsal.”
She laughed, relaxing into the passenger seat. “Okay—maybe I’m not always trying around you.”
“I like that,” he said. “I like I can see all sides of you.”
“Most sides,” she corrected.
“With a view to working my way to all,” he replied, unable to resist wiggling his eyebrows at her until she laughed and punched his arm.
They chatted easily as they drove. Not having to look into her sizzling dark eyes helped. They always had plenty to talk about, but their banter was slightly different than usual. Usually, Darlene was annoyed with him about something he no doubt deserved—she was in the right, and he was in the wrong. But tonight, she was gentler with him. Laughing at his jokes and even paying him a few offhand compliments. He had to admit, it was pretty damn lovely. By the time they pulled up to his parents’ driveway, he was sad the two-and-a-half-hour car ride was over. And more than a little anxious that the reality of his family’s wealth, a reality he chose not to underline, was now on full, gaudy display. Darlene took in the size of the estate, bemused.
“Okay. You didn’t mention your parents lived in a palace.”
“Damn, I should’ve warned you.” They parked in the circular drive and ascended the sweeping front steps. “I’m such an—”
But his next word—idiot—was cut short by Darlene’s lips pressing firmly on his. When she pulled back, he blinked, stunned.
“—incredibly fortunate person. What was that for?”
Darlene blushed and ran her tongue over her bottom lip.
“Come on in, lovebirds,” Imogene called from the front door. Behind her, his mother was peering at them, intrigued.
“For the ruse,” Darlene said, taking his hand.
Of course: Darlene’s kisses were for the money. Dinner with his family was in their newly signed contract, after all. And even though the whole lunatic scheme was his idea, Zach was surprised by how much that hurt.
38
Darlene accepted a warm hug from Imogene and a Don’t wrinkle my outfit air-hug from his mother, Catherine. She shook hands with Zach’s father, Mark, and was introduced to their house manager, Debra, a brisk, friendly woman in her forties, who looked Indian or Caribbean. They exchanged a smile and small nod of recognition. Darlene was relieved not to be the only nonwhite person in a fifty-mile radius, even though Debra, despite working on a laptop and not serving drinks, was still technically staff. It was hard not to think of Get Out. When Debra disappeared into a study to work from one of the comfortable leather chairs, Darlene stopped herself cracking a joke about the Sunken Place.
“I thought we’d start with a little tipple on the patio,” Catherine said, resplendent in a red silk wrap dress and fresh round of Botox. “Just something casual.”
It was neither little nor casual. The patio was the size of a ship, looking out over a spangled Olympic-size pool and acres of immaculately landscaped green. Catherine handed Darlene a rum-based cocktail she needed two hands to wrangle.
Zach requested a seltzer. His mother looked shocked. “Zach, you’re