Darlene rolled her eyes but agreed, so Zach guided his family to Babbo, an elegant Italian restaurant a few streets over, slipping the maître d’ a fifty to secure them a prime table.
Zach’s father, Mark, had met his wife, Catherine, at Oxford while studying business. Zach and his sister had grown up in a London neighborhood chosen for its proximity to good restaurants and gilded theaters. He’d spent his childhood in box seats at the Royal Opera House and all-ages gigs at the Roundhouse. Zach was permitted to study his first love of music, as long as it was at the prestigious Royal Academy of Music. There he was a middling student academically, but very popular socially (If Zach applied half the attention he gave to the female students to developing his own considerable talent… et cetera). When Imogene got into Harvard Law School, Zach followed his big sister to America, settling in New York. His parents soon followed, buying a house in the Hamptons and a pied-à-terre in Chelsea, after Mark received an offer as managing director for a New York–based venture capital fund. His mum sat on several charity boards, but her idea of philanthropy was largely attending black-tie balls. Zach was on a visa and still felt close to his English roots. The accent, after all, was a bloody effective aphrodisiac.
“So, Zachary,” Mark began, after the wine was poured and they’d all ordered mains. “How are things?”
“Same old, same old.” Zach leaned back in his chair, still feeling high from the show. “Sex, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll.”
His father’s mouth hardened. His mother looked openly appalled.
“Guys, I’m kidding!” Zach said. “I play jazz, not rock ‘n’ roll.”
Imogene laughed.
His parents traded a coded look. “What about grad school?” Catherine’s question was as delicate as the pearl drop earrings hanging from each lobe.
“Grad school?” Vague memories of tossing this out at a previous family dinner emerged. “Yeah, that’s on the back burner for now.”
His father had both hands flat on the table. “That’s what you said last year.”
“I didn’t realize we were keeping score!” Zach tore off a hunk of bread and drenched it in olive oil. “Grad school isn’t in the cards for me right now.”
“So grad school isn’t in the cards.” Mark ticked off his fingers. “And neither is a full-time job, or an internship, or any kind of postgraduate education.”
“Way to make a guy feel bad,” said Zach, even though he didn’t. His phone buzzed. Not Darlene: just a random girl.
Catherine fingered her neckline of her sheath. “What about… relationships?”
Zach almost choked on his bread. “I’m sorry: it sounds like you’re inquiring about my sex life.”
“Zach!” his mother hissed, glancing around. “Please. We’re just worried about you. Might we remind you that by the time Genie was your age—”
“Please don’t drag me into this, Mum,” Imogene said.
“Yes, we’re all aware how brilliant Imogene is,” Zach muttered.
“She was clerking for a Supreme Court justice!”
“C’mon, guys,” Imogene said. “Zach’s just having the fun I never had because I was so busy being boring and studying all the time.”
“Zach is twenty-six,” Catherine said. “A young man clearly in need of the grounding a solid relationship would bring.”
“I have solid relationships!” Zach exclaimed. “God, you’re making me out to be some sort of depraved Don Juan—”
“Zach?”
The table looked up.
Zach felt a hard jolt of alarm. “Lauren!” The woman he was intending on breaking up with was at his table. Under usual circumstances Zach would find her skintight miniskirt quite delightful, but right now it seemed a little… revealing. “H-Hi.”
“You always said Babbo was fantastic, so I’m here with my roommate.” She tucked a lock of blond behind one ear coyly. “So funny running into you.”
“Yes, absolutely, um, hysterical.” He didn’t want to hurt Lauren, he just couldn’t imagine a successful relationship with her. Or, anyone. He’d get bored, or (more likely) they’d get bored. So it was safer to enjoy an extended fling, then sensitively end it. But, not in front of his parents.
Lauren addressed the table. “You must be Zach’s family. So nice to meet you. How long are you in town?”
His mother’s smile was tight. “We’ll stay the night and drive back tomorrow.”
Lauren let out a laugh. “To London?”
Zach winced.
Catherine cut her eyes to Zach. “To Southampton.”
It was a stupid lie, but one he regularly told. It just made things easier if his girlfriends never expected to meet his family. Lauren glanced back at Zach, who smiled weakly. Christ, he was a knob sometimes. He could see her deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night I have rehearsal with Darlene.” Zach glanced at his parents—See? I’m responsible! “But I’ll, um, definitely give you a call. Sometime.”
He may as well have dumped her then and there. A ripple of emotion distorted Lauren’s face before she pressed her lips together, gave Zach a perfunctory smile, and began to walk off. She’d taken only a few steps before swinging around. “Are you sure you’re not too busy calling the girl who texted you the other night? The one wanting to suck your big D?”
Catherine dropped her salad fork.
Panic shot through Zach’s chest.
Lauren continued, her voice rising. “Meant to ask you about your last STD check, but obviously I should just get tested ASAP.”
Zach’s entire face was on fire. He could barely get the words out. “I’m always, um, careful…” But Lauren was gone.
Zach was adept at handling his family’s outsize expectations. But this was different. This was a screwup. Of Titanic proportions. He cleared his throat. “Funny story, actually—”
“Oh, save it, Zach.” His mother was uncharacteristically sharp. “Your father and I are withholding your trust until you get your act together.”
He understood each word separately but not in that exact order. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Your trust fund,” his father said. “You’re not getting it.”
Still, utterly incomprehensible. “But—but—but that money’s mine. That’s my money.”
“No, Zachary, it’s our money,” Catherine corrected. “That you’re clearly not mature enough to handle.”
“But Imogene—”
“Spent hers on a portfolio of well-researched investments and charitable donations.” Catherine cocked her head. “What would your plans be?”
Zach gripped the side of the table. His entire life had been leading up to his twenty-seventh birthday—the age his parents felt a young person’s brain finally finished developing—whereby an embarrassing amount of money would be discreetly bequeathed to him to do with whatever he damn well pleased. Which was play music with Darlene, have sex with random bridesmaids, and enjoy life to the best of his ability. That’s why he didn’t need a job or further education or even a plan. It was crude to admit, but the fact was, his family was rich. He was rich.