Mason’s grip tightens around me as we stand outside the terminal. “Be careful. Call me if you need anything. I’ll drop everything and come get you if need be.”
“I will, luckily, you still pay my phone bill,” I tease. “You call me too, and let me know how training camp goes next week.”
“Excuse me,” a little boy’s voice cuts us off. “Ca-ca-can I have your autograph, please?”
I smile as Mase bends down, still towering over the little boy. “Sure can. What’s your name, buddy?”
He opens his mouth, and no words come out. His mom laughs at his star-struck son. “His name is Bradley.”
Mase signs his cap and takes a few pictures before waving them off.
“It still freaks me out that you’re this famous. To me, you’re just a giant annoying pain in my behind.” I get interrupted again by a teenage girl who is losing her mind that Mason Cunningham is standing in front of her. “You should go before you get bombarded.”
“Okay, call me the second you land, and don’t say one thing about roaming charges. I don’t care if your bill is five hundred dollars. You call me.”
“Yes, sir.” I hug him once more and then go to check in before meeting Addie.
Of course, Mase upgraded me to first class, and once I’m on the plane, I couldn’t be happier.
It’s the first time I’m not complaining about him splurging on me, because with these lie-down beds, I’ll now be perfectly refreshed when we land.
Luckily, Addie had already bought the same seat for herself.
“Let the party begin!” Camila screams as she steps out of an oversized villa.
When I lived in LA, I drove around Beverly Hills in awe of the architecture, so this naive Southern girl is no stranger tomansions. But this villa is what dreams are made of—or at least for me, someone who appreciates the art of design.
Camila barrels down the stairs and throws her arms around me.
“Hi. I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you more. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come to the airport. I hope the car I sent was okay.”
“No, the brand-new Mercedes was terrible,” I deadpan.
She pushes me aside, wraps her arms around Addie, and kisses her cheek.
Addie and Camila have gotten closer over the years, and I can’t wait for the day I finally move to New York to be with them.
While they catch up, my eyes roam over the beautiful facade of the house.
It’s truly an incredible place.
“Camila, your family’s place is beautiful.”
“It is, isn’t it? It’s one of my dad’s first large purchases once he started making money. He doesn’t even consider it his. Instead, it’s a family’s home, for both my mom’s and dad’s sides. Anyone is welcome anytime. When we were younger we’d do holidays here and big family gatherings.”
That doesn’t surprise me in the least. Besides my brother, the Moraleses are the most generous people I’ve ever encountered.
“Wow.” I don’t say much more, awestruck, taking in the whitewashed stucco walls that gleam perfectly from the morning sun.
I’ve always been intrigued by Architectural Digest interviews with people who have Spanish-style homes. The terracotta tiled roofs. The window grilles that I remember Leo once telling me were called “rajas,” made from wrought iron.
Such a different style from what I’m familiar with.
My head is on a swivel as I follow Camila through the heavy, dark wooden door, decorated with studs in a beautiful, unique yet uniform pattern.
A truly stunned gasp leaves my lips as the doors open. The entryway is an inner courtyard, semi-open to the elements, with a fountain made of blue-and-white ceramic tiles.
