I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about Belladonna. Is she happy that she won “the prize”? I have a hard time believing they’re truly in love. With my sister, there’s a motive to everything she does. Tyler is no different.
“No more turd talk.” I shake my head. “You will love it here. You deserve a break putting up with everything at the office without me. First class all the way, bestie. Just hurry up! I miss you.”
He smiles and then it falls as he grows serious. Since he’s a mostly playful person, I prepare myself for whatever he’s going to say next.
“One more thing I wanted to tell you. You’re not going to like it,” he says as he takes a deep sigh and clicks something on his keyboard.
“Okay, what?” I brace myself.
“I checked your mail like you asked.”
My stomach tightens. “And?”
“Tyler still hasn’t moved out.”
My jaw clenches, and I roll my eyes. “Of course he hasn’t.”
“And,” he adds, clearly enjoying this part less, “I saw evidence that your sister has been staying there.”
The audacity of that woman. First, she takes my fiancé and tries to steal my home too?
“What? How do you know?” I demand as I shoot to my feet and begin to pace. “I don’t want her there.”
“She is very much there,” Wilby says, grimacing. “I saw her in her underwear.”
“Eww.”
He shudders. “I can’t unsee it, Silverlyn. I’m traumatized.”
Rage floods my chest, hot and fast. “The penthouse is mine, and I want Tyler evicted. Immediately.”
He doesn’t blink. “Do you want me to start the process?”
“Yes,” I say. “Today. Get our team on it. I don’t care what you have to do. He needs to be gone, immediately.”
He smiles, making a note on a pad of paper next to him. “Sure. Evict the turd. It will be my pleasure.”
Because Wilby hates Belladonna and Tyler almost as much as I do. I can’t believe the nerve of these two.
I sink back onto the bed, heart pounding, phone still in my hand, clothes scattered everywhere.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
He softens just a fraction. “I’m here for you, Silverlyn. I’ll get the ball rolling.”
“I can’t wait to see you. You’re the best, Wilby.”
He scoffs. “I know. Have fun surfing with the hot bartender!”
Then, with a pointed look, he says, “Wear the green swimsuit, Silverlyn. You are not healing nothing in that navy crime against fashion.”
I laugh, glance at the mirror, and for the first time since I left New York, I feel empowered.
I feel like I’m finally starting to find myself.
“Are you ready?” Cal asks as he reaches for my hand, his board tucked under his arm.
Last night I was uneasy. Now, I’m straight up nervous about surfing with Cal. He’s a great teacher and spent the better part of the morning showing me, while safely in the sand, how to lie on the board, paddle, and pop up safely. Each time his hand shot out to assist me, my skin would burn at his touch. If he’s that protective on dry land, I know he’ll keep me safe while on the water. Still, I’m nervous.
