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2
Nova
All I want to do is go to my room and rest or be left alone, but I know better than to argue with Inez. Plus, it’d be rude not to catch up with Gigi before going into self-imposed isolation.
Inez leads the way down the sun-drenched corridor. On the left, a ballroom sized living room opens to the grand staircase and main entrance. Large glass doors that arch at the top flank the right side. The view of the garden and grassy courtyard beyond has me breathing easier. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is here. This is exactly what I need.
We pass through a set of the open doors and stroll along a stone pathway as it curves through boxed hedges trimmed in patterns. Fuchsia bougainvillea grows everywhere, adding pops of color to the otherwise green landscape.
After a few winding curves, we make it to the pool area. Gigi reclines on one of six chaise lounges. Across from her, the guesthouse stretches the length of the rectangular pool. Like the corridor we just left, arched glass doors line the entry. Two lead into the Caribbean suite, which is like a one-bedroom apartment, but the third set leads to the massage room.
I don’t see anyone else around the pool. Either Riley is out or in the suite I’d hoped would be mine.
Don’t be mad.I didn’t request it, and no one knew I was coming.
I didn’t even know I was coming until news broke about Justice and Hope. We’d only broken up two weeks before his race to the altar.
“Nova!” Gigi stands and walks to me.
For a seventy-year-old, she looks incredible. A long turquoise dress shows off the length and shape of her lean body. She paired it with a floral kimono and tons of jewelry. Her signature beaded bracelets made from varying healing crystals adorn her ankles and wrists. Auburn hair falls to her shoulders in soft curls and her makeup is perfectly done.
She opens her arms and greets me with a hug. When she pulls back, she cups my cheeks. “Darling, you grow more beautiful every time I see you. I know acting isn’t your thing, but you must let me introduce you to my photographer, Roberto. He could do a full shoot and have you signed and booked at a modeling agency of your choice. Just say the word.”
“You forget, I’m not tall. This is an illusion.” I glance at my shoes. Three-inch-high platform sneakers. According to model standards—and Hollywood, for that matter—five five is short. “Then there is my curvy figure.” Hips, boobs, and a booty.
“With a face like yours, it won’t matter. I knew your mother would make a beautiful baby.”
Gigi’s compliment is genuine, but I’ve heard similar comments from less than compassionate people. Santa Barbara, Malibu, the Palisades, Beverly Hills, and much of Southern California is filled with string-bean women who are over five eight. In the real world, I’m of average size, but here, I’m an Oompa Loompa.
“Dad contributed to the gene pool, too,” I say without thinking.
I got my yellow-green eyes and ash-brown hair from him. My physique, too. All the women on his side of the family are curvy and petite. Compared to them, I’m tall.
“I suppose he did.” Her true feelings show in her bitter tone.
Time doesn’t heal all wounds, even when those wounds are from a misunderstanding. But then, Mom and Gigi never forgave Dad for what he did—or what they thought he did and what prompted Mom to move us in with Gigi when I was a child.
“How are you?” I shift the topic away from Dad. “You look fabulous as always.”
“Age is nothing compared to youth, but I’m hanging in there. Thank you for the compliment, darling.” She kisses my cheek, then gestures to the chaise lounge next to hers. “Join me.” A table between the chairs has a tray with hummus, vegetables, fruit, and two glasses filled with green juice. “The hummus is to die for. Carrot flavored. From my garden. I grow vegetables now.” She gracefully lowers onto her chair. “Well, Mr. Jones grows them. But it was my idea to plant the garden.”
I laugh, my first genuine laugh in three weeks. “I’ve missed you.”
“Then don’t stay away for so long.”
“I won’t.” I follow Gigi’s lead and dip a carrot into the hummus. “Mmm. You weren’t kidding. This is amazing.”
“Grandma knows best.” She smiles and takes a polite bite of her carrot stick.
Meanwhile, I dunk another carrot into the hummus and scoop a dollop so big it spills onto my chest before I can get it into my mouth.
Gigi giggles and hands me a cloth napkin. “That’s why I take small bites, darling.”
I clean myself off, then re-dip the carrot in the hummus. This time, the food makes it into my mouth.
Gigi giggles again.
“What?” I ask. “I followed the rules.” Rules I learned at a young age. Small bites. Chew with my mouth closed and thirty-two times before swallowing. I didn’t count just now, but I did a lot of chewing.
