“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he greets, his silky-smooth voice just how I remember it.
“I wanted to see how you are?”
“Not the same without you, but work is busy.”
“How was New York?”
There’s a silence in his voice. “Good. Had some client dinners.”
“Nice…” I didn’t know what else to say. This is the extent of our conversations these days. It feels forced and like catching up with a friend more than a soon-to-possibly-be fiancé.
“Everything okay, Gabriella?”
“Just tired. I’ve been running, so completely exhausted.”
“You… running?” He laughs, condescendingly. “What has California done to you? Next, you’ll become one of those plastic bitches spending Daddy’s money while carrying a dog in your purse.”
“Nothing.” I rein in my creeping resentment toward him. He knows very well that I am not like that. Okay, so I had a credit card my father paid for, but it doesn’t mean I spend it out of necessity. “I enjoy running.”
“I personally dislike California. Any state that legalizes marijuana is not a place I would want to call home.”
“It’s not like that. I mean, have you been here? People are relaxed in Hermosa Beach. It’s not like back home all suit and tie, endless functions with stuck-up senators screwing their assistants, while their wives pretend nothing is going on.”
“Quite judgmental and uncalled for, Gabriella,” he scolds. “What has gotten into you?”
“Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?”
Silence rears its awkward head into our conversation again, and despite my outburst, I know I’m trying to deflect off the situation. I shouldn’t feel guilty meeting Oliver. Everything about us is platonic. So what if occasionally, like in the shower, my thoughts wander to an unnatural place. It’s just thoughts. I have not, nor will I, act on any feelings toward Oliver.
“Listen, I have to get to a meeting. I’ll call you tonight.”
“I’m busy,” I blurt out. “Maybe tomorrow.”
He doesn’t say another word, nor question where I’m going. He simply hangs up the phone. I slump onto the dining table, burying my face in my arms, unsure of what to do today since my trip to the library has suddenly lost all its appeal.
It’s hours until I have to meet Oliver, and the wait seems to linger on forever. I’m on edge. That call with Sebastian did nothing but put me in a bad mood, especially his comment about Daddy’s credit card and the derogatory ‘plastic bitches’ reference.
Sebastian has struck a nerve.
In college, I had a part-time job in the library. It paid next to nothing, but I enjoyed the freedom of my own money. As soon as I left, my father commanded I shadow my mother, just like my sisters had done before they got married.
I wanted desperately to work, find a job, and move out. But the more time I spent with my mother, the more I fell into her circle. The elite women’s crowd—never working a day in their lives because the men carried the wealth.
For the last three years, I devoted my time to foundations, raising money for charity, and for the first time in my life, moving here has opened up another side of independence. It’s the first time I have lived by myself without any hired help, but unfortunately, it is on Father’s money.
The vicious thought process sends me into a mild depression. I feel powerless in my life and don’t know where to begin or how to pull myself away from the only life I know. Sure, I’ve taken this step, but this life isn’t sustainable unless I completely break free from the Carmichael hold.
I grab my cell, needing an immediate distraction, and send Oliver a text.
Me: What’s the dress code for tonight?
There’s no response for what feels like forever. I find myself constantly checking, making sure I haven’t missed anything until I give up frustrated and ready to storm over there to demand he understands the rules of an appropriate timeframe to respond to a text.
Arrogant Aussie: I said bikini. Okay, look, if you really want, you can go topless, but it’s been a while since I’ve done the whole nude in public thing.
I couldn’t help but laugh, knowing I was encouraging him. I quickly type a message back.
Me: You being nude in public is a conversation over tequila. Quit distracting from the question.
Arrogant Aussie: Wear anything, you’ll be perfect no matter what.
I don’t respond to that text, unable to wipe the smile off my face. I decide today to hit up some retail therapy, ignoring my previous thoughts or Sebastian’s presumptions. So what, it’s not like my father’s short of money?
With my purse in hand, I grab my car keys and head off to Beverly Hills. If I have to wear a bikini, assuming the date involves water, I will do so in style.
Then it dawns on me that I have used the word ‘date’ in my mind several times. Each time I think about it, guilt rears its ugly head. It becomes a vicious cycle, one I have no idea how to break. But then I think about my conversation with Sebastian and how cold and distant he felt.
And our pact to have a break.
We both agreed one month apart.
And I, so easily, had rejected his proposal and ring, refusing to commit just yet.
I’m not breaking the rules.
I will have a little fun.
Fun never hurt anyone. Unless, of course, you’re starting to fall for the one man you can’t stop thinking about.
Oliver
I had all day to kill, desperately watching the time until I could pick Gabriella up.
Each minute passed, slowly, and painfully, a gentle reminder that for the first time in my life, something else has stolen my focus besides soccer.
After a long shower trying to cure the ache down below which only got worse after our run, I see her text on the screen of my phone.
It’s typical Gabriella to be so curious and impatient, something I have learned about her over
