Keira
I let out“I’ma long, bored,”suffering I say tosigh. no one in particular. I’m all by myself, kicking back in
the seating area of Rhys’s lounging pool. I’m staying at one of the most luxurious mansions in Los
Angeles, and I’m utterly bored. I look around the stunning garden. There’s nothing to do. “Booze it
is.” I stand up, climb up on the ledge, and pick up the tray. My tropical fiesta is going well. Piña colada
number two hit the mark. I make my way back to the house, balancing the tray I’m holding with both
hands. Rhys’s shallow lounging pool has become my oasis. I wait for the sun to move west before
taking up residence there for a few hours as I soak up vitamin D. I enter the kitchen, singing a song and
shaking my hips. I drop the tray on the granite kitchen island and stride towards the refrigerator, still
dancing to the beat in my head. My phone rings. “Oh my God, someone cares I’m alive.” Between the
time difference and my brother’s exhausting schedule, speaking to Noah has turned into a cat and
mouse game. I hope it’s him. I rush to the tray where I left my phone. A smile stretches my face as I
answer the video call. “It’s so good to see your beautiful face again.” Michaela grins wide. “Ditto.”
“Text messages are okay, but after living with you for two months, I miss the face-to-face,” I say.
“Sorry. Getting back to New York has been a big fucking adjustment. I miss N epal. I miss my
freedom. I miss you.”
Sadness veils her pretty green eyes. “Is everything okay with your dad?” She gives me a one-shoulder
shrug. “He’s still allowing my st epmother to walk all over him. I hate it when he does that. I hate her.”
“I’m sorry, Michaela.” “Don’t be. It’s not your fault,” she says. “On top of that, she’s been barraging
me about my hair. And she’s nasty about it.”
“Don’t tell me, she’s unable to appreciate your trend-setting and edgy haircut?” I say, running my hand
over my short hair that desperately needs a proper cut.
“Pretty much. She’s also fed up with the supposedly unbearable attitude I collected somewhere
between N epal and Thailand,” Michaela says. “Dear St ep-mommy wants to drag me to a shop to buy a
wig.”
“What?” “Well, don’t you know, short hair is a travesty on a pretty girl.” The sarcasm in her voice
doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Err... I don’t even know what to say to that.” “It’s ridiculous. I’m twenty-three years old. She doesn’t
have a say on my haircut.” Michaela’s gaze moves away from the screen. She glances at the distance
before locking eyes again. “As usual, she’s talking out of her ass.”
I laugh. She joins me. “Enough about my unpleasant st epmother. I want to hear all about your living
arrangement with one of the hottest men in the country. How is it to shack up with Luva Boy Rhys?”
“Where should I start?” I tap my chin, pretending to think hard. “Should I start with the way I insulted
him a few hours after landing in LA, and how he was so pissed off, he stormed out and left me alone in
his house.”
“What?” “Or should I tell you all about stripping down to my sheer underwear and wet white t-shirt on
Sunday after a hair-raising brush with death in my crusade to show Rhys I’m more than his best
friend’s little sister?”
“Excuse me?” “Or should we start with my new reality of being nothing more than a St epford wife,
trapped in a big ass mansion with nothing to do, waiting for my husband to come home with the
bacon.”
Her face drops. “You’ve been holding back on me,” Michaela says. “Your text messages suggested it
was a rocky start between you two.”
She’s right. I’ve been circumspect, unwilling to reveal too much. Partly because I’m still embarrassed
by my attitude on the night I arrived.
“What you just described is what bad reality TV shows are made of.” Fact. “Do you want to start from
the beginning and fill me in?” I spill my guts to my new friend. She listens her eyes wide with
amazement, firing a thousand questions my way.
I conclude my story. “That was a lot to unpack,” Michaela says “Tell me about it.” I blow out a breath.
“So, what’s the plan for the rest of the afternoon?” “I took a cab to the grocery store and liquor store
this morning to stock up. I was about to pr epare piña colada number three, fill a bowl with more chips,
and another with homemade salsa and guacamole to continue my tropical fiesta for one when you
called.”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun.” “It’s not. I miss our structured life in N epal.” I let out a long sigh.
The nuns and priests at the monastery assigned tasks to everyone living under their roof. Even though
we were there for introspection, the manual work was a welcome distraction. Along with a few other
long-term guests, Michaela and I were in charge of tending to the organic garden.
“There has to be something you can do around the house,” Michaela says.
“Rhys has a houseke eper who cleans from top to bottom, so it’s not like I can contribute. He has a
top-notch chef who comes in to fill his fridge and freezer, so it’s a waste of time for me to search how
to cook ‘A delish meal in 30 minutes or less’. The groundke eper and his crew ke ep the greenery
well-manicured. The pool girl doesn’t need my help. Not to mention, I’m pretty sure she hates my
guts.”
“What do you mean?”
“She gave me the evil eye when she saw me this morning stretched out on the lounge chair, reading in
the shade. I most didn’t appreciate her line of questioning as she tried to figure out who I was.”
“Who the hell does she think she is?” “Right?” “She gets paid to clean the pool, not double as an
investigator.” We may not have been friends for long, but Michaela always has my back.
“Tough luck, bitch. I live here. You don’t.” We laugh. “All that to say, every aspect of Rhys’s life is
well taken care off,” I say. “There’s only so much tanning I can take before I start feeling like a grape
turning into a raisin. I rearranged my few belongings in the wardrobe half a dozen times already. If I
don’t find something to do, I’m going to scream.”
“It’s no surprise you’re alone during the day, but what about evenings? Don’t you spend them with
Rhys?”
I shake my head. “He’s been working late for the past three days.” “But he comes home?” “It’s almost
as if he has a sixth sense.” “What do you mean?” “I guess I was a little naïve and didn’t fully
understand Rhys’s COO position,” I say. “His schedule is as busy as the President’s.”
“But even the first in command goes home at some point.” “He comes back late. I wait for him on the
couch, but always fall asle ep.”
“What about the morning before he leaves for work? That might be a good time for you guys to
connect,” Michaela says.
“I swear to God, the man moves around like a ninja. Either that or he leaves for the office before the
roosters wake up. Everyday, I wake up to an empty house.”
“Text him and tell him you’re eager to spend the evening with him.” “I already did that.” “What did he
say?” “He gave me an airtight excuse for his absence.” “Which is?” “We’re gunning forwards with this
new re volutionary project. It’s eating more time than I expected, so I have to play catch-up at the end
of the day.”
I pretty much memorized the message.
She furrows her eyebrows. “What?” “It sounds like he’s avoiding you.” “I refused to admit it to
myself, but you’re right,” I say. “After the bike ride, his mom invited us over for dinner. After getting
ready, I met him downstairs in the kitchen and I could tell something had shifted. His walls were up. I
was so dead set on provoking him. Now I regret flashing him.”
“Oh shit.” My best friend’s eyes are so apologetic. “It’s like I can’t help it. I always find a way to
screw things up with Rhys.” I let out a sigh. “Maybe I misread him?”
“From what you described, it seems unlikely,” Michaela says. “Women can fake it. Men can’t.”
“Now, I’m wondering if it’s not an after-effect of our near-death experience. Maybe it was all the
adrenaline rushing through his veins and bulging his manhood. Maybe it had nothing to do with
wanting me.” I pull at my hair. “He says I’m hot-cold, hot-cold, but he’s not much better.”
“Maybe you should stop tap dancing—” “I’ve done that. Many times. He always dismisses me. I don’t
even know why I bother ke eping hope alive.”
This is maddening. Unrequited lust-slash-love sucks big time. “Isn’t it a good thing if he dismissed you
considering you were a teenager when you first threw yourself at him? Only predators cross that line.”
Okay, I might’ve been blinded by desire and I might’ve missed that important point.
She waves a finger at the screen. “Now that you have an extensive luxury collection of them, pull on
your big girl crotchless panties and––”
I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that’s hilarious.” “I’m just using your story, girlfriend,” she says,
grinning from ear to ear. “Like I was saying, tell him how you feel in no uncertain terms.” She pauses.
“If he still proclaims you two aren’t meant to be, don’t you think it’s time for your heart to let go?”