“That’s the plan.” My voice rises with more conviction than I’ve had in the past. My dream feels right around the corner, within reaching distance finally. I only need a few weeks, a big payout, and a business plan. Then my thoughts flip to Ella. Would she fit in my future? Immediately, I tell myself not to be ridiculous. I have nothing to offer the rich and famous former model living above me. “Hey Gavin, ever hear of Nicholas Vincentia?”
Gavin scoffs. “Ah yeah,” he says like I should know better. “He’s a big supporter of the arts, especially film. Why?”
I’m totally in breach of my NDA, but I need some details. “Heard of his daughter, Isabella Vee. She was a model or something, right?” I’m not an actor so I’m doing a poor job of playing this conversation off as casual.
“Yeah. She kind of disappeared though a few years back, I think.”
“Do you know why?”
“Not any particulars. Rumor has it there was an accident,” my brother states. “Models like her come and go in the industry.” He chuckles like it is no big deal that a person’s life changed in an instant.
A heavy pause fills the line for a second.
“Why are you asking, E?” Him calling me by my nickname reminds me of Jacob calling Ella Belly. How do we get these terms from our older siblings, and why do I ache hearing it as an adult?
“Just curious.” It’s not a good answer, but Gavin doesn’t press.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, his concern more genuine.
“Yeah, just going through some things.” I chuckle to disguise my conundrum. The laugh hurts my ribs, but I decide not to tell him about my accident. I don’t want my family to know what happened. Reckless driving combined with rain will only add to my family’s list of Ethan’s irresponsibility.
“Aren’t we all.” Gavin sighs.
“What’s up with you?” I lighten my tone, sensing my brother’s holding back on his own issues.
“Just…life, right?” He chuckles again to dismiss things. I can’t imagine his struggles as he has more money than he knows what to do with, plus an amazing job, the picture-perfect girl, and a home on the beach.
“Any clue when I might see you?” I ask, hating how it sounds like I’m whining. Gavin, let me play ball, I’d beg of him with his friends when I was young.
“Actually, I might be visiting Michigan next summer. In the meantime, come to California. I’ll spot you a ticket.” He’s generous like that.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, knowing I can’t leave my current position for weeks. What will you do after that, E? I can almost hear the question in Gavin’s voice, and I don’t have an official answer. At least, not yet. “But thanks for the offer.” Come home, instead. I understand why he won’t. I just think it’s time to get over it.
“No problem. Let me know, but hey, I have to go.” Gavin makes it sound important when I know he just wants to return to Zoey in his bed. They live together, and we’ve never met her. I wonder if Zoey might know of Isabelle Vee, but I don’t ask and decide it doesn’t matter. Whoever Ella was, she no longer is, and the person I want to know is the one I live with.
+ + +
It’s strange to live in a house with someone yet circle around them. Ella doesn’t eat with me, but she does eat what I provide for her. She mostly keeps to her room, and sometimes I hear this strange whirring sound coming from upstairs. It’s not a buzz as much as a hum, and I’m so tempted to walk up there. What is she doing late at night?
I don’t ask for two reasons.
She doesn’t like surprises, and my entering her room unannounced would definitely be a surprise.
If I found her working a massive vibrator, which is what the noise sounds like, I’d lose my shit.
After three days, I’m wound tight with a need to expel energy and gripping myself in the shower twice a day has not been enough. It doesn’t help that I have all these new images of her in my head from searching her on the internet
One image especially stood out to me. She’s looking over her shoulder, lips slightly open, like she’s gasping in surprise, or catching her breath. Perhaps someone said something. A compliment. Something dirty. Maybe I love you for the first time. Her eyes haunt the picture as if she’s looking directly at the person who is looking back at her. She wants whoever that person is. Did she love him? Did she want him to touch her? When I envision the picture, she wants me in my imagination.
Because I want someone to look at me the way she’s gazing out of that photograph.
Fuck, I’m hard just thinking about it as I’m slouching on one of Jacob’s leather couches facing his fireplace. The flat screen above it is on, but I’m not really concentrating on the program. I’ve spent another day in silence in this big house where I’ve slowly made myself more at home. I worked out and then spent most of the day researching bank loans and real estate prospects. My mind is on overload with ideas.
Then I hear a voice.
“What are you watching?” Her feminine screech mixes with the image on the screen, and I realize I have the channel set to some horror film where a person is repeatedly stabbed.
“Oh.” I struggle to sit up from my prone position and fumble with the remote that had been on my belly. I’d also had my hand down my pants, cupping my semi, and the whole thing just looks wrong. Thankfully, the remote hits the edge of the coffee table and by a small miracle flips to the channel guide.
“I wasn’t really watching that,” I clarify, running a hand into my hair. She stands at the edge of the couch where I’m sitting, and I look at her over my shoulder. She wears a cream-colored turtleneck. The pale color highlights her hair, fiery and wild red. It’s a burst of fall color right here in the dim room, and she’s beautiful just as I’ve told her.
Fucking breathtaking.
“What were you doing then?” Her eyes narrow, and I realize she’s caught me. Hand in the cookie jar and all.
“Just…thinking.”
“Good thoughts, I hope.” One brow twitches. Is she teasing me? Flirting with me? I ignore the thought. She can’t be. She wouldn’t be.
“Am I late with dinner?” I reach for my phone on the cushion and note the time. I’ve tried to keep meals to a set schedule, so she knows I’ve made them. She then helps herself when she knows I’m no longer in the kitchen. When I do hang out for a bit, experimenting with recipes on Jacob’s amazing stove, I make enough noise to warn her I’m working. I don’t want her to enter the kitchen and be surprised.
“No,” she says softly. A hundred more words rest within that single breath. Only I don’t know what any of those other words could be.
“Want to watch something?” I offer, and her nose scrunches up. It’s cute. She’s cute, which is a different category than stunning, and possibly better.
“Would you mind? I just need out of my room for a while.”
I hold out the remote to her, but she’ll have to lean forward to take it from me. My ribs are still sore and tender.
“You know, you don’t need to hide up there. I won’t bite,” I tease. Unless you want me to, but I don’t add the rest of my statement. I bite my own cheek to keep myself in check.