“Girl, she loves it. She’s here, I feel it,” she says, waving a finger in the air. “It’s good to see you.” Juliet rolls her suitcase aside and wraps me in a hug.
“It’s good to see you too. I owe you everything, you know.”
“You don’t owe me shit. Or anyone else, for that matter. Nobody but you,” she says, squeezing me tighter. “Show me what else you’ve done.”
We walk around the rest of the house. Juliet has the same excited reaction to each room that I’ve updated. The hall bathroom is now the palest of terracotta and filled with every piece of macramé wall art and plant hangers I could find in the house.
Juliet’s bedroom is now a dark dusty rose color that contrasts perfectly with the blues and greens of her bedding. In the kitchen, I chose a washed-out version of the living room color. It mimics the ocean on a bright day, and after a good scrub, the white cabinets pop against it.
There is still a bedroom and a bathroom that I haven’t gotten to yet, but overall, the house has a fresh and clean feel to it.
After she settles into the room that she grew up in, we take a charcuterie tray and a bottle of wine out to sit by the fire.
“I’ve missed this,” she says, raising her arms to the sea. Her long platinum hair blows wildly in the soft breeze.
“Milan doesn’t compare, huh?”
“You know how the beaches are in Italy,” she says. “They’re beautiful but full of people. You can’t sit and take it in the way you can here.”
“For sure. I’ve sat out here for hours and never had a single person obstruct the view.”
“How often are you doing that?” She serves me a glass of wine and a concerned look.
“It’s a good place to think,” I tell her. “I’ve had plenty of that to do.”
“And how is that going?”
“I have my highs and lows. The highs were nearly nonexistent when I got here. Now, I have a few a day,” I tell her, trying to give her a smile that is genuine. “I’m still sad and angry.”
“You should be angry. He could have fucking killed you,” she says, and I flinch. “Sorry. I’m still angryforyou.”
“It’s okay,” I say. The reminder that he could have strangled me to death isn’t great but pretending it didn’t happen won’t do me any good either. “Physically, I’m fine. I’m safe here while I heal mentally and figure out where I go next. The sadness will fade with time. The anger…I don’t know.”
“How are you doing with money?” she asks after a few beats of introspective silence.
“My cash is low,” I admit. “I haven’t pulled any more out, yet.”
“I got a name from Luke. A finance guy that works with the stupidly wealthy. He’s evidently a pro at this sort of thing.”
“This sort of thing?”
“Moving money anonymously. Like, for celebrities who want to make sure their home address can’t be tracked back and whatnot. Luke talked to him, he said he’d help out,” she says.
Luke is the designer she works for. He’s hired me for a few campaigns over the years. I always found him to be a sweetheart.Straight forward about his vision, but never boorish like so many other designers could be.
“I’d appreciate the help. Pierre probably doesn’t have access, but I don’t want to risk that he does and can see the location of an ATM I take money out of.”
“Better safe than sorry,” she says. “There’s no way he’ll just, I don’t know, move on and leave you alone?”
“I can hope. He doesn’t give up easily, though.”
“He can’t think you’d take him back after this,” she says incredulously.
“Of course, he can.” I swipe at the few tears that spill over. “I always went back. Every time I thought I was strong enough to walk away, he’d lure me back.”
“Oh, Louisa,” Juliet says. “I didn’t mean…fuck, I don’t know how to not make it worse for you.”
“You haven’t made anything worse, Jules. You’ve given me a safe house. How can you think you’ve done anything but help?”
