Chapter One
Mira
After an eleven-hour flight from France to California that included a cat nap and a massive headache, we’ve finally touched down on Dad’s private runway outside of Santa Monica. When it’s time to deplane, I shuffle through my bag in search of my cell phone to call and let Dad know I’ve arrived. Once I have it, I tap his name and it rings and rings until it goes to voicemail. I end the call, never being one to leave a message.
I fling the strap of my oversized Louis Vuitton bag over my shoulder and stand up, feeling slightly dizzy from the landing. I’ve flown on planes—private jets, rather—since I was born, but for some reason, I still get nauseous during takeoff and landing. Mom said up until I was six years old, I’d vomit during takeoff. Glad I got over that.
“We’ve arrived, Ms. Glasson,” Henry, Dad’s pilot, announces over the intercom, “Julian will escort your belongings safely to Glasson Manor.”
I walk out the door and take the first few steps onto the landing staircase but have to stop myself. “Are you ok, Ms.?” Julian asks from the bottom of the stairs.
“Yeah. Just a little lightheaded. That’s what I get for skipping the in-flight lunch service offered on the flight.”
“Yes. You need to eat. Get some meat on those bones,” Julian teases.
I smile when what I really want to do is express how rude it is to comment on a woman’s weight, no matter what her frame. Even if he is right and I could gain a few pounds. This last year has been one of reflecting and self-discovery, and in the process, my eating habits have been sporadic. Most days, I skipped breakfast and went straight to the studio. Some nights, I skipped dinner and went straight to bed.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him with an eyeroll.
Julian offers a hand to help me down the last few steps, and once my feet hit the ground, I draw in a deep and fulfilling breath of the fresh Santa Monica air. “Ahh, it’s nice to be home, Julian.”
“I’m happy to hear that. Your parents will be happy to see you, once they return from their sabbatical that is.”
I put on my sunglasses and walk toward the car waiting to take me to my childhood home. Julian takes my bag and walks at an amble pace beside me. “A well-deserved sabbatical,” I remind him.
Stewart, the driver who works for my family, opens the door, and as I slide inside, Julian hands me my bag. “Enjoy your stay, Ms. Glasson.”
“I will, thank you.” Stewart closes the door and I take my sunglasses off then pull my phone out of my pocket to try Dad one more time before I get to the house. When he doesn't answer, yet again, I end the call and drop it in my bag.
A year away and I’m coming back to no one. Mom and Dad are vacationing in Tahiti. Lance is probably at home with his wife, not that they’d care much about my arrival. I have one friend left, Robby, and he’s in a committed relationship, meaning he’s practically married.
Reality slaps me in the face—even at home, I’m still alone.
I refuse to let my mind go there. To the place where I pity myself. This is my life and I am in control.
“Stewart,” I grab the driver’s attention. “Could you please drop me at Tito's? I’ll call for a ride when I’m ready to return home.”
“Are you sure, Ms. Glasson? You’ve done quite a bit of traveling today.”
“No need to worry, Stewart.” I’m aware that my lengthy travel is not the reason that Stewart is concerned. He’s been one of our drivers since I was a kid. He knows of my past and he’s also aware of how hard my father has fought to keep his family life private.
“As you wish.”
Pulling out my compact mirror, I touch up my lips with a nude shade, then pat some powder on my nose. The bags under my eyes are apparent, but I’m not looking to take a man home tonight.
On a whim, I decide to call Robby, just on the off chance that he might want to catch up at Tito's.
“Mira Jane Glasson,” he emphasizes my name in excitement when he picks up on the first ring. “You must have the wrong number because my friend, Mira, doesn’t call me anymore.”
“Oh, stop it.” I swat my hand at the empty space in front of me. “You know I’ve been insanely busy. How are you? How’s Luke?”
“Fabulous. We’re both doing great. Just finished a few laps in the pool and thought about grabbing some dinner. Are you still in Provence or did you finally decide to return to civilization?”
“Actually, I’m home. I just pulled up to Tito's. Are you up for grabbing dinner there? We could catch up and you can fill me in on all things Robby and Luke.”
There’s a beat of silence before he responds, “Yes. Hell yes. I’d love to see you. Give me about ten to fifteen?”
“Yay,” I squeal. “See you there.”
Tito’s is located inside a fancy hotel, but as the valet arrives to open my door, Stewart’s already there. “Thank you.” I smile back at him and quickly realize he’s following behind me, so I stop and place a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be fine, Stewart.”
“You’re sure? Maybe I should consult your father.”
“I’ll be just fine. I’ll call you soon,” I say in an encouraging tone.
He gives me a nod, before hesitantly heading back to the running car that’s parallel parked in front of the valet station.
The doorman holds open the door for me and I thank him.
It’s just as I remember it. Cozy and lit-up with strings of white lights around the entire lounge. White leather couches line the walls. A full-length bar sits to the right with tables in the center of the room. The most gorgeous, crystal chandeliers hang freely from all over the ceiling. In the far corner, there’s an open space that’s used as a dance floor on the weekends.
It’s probably best to avoid that area. The last thing I need is attention after only being back in the states for less than an hour.
Everyone who knows me, knows about my past. But I’m ready to show them who I am today. People will gossip, and that’s okay. Fortunately, this isn’t some small town. I’ve managed to keep my life fairly private, even though I still somehow succeed at putting myself on display. Even though it wasn’t entirely my fault. A year ago, I wouldn’t have accepted any blame, but now, I’ll claim a small fraction of it.
A year ago, I started a relationship with a man. A man who was married—the same one that’s my brother’s best friend. Lance was the best man in Mark and Betsy’s wedding. I bought them a bread maker as a gift. Growing up, I always had a little crush on Mark. He was a bit of a tech nerd, but I always found him to be attractive. He was nothing like the guys I dated. Instead, he and Lance would spend their weekends creating video games. He was extremely intelligent, and I knew one day, he would make a name for himself. Boy, did he ever. He was only twenty years old when his games took off and were sold around the world. Every year since, he’s achieved more success, making him a billionaire who will never want for anything.
The night of Lance’s wedding, I’d had a little too much to drink. Mark and Betsy were having problems, after only being married for a few short months. He told me he was sure they were headed for divorce. One thing led to another, and we woke up together in his hotel room. We didn’t leave that hotel for four days. After that, we met up whenever we got the chance.