Page 55 of Auctioned To Be Mine

“You didn’t take your wardrobe with you?”

“Not all of it. It wasn’t a pleasant separation.”

I turned the chicken and checked the rice. Cooking really did relax me. The rest of my life was based on everyone judging my success. But when I was cooking, it wasn’t about measurable outcomes. It was either good or bad and learning from the mistakes.

“You seem like you’re having a good time,” Victoria said.

“I like cooking.” I checked the chicken again. “I just usually don’t bother. It’s only me, so it always felt like a lot of effort for one person.”

I immediately wanted to take it back. Not because it wasn’t true. But it sounded pathetic out loud. Like I was a lonely bachelor.

I hadn’t wanted this. I’d been so determined to keep my life uncomplicated. Relationships were messy and always included way more drama than I wanted to deal with. I didn’t mind a few nights with the same woman. Enjoyable and temporary, like a good bottle of wine. I didn’t just wake up and decide I wanted to be single. It was a learned reaction. The kind of women who circulated in my world wanted things from me that had nothing to do with who I actually was. They were either aspiring actresses or socialites that wanted to mingle with A-list celebrities. Even the ones that pretended they were normal and didn’t want anything were totally lying.

Victoria didn’t want anything from me. She walked away from the social circles I didn’t enjoy. She’d come tonight because what I was asking her to do was important. She was here for Mimi’s foundation because she had a charitable heart. I happened to be attached to all of it.

Or at least, that was what I kept telling myself.

While I cooked, she scribbled in her notebook. I wondered why she didn’t use a laptop or iPad like every other normal person. I supposed it was endearing. She had made columns and there were arrows pointing to words that crisscrossed the page.

I plated our meals and we decided to eat at the bar.

I waited for her to take her first bite. “Wow,” she said with a nod. “Really good. I might have to take cooking lessons from you.”

I laughed. “I’d love to do that.”

We talked a bit about local news. Basic gossip. It was easy. Again, I noticed she didn’t ask me about a project my dad was working on or if I could get her into a party or whatever. She truly didn’t care about that world.

After dinner, I poured two glasses of a good Barolo I’d been saving and gave her a tour of the house. We ended up on my upstairs balcony that had an even better view of the city and the ocean. It was a clear night.

She leaned on the railing with her wine glass in both hands and looked out at the view. She let out a long sigh.

“Everything okay?”

“Just thinking,” she said.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked.

She was quiet for another moment. She turned her wine glass slowly in her hands, watching the city lights below us.

“I grew up in Calabasas,” she said finally. “Big house. Massive, actually. My bedroom was on the second floor with a balcony that overlooked the grounds.” She paused. “It sounds like a dream, right? Little girl with her own balcony in a mansion.”

“Sounds like it,” I said carefully.

“I used to stand out there at night, exactly like this.” She gestured vaguely at the view in front of us. “Looking out at everything. The gardens, the pool, the guest house. We had a tennis court we never used. My father had it installed because the neighbors had one. They made me take lessons. I’m five-foot nothing and maybe one of the least athletic people you’ll ever meet.” A small, dry laugh. “I’d stand there and watch the lights in the houses beyond our property. Other people’s houses. Normal-sized ones. And I’d wonder what was happening inside them.”

I didn’t say anything. I just listened.

“I was completely alone up there,” she said. “There was nobody to talk to. My parents were always entertaining or traveling or both. My mother had her friends and her committees and her charity lunches where nobody actually cared about the charity. My father had his business dinners.” She took a sip of wine. “I had a very nice balcony and nobody to stand on it with.”

I looked at the side of her face.

“That’s the thing nobody tells you about growing up with money,” she said softly. “The loneliness is very well appointed but no one is going to feel sorry for a princess.”

I thought about my own childhood. The constant, chaotic, suffocating noise of brothers and a sister and parents who were always present even when they were driving me completely insane. Sunday dinners that lasted three hours. Even with Mom’s crazy schedule and having to leave for film shoots weeks at a time, it never felt like I was alone.

I had never once stood on a balcony alone and wondered what was happening in other people’s houses.

“I used to wish for a quiet house,” I said. “Growing up, I mean. I fantasized about it. My own space. Nobody in my business. I’d go to friends’ houses sometimes. Only children, or just one sibling. I loved the silence, but I did miss my family after a while.”