My sister’s name is Cordelia however we’ve always called her Cordy. She runs the hottest up-and-coming luxury real estate company in Australia and has now decided that Delia, not Cordy or Cordelia, is the right name for a person who owns that sort of business.
“I have good news and I have good news!” she announces. “What do you want first?”
Normally I find my sister’s upbeat, quirky personality endearing but I’m so not in the head space for this. “Can we cut to the chase, Cor… Delia. I have to catch a plane to Vegas.”
“They don’t fly you private?” she counters, and a gasp leaves her mouth which is ridiculous.
“They do.”
"So the plane will wait for you, hot shot," Cordy replies. "Anyway, first good news. I have a full-price offer for you."
“That is good news,” I say but I feel a pinch of sadness in my chest. My brain fills with memories of the day I got the keys to my two-story loft overlooking the ocean in Sydney. It was an indulgence I could make, and did, with pride. Of course Eric said he’d pay half the mortgage but then his mom needed help—so he said—and I dropped the rent for him from half to a fourth, but he only managed to pay that every couple of months. I still got by because my business was thriving, but it was a little bit tighter than I’d anticipated. But when I was enjoying weekend coffees or evening nightcaps overlooking the harbor it felt worth it.
“Stop,” Cordy says, because she’s always been able to read my thoughts. “It’s just an apartment. There’ll be others. And you don’t even live here anymore.”
She’s kind of right, but I object anyway. “Australia will always be my home. I’m going to be back. A lot.”
“And you can stay with me. Or, you know, those people who spawned us.” She’s smiling at her own joke. I can hear it in her tone. “You could stay there and they might not even notice. I don’t think they even go into the East wing anymore since Mom moved her craft room into your old bedroom.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Why did she do that again? I mean, shit, the house has five guest rooms and a guest house. And your room. Why did she have to take over mine?”
I'm acting sweaty and petulant, like an over-stimulated child at the beach, which should be embarrassing but I've got all this pent-up energy from making out with Gabriel and nowhere to put it. There's a pause from my sister, probably because she's rolling her eyes in response and forgets I can't see her.
“She told you, something about morning light or the fact that you can see the Big Dipper from your skylight. I don’t fucking know.” She sighs. “But what I do know is that I’ve sold your place. You’re free. And you have to stop taking everything so personally. Especially with Mom and Dad.”
“He hired Eric.”
The silence is longer this time and I know it's because even Cordy can't smooth over the horrible truth of this. "Okay, that is fucked up. And for the record, I've told him. Repeatedly. But he defends it to me the same way he defended it to you. He needs to work with someone and you would never work with him."
“So he hires my ex? The one he never liked to begin with? The one who stole my business going? That's who he hires to do PR for his new indie movie? The person who is the reason I'm selling my damn home?" I am pseudo-yelling. I don't yell. I am immediately mortified.
And then it gets worse when there’s a faint knock on the door. I freeze. Oh fuck, am I getting a noise complaint? I turn and stare at the door with wide eyes and a thumping heart, like I know it’s Jason Voorhees on the other side or something. “Pumpkin? Hello? Tell me you want to know the second good news?”
"I have to go," I mutter as I lean into the peephole and see a bellhop standing there.
“But I—”
I hit end on my sister shove my cell into my pocket and swing open the door. The bellhop looks at me and his muddy colored eyes flare. Right. I'm shirtless. "I'm here for your luggage, Mr. Walsh."
“Right. Now? Fuck.” His eyes get even bigger. “Sorry. Umm… give me a minute.”
I scurry about the hotel room making sure everything is packed that needs to be packed, but I leave out a new shirt and some fresh undies. I don't have to be down to the lobby for the car to the airport for another twenty minutes. They're just taking our bags ahead of time. So I open the door because it closed in the bellhop's face, and hand him the bag. "I'm just gonna take a shower real quick before check out."
He nods, like he gives a shit, which of course he doesn’t. Then he leaves and I fly through the shower. I packed my deodorant and hair product but luckily this is a five-star and I can make do with the free toiletries in the room, which include a gel and some overly stinky deodorant.
Forty minutes later as I’m walking onto the small, luxurious private jet, I wonder why I bothered with a shower. Because I take one look at Gabriel who is sitting, ankle on knee, in a white leather chair and I’m overheating again. He smiles up at me from under his thick sandy lashes. I pretend not to notice and take the chair at the very back, three rows behind him so I can’t be tempted to drool over him all flight. Of course, that doesn’t stop me from thinking about him, and our sauna kiss, the entire time.
12GABRIEL
Regret has beengurgling in my gut the entire flight. So when we're finally able to get off this tin can, all I want to do is leave Axel and everyone else in my rearview and get somewhere where I can be alone. I went too far, too fast with Axel in that sauna. I was the guy that I keep telling him I'm not. The aggressive, selfish, arrogant prick who can't see boundaries to save his life.
As soon as the doors open, I’m on the tarmac. My father is calling after me, in French, so I turn and look back at him. But I don’t stop walking. I make a point of keeping my sunglasses on so no one sees my eyes bounce from my father to Axel, who is walking a few feet behind him, to my father again. “You’re forgetting something!”
“What?” I ask, trying not to sound so annoyed. But seriously, I have my messenger bag and my trainer, Enzo, beside me. The bags get delivered to the hotel so what the hell else do I need?
“Votre copain, mon coeur." My boyfriend. Right. Fuck. Dad is smiling, but there's a hard glint in his hazel eyes that says 'don't you dare talk back' so I don't. I just nod, stop walking, and wait for Axel to catch up.
His step falters when he hears the exchange and sees me stop. Fuck, that regret gurgles and crawls its way up my throat, like acid reflux. Dad sighs. “I’ve arranged a nice meal for you to share together. Alone. AtMon Ami Gabitomorrow night. Simple. Elegant. People Magazine might have been tipped off. Also Just Jacob.”
