“Well, now,” says George Merrick from outside the open door of the glasshouse. He turns to John and says, “There’s a lovely jewelry shop in Cheltenham if you’re interested.”
John doesn’t speak to me for the entire twelve-minute drive back to the country house.
He doesn’t look at me when he parks or opens the passenger door for me or unlocks the door to the house.
He’s grumpy and huffy, and he blames me for blowing it with Merrick, and I am so mad at him for being mad at me, but mostly I feel horrible, because it felt so good to be able to help him. And I did blow it. I did the wrong kind of BJ—I did a bad job.
I can’t even make a joke, because it doesn’t feel funny.
I find my duffel bag, stomp over to the nearest bathroom, and change into my warm-up gear. I’m going to put these feelings into my ballet container. I open the door and stomp overto the dining room, pull a high-back chair away from the dining table, and use it as a makeshift ballet barre. I start my ballet-conditioning exercises and feel in control by the time I get to the rond de jambe sequence.
When I hear the sound of a phone vibrating in the hallway right outside the dining room, I know that John is out there watching me. I know even before I hear Merrick’s voice through the phone’s speaker that it’s him because of how quickly John answers.
“I’m interested,” I hear Merrick say. “Email me those photos from the facility in London. Come back tomorrow morning at ten. We’ll discuss further.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll send those right away and see you in the morning. Thank you.”
I continue with my rond de jambe en l’air sequence.
Johnny saunters into the room, still holding his phone. He stands five feet away from me and says, “He’s interested.”
Without looking at him, I say, “I heard.”
“Are you mad at me for being mad earlier?”
“I was, but I’m over it.”
He nods. “I’m sorry I was mad. I wasn’t mad at you.”
“Hmmm.” I port de bras for grande rond de jambe, extending my leg to the front and circle to the back.
I can feel him staring at my legs. I feel very much in control of my body and his right now. This feels right.
“Can I make you dinner?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Can you?”
“I’m going to email Merrick, and then I’m going to heat up something from the fridge. And then I will do whatever it is I need to do to make you happy for the rest of our trip.” He taps the side of his phone against the side of his leg. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
I don’t ask him if he plans to make me happy after we return to San Francisco, because I have to do all the movements I just did on the other side.
And because I’m not ready to face what’s on the other side of this summer.
CHAPTER 22
JOHN
Olivia has been silent and probably mad at me for the first half of this eight-hour flight, ever since we boarded. All day, really. I’m not sure what she’s mad about this time. Or what she’s still mad about. That’s not true. I know she’s mad at me. About me. For being me.
She is eight percent dark matter—immeasurable, unknowable. I remember when we were growing up, being able to walk away from her whenever she suddenly turned against me. I could easily turn down the volume on the part of my brain that was screamingWhy is she mad at me now?!?!But this question continues to rumble through my head, louder than the plane’s engine.
I’ve been drifting in and out of sleep, thinking only of Olivia when awake. The sex has been better than I’d anticipated. Better than sex with anyone else, whichwasanticipated. It’s better and…more…than anything I’ve ever experienced. I find that troubling. I am not yet fully obsessed with her. I don’t think. Am I? There’s a point of no return, and I don’t believe I’ve reached that point yet. She is a black hole of sassy sexiness and sexy sassiness, but I’m starting to realize that the void is in me.
I’m realizing it because George Merrick flat-out told me this yesterday. Or this morning. I have no idea when I am anymore. I have no concept of time or space except in relation to this woman. Fighting her gravitational pull now requires the same amount of fuel and effort as it takes to keep this plane in the air.
And that was Merrick’s point. At first, I wasn’t even sure why he cared so much about my own character as opposed to the founders’. But then I realized he knows about root systems. As the main investor, I control funding and the board. I could always fire the founders, and they answer to me. He’s so intelligent, and I’m grateful for the time I got to spend with him, even though he was judging me.
