Interesting.
Is Chloe as cold at home as she pretends to be outside of it? And why do I care either way?
‘This is nice,’ I say.
It’s a fraction of the size of my pad.
Fuck, maybe I am an arrogant twat, like she broadcast three times on the way here? No, it’s simply an observation, not a judgement.
The villa is gorgeously Mediterranean in style. I’m just used to everything being super-sized in the States. I’ve become used to my own particular style of silver spoon.
Chloe doesn’t offer me a tour, but I follow her anyway, this time to the kitchen, which coincidently is also white with zero personal effects. I’m sensing a theme.
Chloe marches to the fridge, removes two bottles of water and hands me one. I unscrew the lid and sniff it to make sure it’s not poisoned.
‘Believe me, if I thought I could get away with it.’ Her jaw locks and I can only imagine the pressure her molars are under.
I spot double doors leading onto a spacious terrace, and pad across the room for a better look. Terracotta tiles adorn a high-walled outdoor area. A cosy looking L-shaped couch flanks a small rectangular coffee table, and two sun loungers perch hospitably next to a fifteen-metre pool where the water glitters tantalisingly below the balmy afternoon sun.
It might be smaller than my place, but it’s so inviting. If only my host was a fraction as welcoming.
Brightly coloured plants and flowers line the perimeter, offering vivid pops of personality. The question is, whose personality? Is this Chloe’s doing? Hard to imagine her tending to these daily.
As if reading my mind, she says, ‘Naveesha, my housekeeper, is mad into gardening. She’s Sri Lankan. She says the flowers remind her of home.’ Chloe shrugs in a gesture of disdain.
A pang of pity startles me and the reality of her situation hits me square on the chin. From what Ryan told me, Chloe bolted from the place we all called home the day after she turned twenty-one. She couldn’t get away quickly enough.
Was it any wonder?
I don’t have to imagine what it was like losing both parents as a teenager. Even though the circumstances were wildly different, I can relate. Maybe she’s not as cold as she seems. Maybe she just has to be more careful with her emotions.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Jayden.’ The warning’s clear in her tone.
‘Like what?’
‘Like you’re about to bring up the past.’ Man, she’s astute.
I have to. It’s the elephant in the room. Although I had no idea, I can’t help but feel partly responsible. For all the codding and winding her up, family is something I’d never joke about.
‘Let me say it once, then I promise to never bring it up again.’
She shakes her head resolutely. ‘No need.’
Turning on her four-inch heels, she stalks back inside before calling, ‘FYI, your father running my parents off the road has nothing to do with the fact I can’t stand you, and everything to do with the fact you’re an asshole.’
All my pity evaporates as an indignant snort spurts from my nose.
‘You know, it’s a fine line between love and hate.’
‘Yeah. I love to hate you.’
So much for business before pleasure. Chloe feigns a headache and locks herself in her bedroom the second she shows me to mine. It leaves me with no other option but to dive into her pool and bask in the sunshine.
A couple of hours later, a clicking sound from above the pool area draws my attention to a second, smaller terrace. This one appears to extend from Chloe’s bedroom. Apparently oblivious to the fact I’m sunbathing below, she shimmies out, wearing the most decadently indecent cerise underwear showcasing a body worthy of a professional lingerie model.
Holy fuck.
A flimsy layer of lace supports the most beautiful natural cleavage, tanned and ripe, just begging to be unwrapped. A flat, sun-kissed stomach paves the way to a flimsy, transparent hot pink thong.
