On my discovery tour, I find a theater room, a gym, and an indoor pool with a sauna.
The house is as lavish as it is cozy. Like he wanted to make it homey, but midway, he decided he had something to prove.
I make my way upstairs and discover his bedroom. The dark silk sheets cover an impeccably made bed with matching curtains covering the windows. His room is neat, ample, and dark. On his nightstand rests a miniature chessboard. These little details reveal he’s someone painstakingly organized, for whom only the best is acceptable—screaming of silent luxury.
Closing the door behind me, I move to Evie’s. She touches everything with her vivid presence. Her room is colorful, boasting mismatched patterns, yet it preserves the finest touches.
Maybe next time we could come together, pretend we are different women, not hiding anymore, not being terrified that any moment our lives could implode in our faces.
Done with the bout of nostalgia, I unpack and go into the adjoining bathroom.
The big window in front of the claw tub offers an unobstructed view of the ocean. I could get used to living here. It’s the perfect place for a dreamlike world to engulf me. Reality can’t touch me here.
The waves break on the shore, lulling me into a state of suspended disbelief.
Slipping under the bubbles, the warm water envelops my body, every fiber of my tired body relaxing.
I lose track of time. Hours could pass while I sit in the tub, and I wouldn’t notice, enjoying the silence mixed with comfort. Accompanied by the exquisite view, I stay for as long as I wish.
Closing my eyes, serenity washes over me. Inhaling and exhaling deep breaths to ground myself, a few tears stream down my cheeks—nostalgic for something I could never have, experience a life I won’t live. My heart aches for something I can’t pinpoint. My soul wails in search of what I lost but can’t find in this life.
Sighing, I stand up, the water gathering in a small puddle at my feet. Erasing the condensation from the mirror, I stare into my empty eyes—there’s no light, not a flicker. Nothing but duty. Nothing but responsibility.
I lost the spark a long time ago, most probably when I realized my father was not a regular man. Or maybe when he tried and failed to bend my sister to his control. Failing, he sent her away to boarding school so no one from our world would hear about her unruly behavior.
I saw it all unfold and processed it through my child’s brain. I’ve hidden my pain behind a smile for as long as I can remember, hating my inability to help her. Just like shoving away any sign of rebellion with a courteous nod.
My family thinks they know me. The truth is, no one does, which makes me feel alone. For once, I wish someone would see the real me.
Tristan did a number on me. My thoughts circle back to him so often that I fear for my mental well-being.
Blow-drying my hair, I lather my skin in my creamy lotion that smells like my favorite flowers—peonies. Maybe I like them because they bloom only for a brief period.
Having thoroughly analyzed my feelings, I put on a pair of silk shorts and a matching top, then walk downstairs.
In the library, I stare at the impressive number of books and pick a classic. Lighting a candle, I pour myself a glass of wine and sit down. In the velvet armchair, I snuggle with my book, sipping from time to time and reading, offering me a much-needed escape and letting me lose myself in a tale of another era.
Placing the book down on the oval table, I am about to head to bed when lights stream through the wide windows. Only one person it could be, and I jump up, unsure how to proceed. I am a stranger in his house.
I remain frozen in place, my pulse shooting up, perilously close to blacking out, hating that my default setting is to freeze instead of fight or flight.
Calm down, he’ll understand.
Mortified, I go through every scenario possible, from hiding to stripping to calling Evie so she can tell him that the stranger who made herself at home in his place is his sister’s best friend.
The front door opens and my thoughts scatter like dandelions blown out in the wind. Every second that passes has bile rising in my throat, nauseating me to the point I might throw up at any moment.
This was a terrible idea. And I’ve had plenty of those lately.
He walks inside, the chilly breeze blowing out the candle, leaving me in pitch darkness. I don’t mind wishing to remain undetected, but no such luck. He switches on the lights, and they flood the house, putting me in the spotlight.
I hold my breath, wishing to make myself invisible. Afraid I will asphyxiate, I release the breath I was holding, only to think that suffocating might not sound like the worst thing as he comes into view.
His figure doesn’t register with me for a long second, too terrified of the implications, but my brain clears, and shockreplaces it. I stumble back, shaking my head, convinced I am dreaming. This is my subconscious dealing with my fear of this exact scenario and mixing him into it.
I blink, but the image doesn’t change, erasing any doubt that he isn’t real. Tristan is in front of me, eyeing me with such intensity that I doubt I could have conjured him.
“You,” he says, half in accusation, half in something darker that only makes me swallow hard.
