Page 37 of The Malibu Arrangement

Yeah, but Celeste wants a specific dog. And I want, more than anything, to give her the dog, but as a surprise. I could just imagine her eyes when she comes home one day to see that special dog greeting her. So, I need to ask some casual questions to see just what dog she’s talking about.

I just say nothing to Gianni and turn to Celeste. “So, a female pit bull at the shelter. How old is she?”

“She’s just a baby,” Celeste says, her eyes lighting up. “I think she’s around 2 years old. White and brown, with a pink nose and she’s a lover. Gives puppy kisses to everyone she meets.” Then she shows me a picture of the dog. “Her name is Piper.” Then she looks at her phone and hugs it to her chest.

“Today it’s Piper,” Olivia says. “Last week it was a basset hound puppy named Cleo, short for Cleopatra.”

“And the week before that it was some kind of a mutt, nobody knew exactly what breeds ran through that dog’s blood, name was Daisy.”

“And the week before that it was-”

“Yeah, I know, I obsess about a different dog every week, but Piper is the one,” Celeste says and then shakes her head.

Tally smiles. “Celeste is just a big animal lover,” she says. “And you know the story about Tori Spelling kicking her husband out of bed because she had to have her pigs and dogs sleep with her and her husband didn’t want that? That would be Celeste. If she had a pot belly pig and you didn’t want the pig to sleep with you guys, and you said ‘it’s me or the pig,’ Celeste would be like ‘sorry you gotta sleep on the couch, dude.’” Then she starts to laugh as Celeste gives her a look.

“Ixnay on the edbay alktay,” she says in a low voice. “We don’t sleep in the same bed, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Tally says and rolls her eyes. “Like that’s not gonna happen within a week.”

Celeste narrows her eyes. She’s apparently sobering up a bit and isn’t appreciating the fact that Tally apparently isn’t. “Let’s just call this is a night, okay?” She throws down her napkin and pushes away from the table.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tally says. “Sorry, Celeste, I’m just teasing you like I always do. I know the score on this marriage.” Then she looks at me. “I just don’t think it’s all gonna be platonic for long. Not with the look in Max’s eyes when he thinks nobody’s looking.”

Busted. But Celeste didn’t pay attention to that last thing Tally said. Thank god.

Celeste furrows her brows and shakes her head. “I have a headache. I don’t usually day drink for a reason. It’s getting to be, what is it, 11 o’clock now? The alcohol is wearing off and everything looks as bleak as it did before we started drinking, but even worse. Excuse me.”

Celeste walks off, Tally and Olivia trailing behind, their arms around her shoulders. Tally looks back. “Sorry about this. She’s not usually like this. Don’t know what this is about, but I really should help clear the table and get the dishes in the dishwasher. Can’t leave this mess to you guys.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Rosa assures her. “Don’t forget, I get paid a good salary to clean up after everybody. It’s my job. So, go.”

Celeste and her friends leave, apparently going to Celeste’s new living space, and I’m sitting at the table wondering what the hell just happened. Tally said something that triggered something in Celeste and I really need to know exactly what that thing was.

But maybe later. For now, I know how to make Celeste happy in the home. I text my personal assistant, Harry Ladue, instructing him to pick up a pit bull named Piper who’s currently a resident of the Inland Valley SPCA, tomorrow at the earliest.

But I’m not getting that dog for Celeste. That would mean that I’m crazy about her and I’m just not. No. I just want her to be happy because I don’t want her contacting TMZ with an exclusive, which she might do if she’s unhappy here.

That’s the only reason why I care about her happiness.

Really.

Chapter Thirty

REALITY HITS

Celeste

Tally's eyes widen when we get back to my wing of the house. "Celeste. What the hell?"

I shake my head, pressing my fingertips against my temples. The champagne buzz has faded, leaving behind the familiar throb of a day-drinking headache. Just hours ago, I'd twirled in front of the mirror in a Stella McCartney dress that probably cost more than my monthly mortgage payment, while Olivia and Tally whooped and clinked their Dom Pérignon flutes. The closet alone had left me breathless—racks of designer clothes I used to gawk at through boutique windows, wondering about the lives of women who wore such things.

The house itself had surprised me too. This whole place—with its ocean-facing windows and hand-knotted rugs—looks ripped from the Pinterest board I'd labeled "Someday, Maybe."

But now, as the alcohol leaves my system, reality crashes back. Soon Olivia and Tally will leave, and I'll be alone in this beautiful cage. I can't ask them to stay—that wasn't part of the deal with Max. The thought of their departure makes this mansion, despite its luxury, feel suddenly hollow. When Tally joked about me sharing a bed with Max and some future pet, something inside me just... crumbled.

I boost myself up on the kitchen counter, my legs dangling over the marble side. "I keep thinking about what happens when you both leave. I've never lived alone—not really. Home with Mom and Lexi, then with you, Olivia." My voice catches. "And now Mom's getting worse, and I just—" I stare at the floor. "Sometimes I picture myself walking down to the beach at night. Just staring at the waves like James Mason at the end of A Star Is Born." I don’t need to finish that reference. The girls know just why James Mason goes down to the beach at the end of the Judy Garland version of A Star is Born. They both know he never returned from that little “swim.”

"Jesus," Tally straightens. "That's not funny, Celeste. You talk like that again, I'm driving you straight to Cedars-Sinai for a psych eval.”