Chapter One
Melbourne, 2010
Isabel
Ican't wait to get on the plane. I miss home. It has been three years since I was back.
* For the flight to London, we kindly ask passengers to prepare for boarding at gate B19. *
Perfect timing.
Walking toward gate B9, I show the card they gave me. I’m among the first to board.
The kind steward takes me to my seat, and I start to settle down. I take out my laptop and put my headphones on. Then I turn off my mobile and look out the window. Leaving Melbourne is really difficult. It has won me over, and I was hesitant when I was offered this trip.
I'll be back one day, even if it's just for a vacation, I tell myself while smiling.
I would have expected the memories to have passed like a flash before my eyes, but I think that happens only in movies. The period I lived here was beautiful and intense, and I wouldn't change it for anything.
After all, we all learn something from our experiences. The friendships we created, we carry in our hearts for the rest of our days.
I still remember my first day here. The heat felt like it was suffocating all the time, day or night. I pictured it taking shape while strangling me. However, as the days passed, my body got used to Melbourne's temperatures.
The friendly people and my friendly new colleagues helped me settle in quickly and I loved every moment. The trips, the evenings with the girls, even work—it was as if I had found my place in the world, that corner of heaven that fate has set aside for us all. But with the last exams came the many requests from the various law firms and I began to feel an indescribable pressure. As if the stress weren't enough, Dad's call caused every bit of the castle of my dreams to collapse. Because, of course, that's what he always does. I've never been free to make my own decisions.
I remember that nanny Alice told me that by the time I turned one, Mom and Dad had chosen my course of study and the schools that I would attend. I thought she was joking but then it all turned out to be true. Returning to London will be like opening Pandora's box, with many memories, like my mother's, that I had closed up in a drawer because they were too painful. I don't understand why I have to go back there. To tell me great news, he could have called or Facetimed me, or sent an email or text. Instead, here I am, sitting on a plane, ready to go home.
The plane takes off. I notice that the person sitting next to me has already gotten up, despite the prohibition against unfastening the seat belt. But when did she or he sit down?
I open the laptop, select the playlist, and start writing.
I've always loved writing. It relaxes me, and Dad uses the speeches I send him. Sometimes I wonder if he's just using me as his PR.
I order a glass of white wine while I start editing my speech.
After a while, I’m distracted by the intense fragrance of a male perfume. I love it.
I take a sip of wine, trying not to think about the desire to discover what perfume it is. He definitely would take me for crazy. I mean, I’d think so if a stranger asked me what perfume I use.
I stop writing, getting lost in my thoughts while “I Put a Spell on You” starts playing. I giggle because it seems like exactly the right song for the moment. This musk scent is like a spell. I peek out of the corner of my eye at the person sitting next to me and I am enchanted.
My life is too hectic to even think about a relationship, and after the last experience, I’ve avoided men. But something about him attracts me, even though his eyes are closed and he’s not speaking. Which is perhaps better. Males only think with their penis and all they see are my boobs.
I try to be discreet, and when the song changes, I wake up from the spell and try to focus on my laptop.
Chapter Two
Nate
Ishould have gone home and not wasted time chasing a girl. My mates had told me that online loves are just platonic loves and not so true. I wanted to surprise her, and when I knocked on her door, I got the surprise—especially when the boyfriend asked me if I wanted to join them.
I don't know whether to be happy or not. After all, ours wasn’t a real relationship. Did I like her? Yes, definitely, but I can't stand lies.
When I take my seat on the plane, I try to relax, but the steward tells me there’s a phone call for me. Work never leaves me free time, but I have some time off, and Dad said he had something important to tell me, so coming home is more an obligation than a pleasure. Every time he snaps his fingers, I have to be at his beck and call. It has always been like this, and I wonder if he’ll ever stop. I'm no longer eight years old, for fuck’s sake.
I'd always been a lively kid and obviously, my dad didn't like that. I had to be calm, polite, and composed. I couldn’t make mistakes. Dad always said, “The Dukes of Weister have a millennium-long reputation and surely, it will be passed down. You must learn your place.”
On the one hand, I understand his obsession. The press has always been interested in us. But on the other hand, I would have preferred to have had a normal childhood, doing the silly things one does as a child—scraping my knees, climbing trees, eating their fruits. Those stupid little things that make childhood special. I have very few memories of my childhood and hardly any of them are with my parents.
