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I deflate as they walk passed me defiantly.
Nothing about this is going like I planned, is it? I guess I’ll be going with the flow and seeing what she wants. Not that I’m a very‘go with the flow’sort of person, and I really hate giving up control. It’s never been something that sits well with me, I prefer to oversee everything as much as I can.
But to make things right with my daughter, I’ll do whatever it takes. Even if it means giving up parts of my personality that I never thought I would be able to.
I give them a couple of minutes to explore and finish up whatever they’re doing. Taking selfies and posting them online I suppose, before I haul my own ass into the plane. I definitely feel like I’m on the outside looking in. It’s clear I’m not a part of their little bond, which is a weird sensation on my plane, but whatever.
I’m going to learn to let this shit slide. I have to.
* * *
The flight isn’t a long one, but there is something a little awkward about it. I’m sure it’s resentment clinging to the air, and I can’t blame Olivia for feeling that way. But if she’s determined not to give me even a second of her attention, then what can I do? How can I make her understand that I only want what’s right for her?
She’s sleeping now, curled up in her chair like a peaceful angel, resting her eyes and preparing herself for what’s ahead. I keep watching her, imagining her sleeping throughout her life. From a newborn baby, to a little girl, to the young woman she was now.
Being around her is more painfu than I thought it would be. I’m sure she doesn’t see that, but none of this is easy for me either. I never wanted things to be like this.
IknowOlivia knows nothing of the truth though, and nor does her friend. Is, or Isabella. I have heard Olivia call her both. She doesn’t look like she has anything nice to say to me, so she’s clearly only heard one side of the story. But it’s weird, since she was the one who encouraged Olivia to come on this trip. I don’t want to think it’s just so she could get a free vacation herself, but that’s what it looks like.
Isabella isn’t sleeping. She’s typing away furiously on her laptop, working I think. She has the look of someone who works hard anyway, which kinda negates the theory that she wants to mooch off of her friend for a free luxury holiday in the sun.
Who the hell knows? She’s a mystery to me too.
An intriguing, beautiful mystery that I want to explore and know better. The more I look at her, the more I find myself wondering what her soft skin feels like, what her mouth tastes like, what it would be like to run my tongue up those long legs of hers…
Notthat I should be thinking of her as beautiful.
God damn it, she’s in her early twenties and best friends with my daughter. Way too young for me, I really can’t look at her in that way, even if her gorgeous red summery dress really brings out her plump, kissable lips, while the memory of her pert cleavage is firmly fixed in my mind.
I turn my head away and force my eyes to fix on the window and anything happening outside. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I looking at Isabella like she’s on a plate for me to devour? She won’t be the one to derail this trip if I carry on in this way. It’ll all be my fault.
I can’t seem to stop myself though, every time I tell myself to look away I find my eyes idly drifting back towards her, wanting to run my gaze all over her some more. Those long legs of hers are a temptation, drawing me in, impossible to resist. I even find my tongue dragging along my bottom lip as I stare unashamedly at her, getting increasingly intoxicated with every passing second.
Who is Isabella? What is she doing on that laptop of hers? And what does she think of what will happen when we land at Laucala Island?
It might be where I’m headed to do business, but it definitely isn’t going to be all business. There is a lot of fun to be had as well. All of a sudden, as I stare at Isabella, feeling grateful that she’s way too lost in what she’s doing to look back at me, I find the idea offunexciting me a little bit too much.
Even if she’s one hundred percent off limits, not everyone is.
I guess I can still make the best of this, even if Olivia is determined to hate me.
ChapterFour
ISABELLA
Words speed through my brain like cars on a race track as I type furiously. Usually I love freelance jobs like this, where the words come easily and I don’t have to think too hard, but while I’m flying it’s a bit weird. I feel like I need to be much more self-aware than when I’m at home, so it’s a conflicting situation.
“What the hell…?” I guess I got so wrapped up in work, I didn’t even notice the little icon popping up on the side of my computer. Mind you, I didn’t even think I had Internet access up here. I guess that’s just one of the privileges for billionaires, huh?
Not that I’m complaining, this notification is from my local news outlet, and it contains a name I know all too well.
Leon Morrison.
I check that Olivia is still sleeping off last night’s hangover as I open it up to see what’s going on. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when I notice that it’s a mug shot.
“What the fuck? He’s been arrested?” I whisper to myself, pulling the screen up closer to me. I don’t want to miss a word of this.
This might be the thing that really sets Olivia free.
