It's him.
It's the Unstoppable Foster Dunham.
In all the pandemonium, I'd forgotten I'd invited him. And I never expected him to show, never in a million years, but there he is staring at me through the hexagonal panes of glass in the solarium. It's like he's peeking in at a fish in an aquarium while he withstands a bitter wind.
We make eye contact. His eyebrows go up and his lips quirk in a whimsical grin like he's enjoying the bedlam unfolding around him.
He looks other-wordly with his strong jaw, cocky smile, and super-human height.
Jesus, he's beautiful. I've been sleeping with his jacket on my pillow every night, trying to hold onto the memory of being on his bike.
Now he's here.
My life is in turmoil, but he's here, so I have hope. Something good exists beyond my fishbowl and that something is unshaken by the storm.
A sudden gust forces him to raise his elbow over his head and duck to avoid getting hit by a flying card table.
Oh no. This is dangerous!
I scuffle down the narrow walkway next to the indoor pool, careful not to fall in while trying to rescue the people outside.
The wind blasts my hair as I open the side door to the pool area. "Come in, come in!"
Servers and busboys keep running around trying to grab flying napkins and utensils. "Come inside, please! Leave the stuff."
Donnie is right behind me. "Have them go in the kitchen. You can't have servants in here."
"Oh please, Donnie. There's a storm. They need to come inside."
Warm wind pelts my face as I run out and wave my arms, forcing them to move to the door. "Go, go." I grab a giant pink flamingo and throw it toward the pool house. It takes off into the wind.
The staff scuttles inside. Foster holds out his hand, motioning for me to precede him into the house. After I'm in, I turn to wait for him. He steps inside and closes the door, cutting off the crazy noise of the wind. My brother, father, and the other guests stare at the windblown crew as Celine Dion belts out "My Heart Will Go On" in the background.
What a mess.
I run to the front of the crowd and Foster stays behind. "Please, sit down. Stay." I point to the couches in the living room but the staff looks awkward and uncomfortable.
Foster glances down at the pool and side steps away from the edge. When he lifts his head, his gaze stops on me. Again it's like time has stopped. He's the calm in the eye of the storm. His lips curl into a smirk that makes his eyes sparkle.
Gah! This is not funny! This is my life imploding!
Mrs. Sinclair comes up to me and pats my shoulder. "We have to run, Milana. Thank you for a lovely party."
"I'm so sorry. Please remember to donate." My last attempt at salvaging this benefit.
"Of course, of course," she says. I don't believe her as she hastily returns to her uber-wealthy husband and leaves through the front door.
More guests move to grab their coats and the catering staff runs to the side door of the house, where their cars are parked. My party is ruined.
My father and Donnie glare at me like this is all my fault. I didn't know there would be a hurricane the day of the party, and its rapid approach surprised even the weatherman.
It's all too much. The walls are closing in on me like the storm. I need to escape!
I rush out a side door and my sandals slip on the grass hill. I don't know where I'm going. I just know I need to get out of here, away from the proof of my failure and the judging eyes of my father.
The wind steals my breath as I gasp for air. Spears of salt abrade my cheeks and push me back as I reach the shoreline. Go back to the mess up there, the wind says. Face your life and who you are.
No. No. "No!" I scream at the wind. As I reach the shore, the turbulent water soaks my feet. I can't say no to anyone up there, but down here I can scream it and get away with it.
"No!" I scream until my throat burns. Hard, heavy, sideways pellets of rain hit my white sundress.
"It's not safe out here right now." A deep male voice startles me.
It's Foster and his mocking eyes. He's standing on the berm behind me. He has to yell to be heard above the wind, but he seems restrained and easy-going even though his shirt is changing color as it gets wet.
He steps down from the dune and walks toward me, squinting through the rain as it gets thicker. Angry waves slam down at my feet.
"Stay back!" I hold my palm up to him.
His eyebrows crease. "You need to hunker down."
The thought of going back up to the house and facing my father makes me want to puke.
"I'll stay here," I say.
"You can't stay."
"What does it matter?" I turn my face back to the waves and open my arms to let the rain hit me. "Who cares if I die? Let the forces of nature decide my—Oomph."
A blow to my waist makes me double over and I catch a glimpse of black jeans marching up the shore toward the house. He's carrying me over his shoulder! My fists pound on his back, but he's rock solid.
"Let me go!"
He doesn't reply or slow his pace.
"Put me down!" My skirt is flying around and now my ass is getting wet. At least I'm wearing a bathing suit underneath.
The wind pushes him off course and he has to dig in and bend forward to keep moving up the steep hill of grass.
"I don't want to talk to anyone!" My wet hair smacks me in the face.
"No one is here!" he answers.
"They aren't?"
"They all left. There's a fucking tornado watch or did you not hear me while you were yelling your manifesto into the wind?"
He carries me into the house and stomps around. Pat Benatar is singing "Love is a Battlefield" and the place is empty. Everyone is gone.
"Put me down."
"Not till I find a safe spot to sit out the tornado."
A ferocious gust of wind rattles the mostly glass house. A tornado would shred it—and us—to bits. "We can't sit it out. We need to evacuate." I hate talking to his backside, but it's all I can see right now.
He chuckles. "Welcome to the party, sweetheart. Your chance to leave came and went. We're stuck here." He marches from the main dining room down the hallway to the bedrooms before spinning and returning to the living room.
"Who told you that?" We probably have plenty of time to evacuate. I bet someone was trying to sabotage my party.
"You see anyone in this house? No. You don't. Everyone left. You? You go for a walk on the beach. Who the hell goes to the shore to duke it out with a tornado?"
He keeps mumbling low, cursing under his breath. Drops of water mark the floor in a trail following his path as he wanders from room to room with me hanging over his shoulder. "Here we go," he says in the kitchen as he opens the door leading to the wine cellar in the basement.
Oh hell no! I scream and pound his back with all my might. "No!" There's no way I'm going down into the basement with him. But I have zero say in the matter as he heads down the stairs.
At the bottom, he flips me over and plops me on my feet. "Are you insane?" he yells at me, his chest heaving.
I catch my balance and fire back at him, "You're the one who hauled me off the beach and carried me to the basement and you're calling me crazy?"