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4
Nova
After another fifteen minutes of waiting and no Riley sightings, I get the text that my room is ready.
I trek back to the main house and follow the grand staircase to the second floor.
When I was a child, I stayed in the left wing of the house, so I was closer to Gigi’s primary suite. The Zen room is in the right wing and must have been an ordinary room back when I lived here because I don’t remember anything Zen.
A spa is the first thing to come to my mind when I enter. Salt rocks are embedded in a section of a wall. They glow a pretty shade of peachy pink. Spa music fills the air, mixed with the sound of the ocean. I explore the adjoining bathroom, where the spa theme continues with teak wood, stone, and bamboo. My makeup is unpacked on the counter and my toiletries are set up in the shower.
Mom always made me unpack my stuff immediately when we traveled, and when we moved from Gigi’s to a house of our own across the country, she had me unpack all my boxes and set up my room myself. I didn’t mind because I got to decide where I put my things. She likes a tidy house and can’t stand a mess because she was raised with people doing everything for her.
I take my phone from my back pocket and text Mom that I arrived okay, in case she’s curious, which I doubt. If she were, she would have texted to make sure I got here safe. It’s nothing I’m not used to with her, though.
Last week, I told her I was leaving New York. I’d been staying at my good friend Porsha’s apartment while she was in Europe vacationing with her family. Mom has a loft in Tribeca but didn’t invite me to stay, even after I told her Justice kicked me out of his penthouse. She hated him and was still mad at me for dating him.
Even so, I hoped to see her before I came here and reminded her yesterday that I was leaving soon. She said she wanted to meet, but her schedule kept changing. I have no doubt it’s true; she’s a workaholic. Then she had to return to her estate in Connecticut—the home where I lived after Mom moved us out of Gigi’s to raise me far away from the limelight of California.
She wanted my life to have the kind of values fame didn’t allow. As soon as I was old enough to work, she hired me as her personal assistant—said it would keep me out of trouble. My life was school, studying, and work. I attended college, like she wanted, at Parsons School of Design where I studied fashion, which I happen to love. Mom hoped I’d choose to live a regular life and not the famous kind she fought so hard to attain. I was on my way toward that life when Dad died, and I sought comfort from a douche like Justice.
Ugh.I hate that he’s on my mind every day, almost all day. Still.
The free-standing tub draws my gaze. What better way to relax after flying from New York to here? I turn on the water and add lots of bubble bath. Once it’s near the top, I shut off the water and spread the foamy bubbles around before stripping and getting into the tub. Hot water eases my muscles and for a moment steals my attention from Justice.
This is heaven.
I should put on some music.
I grab my phone from the nearby table and search for my favorite Apple station. Lately it’s been moody songs about broken hearts.
Once I get the music playing, I pull up my Instagram account out of habit.
I haven’t posted anything in three weeks. That’s a record for me. I only got into social media regularly because of Justice. He was always posting pictures of us in new locations for his tour in Europe and in Asia. It was fun visiting new places. If it weren’t for him, I never would have ventured beyond Eastern Europe. I’d only ever traveled with Mom and Gerard, her photographer husband. I’ve been to France, Italy, Greece, and England but I never got to explore or do touristy things. Every trip was for Mom and Gerard’s work.
I scroll through random pictures and somehow end up on Justice’s page. It’s filled with images of him and Hope, new photos from their wedding and the weekend pre-party. It was a who’s-who event. Did they even spend time alone? If I know Justice, his entourage was with them twenty-four-seven and still are with them. So much for a private honeymoon.
“Stop,” I yell at myself and slam the phone on the table, sloshing the water in the tub. “No more looking at his life.”
I keep telling myself this, and I keep ignoring my own advice. I’m here to move on. To look toward the future. I’m better off without him. Deep down, I know that. It just hurts, being dumped for all the world to see. It makes me feel unworthy, like I wasn’t good enough to get a real commitment from him. Not that I was seeking one or would have accepted his proposal had he asked, but he told me he wouldn’t marry until he was in his late thirties. He’s twenty-five. Which means I was the problem. I wasn’t good enough.
Great.Now I’m tense. How can I be in a tub filled with bubbles and hot water and be tense?
I pop the drain, dry off, and wrap myself in a white robe Gigi has hanging in the bathroom. The soft material almost hits my ankles. The bedroom feels cool compared to the humid bathroom.
I glance at the bed but change directions and open the French doors to the balcony, stepping onto the rounded patio. The air is even chillier outside, but I like it.
From here, I have a clear view of the pool house across the long stretch of lawn. I didn’t think the structure was visible from any part of the house, but I was wrong. Is that another reason Gigi gave me the Zen room? She wants me to spy on Riley? She hopes his visual appeal will help me get over my heartache?
I shift my gaze to the peach-colored sky. Dusk paints the horizon and hills in matching desert shades.
I can’t see the sun from here. It sets in the front of the estate, disappearing into the Pacific Ocean, visible from the front of the house and Gigi’s private suite.
A breeze flutters wisps of my hair into my face. A few strands tickle my cheeks. I brush them away and catch movement by the pool.
My gaze jumps to the person walking around the patio. Is it Riley?
Nope.Mr. Jones hooks up the robotic cleaner and sinks the machine into the pool.
