Wishing I had people who cared about me and looked after me and noticed when I came and went.
It would be so fun to grow up with a big family and lots of siblings. Secretly, it’s what I’ve always hoped for.
Maybe some day.
A day that might come sooner rather than later, thanks to your crazy sex addict behavior.
“… but it’s not like there aren’t literallythousandsof dance companies in New York, am I right? I’m waiting to hear back about two other auditions, and I’ve sent my portfolio to more than two dozen of them already so it’s only a matter of time …”
There’s no mention of my job or Ellen or the Hotel Thibodeaux.
Dallas breezed over the topic at some point over the weekend, that he’d dealt with Ellen and would make sure I could make the choice I wanted to make regarding my job, whenever I wanted to make it.
Whateverthatmeans. Billionaires get to decide things like that, apparently. They get to dictate how people behave. There’s a limit to their powers, though. In the cold light of the day-to-day, if I ever did decide to go back, Dallas wouldn’t be any more in control of Ellen’s retribution as I was.
It doesn’t matter now. I know I can’t go back.
In the haven of Dallas’s hotel room, I didn’t think about him being loaded. Or a CEO billionaire investment genius. Or a famous member of an even more famous family.
But now, in the back of this gleaming limo with a brand new phone in my hand that no doubt cost more than I make in half a year and wearing a new coat that would possibly have cost most of what I make in anentireyear, it’s hard not to feel a little bit blinded by it. I’m sure a lot of people aspire to it.Mostpeople do. And theyshould. What’s not to love about getting driven around in limos and wearing designer clothing and having more money than you could ever spend?
This is my problem, unfortunately. I’m not one of those people.
I’m broken.
I’m just not sure I’m worthy of it or cut out for a life like that. I can already feel it starting to crush me under its weight.Your own father didn’t even love you enough to care whether you ended up destitute on the streets.Deep down, maybe I know I don’t deserve it.
You stop it right now, Amelie Esmé Sabine Anaïs Thibodeaux. Never allow that negative mindset to creep in, not even a little.I know better than to get trapped in that same old vortex. It’s what has held me back for so long.
And now I’m free of it.
Idodeserve it, of course I do. I deserve this and I deserve him.
I’m suddenly fiercely glad I won’t ever see the hotel again. I’m relieved I don’t have to say goodbye to it. One last fly-over in the helicopter was enough. What a piece of shit, anyway. All rusty and forlorn next to the pristine White Swan.
Goodbye, New Orleans.
I’ll miss you so much.
30
The private jet is… insanity. I’ve never seen anything like it, all gleaming and space-age on the tarmac, waiting for us like we’re royalty.
“Holy shit,” Sadie whispers, wide-eyed, staying close to me, as though we need to face this together as we climb the stairs and get our first look inside it.
My only experience with flying was the helicopter. I’ve never been on a plane before … or, needless to say, a private jet. I might have expected a regular plane, like you see in movies, but smaller. This is more like a flying penthouse.
A crew member greets us in a crisp navy uniform and the air of someone who takes the business of making rich people comfortable at thirty thousand feet very seriously.
It’s one thingbeingstaff. I’ve been staff all my life. Buthavingstaff is a whole new level of things to get used to.
Inside, there are actual lounge chairs, the kind you’d find ina five-star hotel lobby. Whiskey-colored leather, wide, facing each other in pairs with mahogany tables between them. Glossy real-wood panels line the walls. There are reading lights that look like they belong in a boutique hotel bedroom, casting an opulent golden glow. A huge flat-screen TV is perched above a long, plush-looking sofa that runs the length of one side. Several closed doors at the rear of the plane have tiny gold beds embossed on the doors. Bedrooms, I’m assuming.
I take a window seat and Sadie sits next to me.
“May I offer you Moët? Evian?” asks the crew member, offering flutes on a tray. “Dinner will be served en route.”
Sadie takes champagne. I take sparkling water.
