Stepping through the front door, I found an empty house and lots of dust. Every piece of furniture sat in the same place, but the memories left behind were silent, like they’d left with Borya and the maids.
I ran a line through the dust on the banister as Khaos and I ventured up the staircase. Reaching my room, I wound the ballerina in my music box, setting her on one last lonely pirouette. Then I dropped my papa’s birthday present from the balcony. The box cracked, the tune ended with a final sad note, and the dancer stopped spinning forever.
She never wanted to be a ballerina anyway.
I reached the door to leave but paused when I saw a small card lying in the dust-free square where the music box had sat. It was the business card the model agent slipped me on the street years ago. I’d hidden it after my papa refused to allow modeling of any kind and then forgot about it.
I picked it up and put it in my pocket.
Modeling was supposed to be a hard industry to get into. Although, I’d either gotten very narcissistic or divine intervention had stepped in. Because here I was now, modeling a campaign for a vegan product. I only went to go-sees and accepted contracts from humanitarian-conscious companies and designers—which my agent hated—but apparently, this new spark in my eyes worked out great for me.
Months ago, I believed I would be engaged to Carter—or even married at this point existing as a jaded housewife. I wasn’t sure how Carter got the memo none of that would be happening, but when I ran into him last week picking up some takeout, he’d dropped his tacos as if the sight of me gave him a heart attack and immediately took off in the other direction.
It wasn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting . . . but it would do.
No Carter. No working in the sex industry. And no living on pennies. All of those fears had evaporated, but I was still consumed with doubt of another kind.
I closed my eyes as one of the makeup artists applied mascara to my lashes.
“Good god, no!” Flora exclaimed. “Were you not briefed today?”
The artist frowned. “Yes. We’re going with clean looks.”
Flora’s brow rose above her sixties-style round glasses. “What about black mascara on a blonde says ‘clean’ to you? It says ‘slutty club girl’ to me. She already has a slutty vibe. We don’t need to exaggerate it.”
Slutty vibe?
Flora waved a hand at my face. “Fix it. Just fix it before Carlos shows up.” Then she flounced off to harass someone else.
Twenty minutes later, I wore an athletic one-piece swimsuit and stood on a terrace giving a perfect view of the ocean.
Click . . . Click . . . Grumble.
“We need sexy,” Carlos snapped. “Not ‘I’m saving myself for marriage.’”
Okay . . . I was “slutty” a moment ago. Not to mention, it was hard to feel sexy with a milk mustache, holding a pint of almond milk.
Click.
“No, no, no.” Carlos rubbed his temples. “Please tell me you’ve had sex before.”
Sometimes, I questioned this career, but overall, I loved promoting my vegan lifestyle and that the substantial income gave me the means to truly make a difference somewhere.
“Yes, I’ve had sex.” A few times . . .
“Good sex?”
“Yes.” Heat rushed up to my neck because I knew where he was going with this, and I really didn’t want to go there. “But can I ask a question?”
“No.”
I asked anyway. “Why does an almond milk advertisement need to be sexy?”
He sighed irritably. “Sex sells, darling.”
“I’m just thinking of the kids here . . . Wouldn’t they want to send their parents off to buy this milk if I looked happy drinking it instead of, well . . . horny?”
Carlos gave me a dry look. “You are lucky you have the perfect look for this shoot. Or I’d toss you off this terrace so fast.”
I sighed.
“Now, think of the best sex you’ve ever had.”
Ugh.
Exhaling deeply, I closed my eyes and thought of inked hands next to mine on the shower wall. I thought of Ronan’s mouth on my neck and the fullness of him inside me. His hand collaring my throat. Vse moya. The way he held me. How he smelled and tasted. I remembered. And it hit me with a ball of fire that erupted inside me.
I opened my eyes.
Click.
Silence settled on the terrace while longing tore through me. I hoped Carlos got the shot because I didn’t want to be here anymore.
“Wow, girl . . .” Carlos murmured. “We definitely got it. But now we all want to hear the story.”
Everyone stared at me while my heart slowly ripped in half. I dropped the pint of milk and walked offset. Grabbing my bag, I exited the studio and sucked in a shaky breath of fresh air, heading to the villa I shared with a couple of models during the two-day stay.
I wished Khaos was with me, but some ridiculous pet quarantine laws had ended that idea, so he was staying with Emma, who still volunteered with me at the homeless shelter. And I really hoped Khaos hadn’t eaten one of her cats. I was about to call her when my phone buzzed in my purse. I dug it out.
Papa: The Miami house is being put on the market. If there is anything you would like to keep, you should do so by next week.
That was the first correspondence I had with my father since he’d walked out of the hospital. I meant it when I’d said we shouldn’t be in contact. The relationship always brought me down in a dark way rather than up, and these four months without his presence had lifted a massive weight off my shoulders. It was the right decision. Regardless of who my mother was as a person, I couldn’t look at my father again without seeing her lifeless body and the sibling inside of her I’d never meet.
Me: OK.
The next morning, I flew home to Miami.
I’d rented an apartment in the downtown area but had yet to furnish it with anything more than a mattress. I knew I wouldn’t be staying in Miami, but I was unsure of where I belonged yet.
In my heart, I knew.
I had a lot of time to think these past four months, and I now understood with a certainty where I belonged and what I wanted. Though I hadn’t heard a word from Ronan since his last note. Insecurity had wedged itself in my chest with the belief he didn’t have the same feelings anymore and that maybe it really was proshchay.
I’d rather live with a little hope than with outright rejection.
A cabbie picked me up at the airport, and I gave him the address to Emma’s place, anxiety taking over. Emma had told me everything was perfectly fine on the phone last night, but there was a nervous edge to her voice and lots of hissing in the background. I definitely needed to figure out a better place for Khaos to stay when I was away.
Absently gazing through the window, the sight outside raised the hair on my arms, and I blurted, “Stop here.”
The cabbie thought I was crazy by the look he cast me through the rearview mirror, but he pulled over on the side of the road and let me out after I shoved some cash into his hand.
I walked across the street and onto the grassy plot of land where the carnival looked to be setting up. The carneys gave me odd glances while they worked on half-mast tents, unloaded amusement rides, and crammed massive stuffed prizes on the game shelves.
The trailer looked exactly the same as it had six years ago: sun-faded exterior, an ominous red door, and purple beaded curtains.