Page 64 of King of Lies

“Pick your poison, Cajun Shrimp, Relentless Ruby, I’m a Belieber… maybe not Strawberry Margarita for you,” I laugh and so does she.

“What is a Cajun Shrimp?” she asks, and I gasp.

“Only deliciousness,” I tell her. “We’ll have to make it some time.”

“I’d like that,” she says. “I think Cajun Shrimp is the one for me.”

“Excellent. I’m going with I’m a Belieber Lavender.”

We settle in with towels and put the little foam pieces between our toes. She still looks so sad and withdrawn, so at the last minute I grab her polish and her foot and yank it into my lap, making her squeal and laugh.

“I’ve just decided to paint your toes for you, and you paint mine,” I tell her like it’s the most serious thing I’ve ever said in my life.

“You’re mad,” she laughs, taking my purple bottle from me.

“My darling, only the best are.”

“I’m starting to believe that,” she says as she paints my toes.

“Good,” I whisper, not looking up. “Good, Dahlia.”

• • •

“I’m starving,” she says, pulling off her sheet mask. “The cookies were great but not enough.”

“I agree but I think we missed dinner.”

“Who cares? I haven’t been in days,” she says, surprising me.

“You haven’t?” I ask and I feel a pit open up in my belly.

“No,” she says, shaking her head sadly. “It was made very clear that I wasn’t invited to dinner anymore.”

“That’s … that’s …” I start, trying not to lose my temper. Unsuccessfully, I might add. “That’s utterly ridiculous. What about Taylor?”

“Taylor is invited, I’m a child.”

“But where have you been eating?” I ask and then I worry that maybe she hasn’t been provided for. “You have been eating, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been eating in the kitchen and keeping a low profile,” she says, making me feel as sad as she looks. “I thought about coming here but I didn’t think I’d be welcome.”

“You are always welcome, Dahlia,” I tell her.

“But I was so awful,” she says, looking away again.

“I’m going to tell you a secret that my uncle told me when I was about your age and behaving just as badly.”

“What’s that?”

“Some people, not all, but some—the very best ones—need more love at their worst, than they do at their best,” I tell her softly. “And Dahlia, you’re one of the very best ones. Never doubt it.”

She bursts into tears and leaps into my arms. “Thank you, Stella.”

“It’s nothing,” I reply. “Now what do you say we find ourselves something delicious and very bad for dinner?”

“Yes!” she says, her mood shifting again. “If we’re very nice, cook will look the other way while we order a pizza.”

“There’s pizza here?” I gasp, making her laugh.