Page 43 of The Heiress

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I know.”

“I love it.”

She kisses me right there in the car, crazed and hungry, acting like she can’t wait for a pap to catch us tonguing in my family’s driveway.

The DeMontes might have their image. But I’ve got Lorde Sheen.

And we’re about to light the tabloid world on fire.

Chapter 22

Daisy

By the time I realize Lorde was serious about the jet, we’re pulling up to the private airstrip in a car I’m fairly certain belongs to someone richer and more powerful than my entire family tree combined. The driver hasn’t spoken more than a word since we left the house, and I’m not sure where Lorde even got him. The part of me that thinks I should ask some questions is at odds with the part that is down for spontaneity.

“Please tell me this isn’t stolen,” I say as we coast to a halt in front of a sleek white Gulfstream.

Lorde’s already halfway out of the vehicle, sunglasses on, hair wild in the wind like she’s auditioning for an action movie because nepotism is wild in Hollywood. “It’s not stolen!” she shouts over the wind whipping up around us. “I leased it. For six hours. Legally.” She turns, grinning at me. “And relax, the pilot’s union-certified and everything. My accountant’s going to scream when he sees this bill, but we’ll all live.”

I clutch my bag closer. Not because I’m nervous about flying. No. I’m nervous because I asked her to marry menow. I’m eloping with Lorde Sheen, an international celebrity kid who is one-part chaos and two-part softie with a sex drive like a Roman goddess. I declared love. We’re doing this.

It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating.

We board the jet. Lorde makes a joke about the champagne being “only mid-tier” and I roll my eyes so hard I nearly blind myself before I’m seated. There’s no flight attendant, no one to judge us or offer warm nuts. Just us, a stocked fridge, and about five feet of plush carpeting between us and the cockpit.

Once we’re seated, she finally glances over at me. Her sunglasses are off. “You okay?”

I laugh, but it comes out weird. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“Good. That means you’re alive.” She leans over to kiss my cheek. “I promise, no one dies in Vegas unless they ask for it.”

“Uh-huh.”

The jet lifts off smoothly. I press my forehead to the cool window and watch the coast of New England shrink behind us. Somewhere down there, my parents are pretending I don’t have a mind of my own. Somewhere, Cristiano is explaining to his parents why the heiress they tried to barter for decided to run away with a woman who once appeared in a magazine spread wearing nothing but smiley-face boxers and a sheer crop top.

Sorry, Daddy. Your Principessa is making deals with the devil, and her name is Lorde.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Lorde doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re doing this because it’s what you want. You’re stupid but brave. And because you finally realized you’re way too good for a family that wants to sell you off like a Birkin in the store’s luggage department.”

“They didn’t want to sell me off,” I say, although yeah, okay, maybe they kind of did. “They… thought they knew what was best for the family. For me. See, if Mama could find a manshechose, and Daddy signed off on a man who would live under his thumb, I’d be safe, right? They wouldn’t have to worry about me.” I feel bad, thinking about it. For all of my parents’ traditional values, there was a twelve-hour period there where theyacceptedLorde. Daddy met her and clapped her on the shoulder and said,“Sure thing, kid.”Even though she was a woman. Even though I’ve never once heard my parents say anythingniceabout gay people. It’s why I’ve never come out to them as bisexual.

Then again, they never said anything rude, either. Guess I thought it was them being polite and assuming it wasn’t any of their business. Until their daughter made it their business, you know?

“They wanted you to abandon the first person who’s ever made you feel this alive.”

Sudden tears sting my eyes. “And you’re that person?”

“Obviously. Did you miss the part where I leased a jet to marry you in front of a bunch of Elvis impersonators?”

I giggle through my blubbering lips. “I thought we were going classy. Like, understated wedding dresses and a tasteful bouquet.”

“Oh, baby,” she says, leaning in close, her lips brushing my ear. “We can get classy after I make you come so hard you forget what state we’re flying over.”

“Goodness gracious.” I wipe another tear, laughing. “Jesus.”

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