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And I believe him like the lovesick little fool I’ve become.
Despite the fact that he always slips out before I wake up the next morning with a delicious breakfast alone and the room paid for, I don’t even question it.
A month later, he meets my parents.
They don’t like that he’s so much older, but they don’t complain about how respectful he is.
Dad says Derek is protective. He’ll take care of me.
Mom claps her hands together and says he’s besotted and kind, and “oh, honey, these true gentlemen are so rare.”
I even mention him to Wayne when I drop by to dress up Wired Cup’s latest very average fall beverage line of pumpkin spice lattes, and he’s a little more suspicious.
Life isn’t a fairy tale that throws Prince Charmings at you out of nowhere. I need to be careful, take it slow, but he respects my choices.
Three months later, Derek whisks me away to the Four Seasons on a trip to L.A. We’re in the valet line. He takes my hands and stares into my eyes.
“I’m so fucking tired of sleeping alone, Eliza. I can’t wait to wake up next to you,” he whispers.
“I love you,” I slip as my heart bursts into butterflies.
He leans over and kisses me like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted. “Me too.”
The driver knocks on the window.
Derek hands him the keys and holds my door open.
We don’t fuck like we usually do.
We make love for the first time that night. My first time ever having sex with real, deep feelings attached.
It’s like losing your virginity for the second time, only far more intense.
It’s not like the way it looks in movies.
I come so hard it hurts.
Then I stare at the ceiling, gripping him so tight my legs go sore when he groans and collapses on top of me, but the way he holds me after...
It’s so very delicious, so sweet, so beautiful I’d do it a thousand times over.
Nothing compares to the pure bliss of waking up with him the next day, or the anticipation of falling asleep in his arms again.
Nothing.
But a month later, it happens.
Derek has to go to Vancouver for a long weekend to check out some locations for a future film. No big deal.
I head back to San Diego on a whim with a couple friends from high school. We head over to Anaheim and visit Disney.
And in the It’s a Small World line, a devastating irony.
The love of my life stands there, surreal and inexplicable.
“Derek!” I call. “Derek, what are you doing here?”
He turns around. The happy grin on his face melts into sheer dread.
Weird. But maybe he doesn’t recognize me in my thick sunglasses and new blue highlights in my ponytail.
Is he just surprised to see me?
I run toward him with my arms outstretched.
He steps out of line with his hands out, guarded, as if he wants to shove me away.
“Eliza, what the hell are you doing here?” he says coldly.
I crash into his chest, closing my arms around him.
“Um, I’m just here with friends. But I thought you were in Vancouver this weekend?”
His isn’t hugging me back with the same adoring reverence he always does.
Why?
“Dad? Who’s she?” a kid who looks like she might be nine or ten asks.
She’s talking to Derek.
I drop my arms and stumble back, the blood draining from my face. My eyes trace from Derek to the kid who has his eyes and back to him.
“Oh... You didn’t tell me you had a daughter.” I’m careful to keep my voice steady.
I’m understanding and open-minded. He should have just told me.
Then a tall blonde holding a baby arrives at his side, her lips pursed in a razor-sharp line. “Derek? Who’s this?”
His voice is arctic. “Eliza Angelo. She...she works with me. Huge surprise seeing her here.”
“I do?” It comes out so dry I almost choke.
What can I say? I’m slow. It hasn’t fully hit me yet like an avalanche.
“Eliza, say hello to my lovely wife, Darlene.” He motions to the blonde with a look that says, say hello, and if you say anything else, I will slit your throat.
I have no idea what he says after that.
I’m too blinded by stinging tears, frantically pushing through the thick crowd, my heart shattered like blown glass and already beginning to cut me to pieces.
Present
The aroma of fire-roasted coffee mixed with fresh coconut shavings and decadent chocolate snaps me back to the present.
Jesus. I’m such a ghastly moron.
How could I ever let myself get close to an older rich man again?
I know their game.
Rich boys think they own the world. Women are just play things, easy and expendable.
Then. Now. Forever.
That’s just the way of this pathetic world and all you can do is build a bunker around your heart. But I don’t have time to mope around thanks to Derek or Cole or anything else.
