Sitting on the lounge surrounded by Chance laughing obnoxiously over some commercial and Aubrey almost passed out on wine, I scroll through my phone and see the lists of girls’ numbers I collected today.
Not a bad haul, I think.
I could get laid tonight.
Or score a good blowie since it’s been forever.
Yet, only one thing replays on my mind, and it’s the one thing I can’t shake off.
I’m missing her number.
Gabriella Carmichael.
And with that thought consuming me, I know I have to do whatever I can to get it.
Even if it means being the biggest pain in her beautiful arse.
Gabriella
The familiar brown-uniformed driver pulls up to the curb first thing on Monday morning.
Jamie, as he introduced himself last week, has got his job down to a T. A quick stop, then run to the back of his truck where he sorts out the packages until he pulls out a large box with both his hands and begins to walk toward me.
“Hey, Gabriella,” he greets, juggling the box until he places it on the porch directly by my feet.
“Hi, Jamie.” My eyes wander toward the large box wondering what on earth could be inside. Sebastian is relentless with showering me in gifts. “It’s a big one today.”
James chuckles beneath his cap, handing me his device to sign my name. “A dime for every time I’ve heard that.” He winks, walking away with a slight skip in his step as I thank him, unable to hide the smile from my embarrassing comment.
Curiosity gets the better of me. Tearing off the tape, I pull out the flaps, and inside the box sits a large giraffe. Struggling to remove it, I finally pull it all out and place it in front of me.
The stuffed giraffe sits at over three feet tall, reaching the top of my chest. At the rate he’s going with stuffed animals, soon I will be able to open an imaginary zoo.
My eyes hazily wander to the envelope, removing the card to read what it says.
How about our honeymoon in Africa?
Love, Prince Charming.
I let out a sigh. A smile wavering as the internal conflict of the whole situation rests heavily on my shoulders. As if the weight is bearing me down, I take a seat on the old wicker chair, staring blankly at the giraffe and trying to acknowledge the word ‘honeymoon.’
Sebastian is trying his best, I have to give him that.
It was a joke. One day over dinner, a friend of his was talking about Africa, and I mentioned how much I loved giraffes but have never seen one.
A honeymoon.
My chest begins to cave in, while a sense of overwhelming thoughts floods my brain within seconds.
Where will we live?
Sebastian’s family owns a ranch not too far from us. He has his own quarters, but the thought of living with the Kings is enough to make me run away and change my identity for good. They are nasty, ruthless, and I have overheard on more than one occasion that his father is part of some underground mob.
“Planning a trip to Africa?” The familiar voice startles me, my hand instinctively covering my chest to calm my racing heart. Oliver is leaning over the fence curiously watching me. I’m not immune to his shirtless body glistening in the sunlight and his muscles protruding making it impossible to ignore him. He has one of those rich golden tans with very little hair on his sculpted chest.
I quickly place the card back in the envelope. “No… I wish.”
“Interesting gift,” he comments while removing his headphones.
“It’s from Sebastian.” Oliver stares at me, rubbing his chin with a confused expression. “You know, Prince Charming? He kind of sends me stuff, I guess attempting to lure me back.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not,” I blurt out, suddenly conscious that once again, I’ve opened up, maybe a bit too much, and to a complete stranger.
I don’t know why Oliver has this way of dragging up my feelings. It baffles and irritates me at the same time. It’s almost like I speak with my heart, not my head, when I am around him. Very unlike me. Aside from Aubrey, and Tiffany during my one-night bender, I prefer to keep my cards close to my chest.
“I came here to clear my head. Gain perspective before making any commitments.”
Oh, damn! There, I did it again.
“Well, how about you come with me for a run?” he asks while fiddling with his headphones as if he’s nervous or something. “Running can clear your head.”
I haven’t run in ages. College would have been the last time I had pushed myself to run and only because our sorority made us. I try to walk and practice yoga daily, but running is on a different level.
What do I have to lose? Your ability to breathe and function tomorrow.
“Okay, let me get changed first.”
“Good. Nana cardigans and skirts would make for an interesting running ensemble.”
I look down at my clothes.
Asshole.
I head inside, changing into a pair of modest shorts and a sports tank before my cell beeps. With my hair twisted between my fingers, I lean over, swiping my screen while attempting to tame my curls and place them up into a bun.
Sebastian: About this break… I miss you. Come back.
I sit on the bed reading the text over again. It’s almost as if he can sense me pulling away, latching onto any strength I’ve mustered up while trying to drag me back into a world I so desperately am trying to run from.
I decide to leave my cell behind, unsure of how to respond.
As time passes, Sebastian has become clingy with his need to text me all day long. The funny thing is, he wasn’t like that before I left. In fact, we saw each other maybe twice a week, usually in the presence of my father. He traveled, and I kept myself busy with social engagements and foundations my mother forced me to be part of.
According to her, our family has responsibilities to society. My father despised it, though he was smart enough to make an appearance for the sake of his career. Both my older sisters have children, and they used it as an excuse since they never had time to do anything, yet had a bunch of nannies working for them so they could still keep up with their beauty appointments.
But now I have all the freedom in the world—no social engagements, no luncheons or fancy caviar served on a silver platter. That, in itself, is enough to motivate me to do better things.
Things that make me happy.
Oliver is right, though, I need a good head-clearing and running should do just that.
As I walk outside locking up the house behind me, Oliver yells at me like a drill sergeant, demanding I pick up the pace. He makes it hard to keep up with him, his long muscular legs taking big steps, almost double that of mine.
After a difficult hill, and my lungs collapsing two miles back, we stop at the beach to catch my breath. Oliver does not seem the slightest bit worked up.
“How… how… on earth… are you breathing?” I’m struggling for air, bent over with my hands resting on my knees for support. My throat is parched and desperate for water or any sort of liquid to quench its thirst.