One Week Later

September 1932

Wellesley

"I don't want to do this." Lily came to a dead stop. "I really don't want to do this."

Dylan turned around. "We've been over this," he said. "You agreed to come."

"I don't think I fully understood what I was agreeing to."

He sighed. "Water-Lily, please. I need you to do this for me."

She rubbed a crack in the sidewalk with the tip of her shoe. "This isn't going to go well. You know that, right? It can't go well," she predicted. As she bent her head forward her curls slipped out of the silver barrette she had forced them into. They covered her face like a fiery curtain. "I just have a bad feeling," she said, shaking her head.

"I'm not exactly excited about it," Dylan said. "But it's something I have to do if I want…" He jammed his hands in his pockets. "I don't want us to be like our family. I don't want to tell our kids their grandparents are dead because they won't understand why they don't speak to us."

"Dad's family really is dead. I checked."

Dylan couldn't help but smile. "Of course you did."

Eva was waiting at the door when they arrived. Her jet black hair gleamed in the streetlight. Her dress, a dark pink imitation of a popular gown, could have been painted on. Dylan could barely return her greeting. Fortunately Lily, her confidence refreshed by three cigarettes in three blocks and a quick nip from the small flask of she kept hidden in her bag, did enough talking for the both of them. "Eva!" she cried, throwing her arms around her. Eva froze. This was not what she had expected at all. She gave Lily a quick pat on the shoulder. "Just don't try to hug anyone else," she instructed.

The small apartment was flooded with light. The silver candlesticks on the table in the hall gleamed. The spider that used the Rembrandt that hung on the living room wall for its web had been cleared out. The furniture, 17th century German antiques, was as foreboding as it was beautiful. Compared to the house Eva had grown up in the apartment was not only cramped but almost insufferably dingy. Yet she had done the best she could with what she had, as always.

"Is that an original?" Lily said, indicating the Rembrandt. Eva nodded. "We had more." Her cheeks suddenly felt hot. "Before."

Lily offered her a small smile. "I like it."

Dylan breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Lily had never condemned Eva as a foot soldier of the bourgeois, but she had also never been surrounded by the last remaining trappings of her former wealth. "It's my favorite," Eva said.

A dark figure appeared in the doorway that led to the kitchen. "Are you talking about paintings again?" Cal's tone was both affectionate and condescending. "Artists never amount to a thing," he said. "Not in this life."

Dylan shot Lily a glance. She pressed her lips firmly together. You will be quiet. You will not ruin this for him. "Most artists don't," Lily said. "We don't live in a world that lets people rise the way they should." Cal turned to her, surprised by the sound of her voice. There was a familiar confidence, a slightly aristocratic ring to her words that felt strangely familiar. A pair of deep blue eyes met his gaze. He had seen eyes like that before, hadn't he? But it was the hair that really caught his attention. The only person he had ever seen with hair like that was—Rose. The name echoed in his ears. He couldn't remember the last time he had said it aloud.

Lily took a step forward. She held out her hand. "I'm Water-Lily," she said forcing herself to smile. So this was the man her mother almost married, the man who might have been her father. Until that moment a part of her hadn't believed he was real. Eva held her breath as Cal looked from Lily's hand to her face. Would he take it? Or would he be offended? His empire had been reduced to little more than a few gold nuggets and yet there were times when he still behaved as though he were royalty.

She has a flower name. Why wouldn't she? Slowly Cal extended his hand. Lily shook it quickly. Her hands were small, delicate; the ring she wore on her middle finger seemed to engulf it. "And this is Dylan," Eva said, motioning for him to come forward. "Father, you remember me mentioning him."

Dylan looked Cal straight in the eye. "Hello," he said, breaking into a grin. Cal just stared at him. He was familiar too. But why?

Cal soon found himself seated opposite Lily. He busied himself with his food, ignoring the urge to look at her. Lily, however, didn't impose any such restrictions upon herself. She studied his features in between spoonsful of soup. He was thinner than she had expected, his face more gaunt. The image she had carried in her mind had been that of a devilishly handsome beast with black eyes that gave no indication of the evil within. In her mind he was the ultimate aristocrat, the ultimate imperialist, capitalist pig wringing wealth from the bodies of anyone unfortunate enough to get under his feet. But the reality of him was nothing like her vision. The man across the table stared into his soup as though he were afraid to look at her. And indeed he was, though not for any reason she would have guessed. He hadn't thought of Rose in years, and the last thing he wanted was to start.

Eva's mother Deidre sat at the head of the table. Her dark blonde hair was held back with pearl-topped pins. She wore a pale blue dress that had been the height of fashion in 1928. A large diamond ring glittered on her left hand, the only piece of jewelry she had been able to save. "Mother, do you remember the course I took on economic theory?" Eva said. "Lily is the one who helped me through it."

Deidre looked at her. "I thought you were studying literature?"

"I am. I took that for fun."

Deidre turned to Lily. "What are you studying?" she asked.

"Economics," Lily answered cheerfully.

"Isn't that a rather weighty subject for a young girl?"

"Not at all," Lily said. "I think it's one of the most fascinating things in the world. And God knows we need economists now," she added.

Deidre's eyes dimmed. "Yes," she said. "Indeed we do."

Eva shot Dylan a look. Help, she pleaded silently. He cleared his throat. "Eva's a very talented seamstress," he said. "I would have never known she made her clothes herself if she hadn't told me."

Deidre smiled. "She's always been talented. I don't know where she gets it. I can't sew a stitch."

"Neither can I," Lily chirped. "My mother tried to show me how once, but…" She shrugged. "I'm just not very good with my hands. I can draw a little, but that's about it."

Eva looked surprised. "You draw too? I thought Dylan was the artist."

"Oh, he is. I doodle sometimes, but I've never worked at it the way he does," Lily said. "He's just like our father, always sketching something."

Cal raised his head. "Your father draws?"

Lily nodded. "Always has. Only now he gets paid for it."

"What does your father do exactly?" Deidre said, turning her grey eyes on Dylan.

"Well, right now he draws and paints set pieces for films. He did that for a while in the 20s before he and my mother went to Morocco to collect art."

"For themselves?"

"Oh no. The Metropolitan Museum sent them. They were gone for two years. They, uh, just got back a few weeks ago. They're at home now."

"And where is that?"

"Santa Monica. In Los Angeles," he explained. "They have a house on the beach."

"Is that where the two of you grew up?"

Dylan and Lily exchanged glances. "We traveled a lot," he said. "Our father found the house in Santa Monica about six years ago…when our mother was recovering from an illness and couldn't wander anymore."

"Seems like an odd place to take an invalid," Deirdre sniffed.

"They have a kind of intense love of warm water," he said with a soft laugh. "And it's one of their favorite places. They lived there right after they got married."

"Why warm water?" Cal said. A strange knot formed in his stomach. If he hadn't known any better he would have sworn they were sitting across from him, only this time Rose had Jack's eyes and Jack had Rose's eyes.

"That's not my story to tell," Dylan said slowly, holding Cal's gaze.

"Why don't you tell a story?' Eva suggested. She turned to her mother. "Dylan and Lily have been just about everywhere."

"I wouldn't say everywhere," Dylan said. "But we've done a lot of traveling."

"It's practically all we did as children," Lily said. "We've been to almost every state. We've lived in a few of them." She held up a hand. "We lived in Paris." She put down a finger. "Venice." Another finger went down. "Dublin."

"That's enough, Lily," Dylan said. "I'm sure they understand. We went a lot of places."

"How did your family have the means to do this?" Deidre asked.

The knot in Cal's stomach worsened. "We never had a fixed home, you could say," Dylan said. "Our parents just made money wherever we went. They would save up a little, and we'd go on."

He hoped that would be enough explanation, but Deidre's curiosity had been roused for the first time in months. It would not settle down again easily. "You have an unusual name," she said, turning her attention to Lily. "I've never heard it before. How did your parents decide upon it?"

Lily glanced at Dylan. He gave a resigned shrug. "They named me after a painting," she said. "Monet's Water-lilies."

Cal's glass shattered in his hand.

Lily was the first to react. She leapt to her feet. "Don't move!" she cried. She hurried around the table. "Are you cut?" she asked, grabbing Cal's wrist. He sat there, dumbfounded, as she examined his hand. "You look fine," she said. She dropped his hand. "You must go through a lot of glasses," she added drily.

"I'll get the broom," Eva said. "And another glass."

"What were you saying, Lily?" Deidre asked when the mess was cleared away. "You were named after a painting?" Ignoring the stricken look on his face she turned to Dylan. "Is that how your name was chosen as well?"

"Just my middle name, Monet," he said absently. "My mother liked the name Dylan because it reminded her of the kind of name a poet would have."

"They sound like very interesting people," Deidre said politely.

Dylan just nodded, barely hearing her. What the hell is happening? He squeezes a glass until it bursts and we pretend it didn't happen? It didn't make sense. He glanced over at Lily; she appeared to be in the beginning stages of a staring contest with Cal. He shifted his gaze to Eva. She was picking at her food, her chin resting on her hand. "Would you like to take a walk?" he said.

"Now?" she asked, surprised.

He nodded. "Yeah. Now."

She smiled hesitantly. "I'd like that very much."

"Do you mind?" Dylan asked Deidre.

"Oh…no," she said. "I suppose not." Her voice fluttered like a small bird. Not only was he asking permission to wander off into the night with Eva—something she already knew happened from time to time and tried to pretend didn't—but he was asking her for permission. It was almost impossible not to remind him her husband was just a few feet further down the table. Had anyone else been asking it would have been horribly inappropriate, but there was something about Dylan, he had a sort of charm she couldn't quite describe despite liking it. She was shocked when Eva gave her a rushed kiss on the cheek and a "Thank you, Mother."

"You're welcome, dear," she said, sounding slightly dazed. She watched as Eva took Dylan by the hand and led him into the hall. Cal's eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak. "I suppose that means I must be going too," Lily said, grabbing her bag from under the table. The books crashed into each other as she swung it over her shoulder.

"What do you have in there?" Cal said suddenly alert.

"Books." She adjusted the strap. "This week's round."

"Your mother encourages that, doesn't she? Your reading?" he said.

An edge came into Lily's voice. "And my father does too."

Cal's mouth curled until it was half sneer, half disgusted smile. "I'm sure he does."

….

"I'm sorry about what happened," Eva said. "I don't understand….I've never seen him do anything like that." She shook her head. "I can't imagine what could have been so upsetting."

Dylan took a deep breath. It was then or never. "Our names upset him," he said.

She gave him a confused look. "Why? And how could you know that."

"Because…." He sighed. "Please don't be mad that I didn't tell you before now, okay?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Didn't tell me what?"

"Your father almost married my mother." Eva's eyes widened. "It was a long time ago," he added quickly. "I don't think they were actually engaged that long. She broke it off when she met my father. Though I guess 'broke it off' is a bit mild for what actually happened."

He sounded to Eva as though he were yelling at her through a long tunnel. He was talking but about what she didn't know. His words all blended into one. "H—he did what?" she said finally. "Say that again."

"Which part?"

"He really tried to have your father arrested?" she gasped.

"Are you surprised?"

"No," she admitted, deflated. "I'm not unfortunately."

Dylan took her hand. "Are you okay?"

She nodded quickly. "I'm fine. I just—I just need a moment to process all of this." She laughed humorlessly. "And to think, he didn't like you before he knew who you were."

"Is that why you disappeared that time?" Dylan asked slowly.

"You could say that," she answerd. "My father, he doesn't like me associating with certain people. Certain types of people, really. To talk to him sometimes you'd think the Crash never happened. It's funny in a sad kind of way. There are days he acts like he's still a master of the universe, and then there are days he doesn't even bother getting off the couch. He just stares at the wall and drinks." Dylan put his arm around her shoulders. Without realizing it she leaned into him. "But my mother isn't much better really. You don't know how lucky you are to have your family."

"They could be your family too."

His heart began to race as she turned to face him. "How would that work?" she said. Her eyes laughed. "You in the market for another sister? I would think Lily was more than enough."

"That's far from what I was thinking." His throat felt as though it was closing. He leaned down so his forehead was touching hers. He slowly began to caress her cheek with his thumb. Eva sucked in her breath. "Eva would you—will you marry me?"

She threw her arms around him with a force that almost knocked him down. "Yes!" she cried. "Yes! Yes!" She kissed him. "Yes," she said again, softly this time.

…

Eva didn't walk back into her apartment; she glided back in. The lights were off, and she didn't see her father until she was halfway across the front room. He stood next to the window, a drink in his hand. He turned around. Even in the dark he could see her smile. "Don't tell me he asked you to marry him."

Eva was too caught up in her own happiness to care about the disgust in his voice. "How did you know?" She laughed nervously. "Is it that obvious?"

"You couldn't have found someone decent? Is it absolutely necessary to marry below yourself?" he demanded.

Her smile faded. "I don't know what you're talking about. Dylan is the best man I've ever known. I love him. He's sweet, and he respects me. I could talk to him forever. I could watch him draw…." She blushed at the thought of Dylan's hands.

"He would draw," Cal scoffed. "Just like his father. A worthless waste of time."

"I suppose the way you spend your time is not a waste?" she snapped. She took a step back, shocked by her own outburst.

Cal stared at her. "The way I spend my time isn't any of your business," he said coldly.

"You're right," she said. "And who I marry isn't any of yours." She turned on her heel and marched out of the room. When she reached her door she threw one last glance over her shoulder. "I'm glad we lost the money, you know. Maybe now I can be a real person and not a porcelain doll like Mother."

"You don't mean that," Cal said. You don't know a thing about the world. If you did, you would understand just how dire your situation really is. You would understand just how stupid you will be if you marry the son of a gutter rat and his whore."

"That's not a nice way to speak about your former fiancée," she spat. Ignoring his shocked look she continued, "I'm sure that wasn't how you described her when it was your ring on her finger."

"Told you, did he?" He grunted quietly. "Did he tell you all of it?"

"He told me enough."

"I'm sure." His mouth thinned. "Marry him, and you'll regret it."

"Oh, I doubt that." Her words were acidic. "His mother didn't seem to at all regret marrying his father." And with that she disappeared into her room, slamming the door behind her. There was a time when he would have gone after her, but that time was over. The urge to literally shake some sense into her just wasn't as strong as it once was. He slowly sipped the rest of his drink. "Didn't help with Rose, did it?"

…..

Lily bounced excitedly in her chair. "You finally did it!" she cried. "You asked her!"

Dylan draped his jacket over the arm of the couch before sitting down. "How can you tell? All I did was walk in."

"You didn't just 'walk in'. You walked in with her in your eyes. I can see it in your face. You asked her," she insisted. He dropped his head, a blush spreading across his cheeks. "Don't act like that!" she said, punching him gently on the arm. "Just tell me what happened."

"She said yes."

"Well, of course she did! I already knew that!"

"We talked about what happened tonight. She—I told her about, you know, our parents."

"What did she say?"

"She took it well. And then—" He sighed. "That is not how I intended to do that. I don't even have a ring yet. I don't even know where I'm gonna get the money for a ring."

"Something tells me she won't mind. And you could always do what Dad did," Lily suggested.

Dylan chuckled. "I'm not quite as talented as he is. I don't think I can both find a silver spoon that reminds me of her and twist it into a ring."

Lily rolled her eyes. "And you can't draw either." She picked at a hole in the chair's fabric. "When are you gonna tell Mom and Dad?"

"This isn't the kind of thing I can say over the phone, is it?" he said.

"I wouldn't."

"So, I guess the next question is, feel like being part of a trip?"