Part 5 (1/2)
”What do you mean, you've lied about me?” I sit up straighter, waiting for Violet's answer.
”I told him you've been in the office all week,” she stresses. ”Instead of telling him the truth. That you're moping around feeling sorry for yourself.”
”I am not.”
”You are too,” she returns, her voice harsh. ”You won't come into the office, you won't leave your hotel room. You act like you're depressed.”
”Maybe I am depressed,” I mutter, glancing out the window. I stare at the building across from me, the open windows full of happy people in their sunny flats. I see a couple enter their living room, holding hands as they turn toward each other and kiss.
Ugh. Romance. I look away.
”What happened to my tough, feisty little sister? The one who always had a smart comment and loved to give me endless c.r.a.p?” Violet asks, sounding incredulous. ”Because I know I'm not talking to that girl right now. It's like she's disappeared.”
”She sort of has,” I admit with a sigh, flopping backward so I lie sprawled across the bed. ”I don't know what's wrong with me.”
”You know what I think? You need to do something different. After you graduated college, you immediately threw yourself into Fleur, and there's been no looking back. It's all work, work, work. It's not healthy. You need to take some time for you.”
Really? The nerve of Violet. She's no different. ”You did the same exact thing,” I point out to her, and she laughs nervously.
”Yes, well ... then I met Ryder. And he's turned my world completely upside down in the best possible way.” I swear to G.o.d I can feel her blus.h.i.+ng over the phone. My silly, embarra.s.sed older sister.
”Are you saying he taught you how to take some time just for you?” I'm digging and I don't really care if she gets mad or not. She's the one who started this conversation.
”He's taught me a lot of things,” she says softly. Vaguely. ”More than anything, he taught me it's okay to give up some-control.”
I don't believe it. ”Really? You, the ultimate control freak, learned how to give up control?”
”I'm not talking about business. I mean more like with my personal life,” Violet admits.
Hmmm. I think I know where she's going with this conversation. And I'm delightfully shocked. ”Are you talking about your s.e.x life?”
”Rose!” She laughs nervously.
This conversation is hilarious. And enlightening. I didn't know Violet had it in her, talking about s.e.x. She's always so straitlaced. She leaves the wild stuff to Lily. And lately, to me. ”Give me a break. You're the one who started this.”
”Fine, fine. You're right. Yes. I'm talking about my s.e.x life. There's something rather ... freeing in letting a man take over,” she admits, her voice low.
”Why, I never imagined you saying anything like this to me. Ever,” I say, stressing the last word. ”Though I knew the minute I first saw him that Ryder McKay had a s.e.xy streak in him a mile long.”
”I don't even want to talk about this with you,” she says.
Now it's my turn to laugh. ”What? You're not going to tell me Ryder's p.e.n.i.s size? Because I'm sure he's got a monster in his trousers.” I'm trying to irritate her, like the old days.
It feels good.
”You're disgusting,” she says good-naturedly. And that tells me all I need to know.
Ryder McKay's p.e.n.i.s is most likely ginormous. Lucky b.i.t.c.h.
”Whatever. Your protesting is way too happy.” I pause with a little sigh. ”Okay, I'll go.”
”Wait. What?”
She's going to make me say it again on purpose. Fine. I'll play along. ”I'll stop by the pub and have a drink. If it's not my scene, I'm out. Are you happy now?”
”Yes, I'm happy.” And she really does sound happy, too, which makes me feel bad. I've let my sister down. I've worried her, and I hate that. ”It'll totally be your scene, I swear. Very low key. You know me. I don't like to party and get drunk.”
No. She really doesn't. We've both seen what happens when someone loses all control and parties nonstop, thanks to our big sister.
”Just stop by, have a drink, maybe eat dinner with us if you're feeling comfortable,” Violet continues. ”And if you're not, you can leave after one beer.”
”I don't even drink beer. Neither do you,” I say as I stare at the ceiling.
”I do now. Ryder's taught me how to appreciate a good beer,” she says, sounding haughty, all while talking about freaking beer.
”I'm sure,” I say dryly, making her laugh. ”Tell me what time and I'll be there.”
We hang up after she gives me the details and I realize I have maybe two hours to get ready. I hop into the shower-first one I've taken in two days; yes, maybe Violet is right, I am disgustingly pitiful-and I soak under the hot spray of water for far too long, finally shutting it off before I turn into a complete prune.
I slather on lotion and do my hair. Apply makeup-the latest from Fleur, of course-and thumb through the clothes I brought with me that are hanging in the closet. I haven't even gone shopping since I arrived in London, so it's all old stuff. Boring.
With the exception of a sweet little summer dress I brought with me. Late spring in London has been warm and I know I can get away with the thin cotton dress, especially if I bring a sweater with me.
But I don't want to bring a sweater. I slip the dress on, not bothering with a bra or even panties. It fits loose, the top a blue-and-white stripe with a b.u.t.ton-up bodice, and the floral print skirt falls just above my knees, swinging about my legs in an almost flirtatious way. The mix of patterns shouldn't work but somehow it does, and when I stop in front of the mirror on the back of the bathroom door I stare at myself.
I look young. Carefree. I'd curled my hair after drying it, just the ends, and it falls past my shoulders in free-flowing waves. The makeup is subtle since I always apply it with a light hand, and I have pearl studs in my ears. My mom's earrings-we were all given a different pair from her jewelry collection when we turned sixteen.
Life has been so harried lately that I haven't done much relaxing. Maybe my down-in-the-dumps wallowing in my hotel room has done me wonders.
I know I definitely feel good. The perk in my step as I make my way down the sidewalk toward the pub is a good sign too. The sun s.h.i.+nes upon my skin, warming me, and I smile at a cute guy in a crisp suit as we pa.s.s each other by, thrilled by the light of awareness I see in his gaze.
When was the last time I was with a guy? I've been on a few dates since I broke up with my last boyfriend. That breakup messed with my head, but I'm over him now. I fooled around with a few of those dates, but nothing serious. I've been far more intimate with my vibrator lately-a gift I received at a bridal shower when I won one of those stupid games we're always required to play. It had been a bit of a gag when they handed it over, much giggling and tossing around of innuendo-filled comments when I pulled the silver bullet out of the gift bag.
But that little silver bullet has come in handy over the last few months. It's almost embarra.s.sing to admit. I'm a girl in my early twenties. The world is my oyster and all that c.r.a.p. I should be having the s.e.xual time of my life with a hot guy, not a discreet vibrator I hide in my bedside drawer.
I immediately think of the guy I met in Cannes and I slow my steps, allow myself to daydream a little bit. He'd been hot. Tall and broad, with that gorgeous face and the sun-kissed hair. The perfect lips and that long, slightly rough index finger circling around my nipple ...
”Watch it!”
The man's voice startles me and I leap out of the way of the bicyclist riding past, who sends me a menacing glare. I return the glower, p.i.s.sed that I almost ran into him, p.i.s.sed even more that he had to yell at me like that.
Jerk.
I guess that's what I get for daydreaming about s.e.xy strangers who kiss me and abandon me, all in a matter of five minutes. Was the entirely too brief incident in Cannes a sign of things to come? Is that what I have to look forward to? Becoming consumed with work, having missed opportunities, and going home alone every night?
How depressing.
Stopping short, I realize I'm in front of the White Swan. It's a beautiful pub, the exterior painted black with white-framed windows, the name painted in gold. Flowers spill out of boxes set just above the pub, and a giant lantern flickers as it swings gently to and fro with the breeze.
Nerves a.s.sail me out of nowhere and I bite my lower lip, unsure if I should enter or not. Why am I cautious now? It's no big deal. If I hate hanging out with Violet's friends, I can leave.