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“That would be me,” I confirm, dropping my pen and picking up my cup of coffee to take a sip. “Sorry it took me so long to get back to you.” I put the cup back. “I was traveling the last couple of weeks.”
“Oh, no problem,” she replies. “I’m just happy you called.”
I smile now. “What can I do for you?” I ask. My aunt Allison didn’t tell me anything when she gave me her number, just that she was looking for someone to take her pictures. I get up and walk over to the fridge to grab a bottle of juice.
Never in a million years did I expect the next words to come out of her mouth. “Well, I was on the internet the other day,” she starts, “and I saw these gorgeous pictures of a woman in lingerie.” I close my eyes and hang my head. “They were so beautiful. She was in a bed, and there was this glow about her.”
I stop her from talking. “I can come to you.” I put the phone on my shoulder as I walk over to my planner. I’m still old school. No matter how technology is, I always, always write my appointments down. It takes one time to make you never trust technology again. “How is next week?” I pull out the red pen, ready to write the lady’s name in it.
“That works. My name is Geraldine,” she repeats, like she didn’t tell me this five times already, “and it’s a boudoir shoot.” I close my eyes, dreading saying yes to my aunt Allison when she said her friend’s mother wanted to take some portraits of herself. I don’t think anyone thought it would be boudoir. I thought maybe pictures in her garden, pictures with her dogs, pictures of her cooking, but the last thing I expected was a boudoir shoot.
“That works,” I confirm, writing her information down. I’m just finishing writing her phone number down when the doorbell rings. “Okay, so next Tuesday at ten.” I look at the time on my Apple Watch, seeing it’s just a little after noon. I push off from the island, wondering if it’s one of my family members or maybe even UPS. I was expecting some rolls of film this week. “See you then.”
I hang up and walk to the door, not thinking anything of it. When I unlock the door and open it, it feels like everything stops in time. Everything is almost in slow motion as my eyes meet his. I never expected the green eyes to be staring back at me. His sandy-blond hair is pushed back. You can see he just ran his hands through it. He’s wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and motorcycle boots, and holding a motorcycle helmet in his right hand. Romeo Beckett in all his Hollywood glory, his megawatt smirk is on full display. “What the fuck are you doing here?” The words come out before I can stop them, and then I shake my head. “Forget it. I don’t even care.” I go to slam the door, but he sticks his boot inside the door. My heart speeds up as if I’m running a marathon at full speed.
“Gabriella,” he says my name as almost a whisper. It’s been eight months since I last laid eyes on him. “We need to talk.” He pushes the door open and stares at me. The only thing I can think of, besides how the hell did he find me, is I hate him. Every single fiber in my being hates this man. Every single fiber in my being also knows I might be secretly lying to myself, but I’m too stubborn to admit that. While going through all these emotions, my head yells out, he broke you.
“We literally have nothing to say to each other!” I shout at him. “Nothing, not a damn thing.” I fold my arms over my chest, knowing he isn’t going to go quietly or else he would have left already. “What do you want?” I ask, but I don’t wait for him to answer me. “What could you possibly want from me?”
His eyes never leave mine. “I wanted to see you.” The minute the words are out of his mouth, I laugh hysterically while I clap my hands. This is what must happen when sane people just snap.
“Well, you saw me.” I hold my hands out to my sides. “In all my glory.” I really wish I had dressed up a bit more so he can regret losing me. “Now you can go back to the hole you crawled out of.” I ignore the pressure in the middle of my chest as I think about the fact that it’s been eight months since I’ve seen him. Eight months of silence, at least on my part. I’m not really sure on his side since I blocked his number after our last and final conversation.
He laughs at me. “Let’s go out for dinner.”
I tilt my head to the side, wondering if this man has lost his damn mind. “Yes, let’s go for dinner,” I agree sarcastically. “Why don’t you go grab a table, and I’ll meet you there when hell freezes over and pigs fly.” I can’t stand here and look at him for another second. “Listen, I don’t know what game you’re playing or why you’re even here.” I grab the door in my hand. “But I’m not interested in seeing you or playing the game.” I take one good look at him. “So please leave me alone.” I slam the door in his face, and I’m shocked that he lets it close.
I stare at the door for a couple of minutes before I hear him say, “I’m not leaving.” His voice is clear as day. I make the mistake of looking through the peephole, seeing him look straight at it. “I’m not leaving,” he repeats again, right before he turns and walks down the stairs. I should look away, but instead, I stare out of the same peephole I should have used before I opened the door. I see him straddle his bike, then the sound of the bike fills the street. He takes one look at the house before he puts on his helmet and kicks up the stand. He leans forward before he pulls away from my house. Only when I hear the sound of the bike moving away from my house do I let out the breath I was holding in from when I closed the door. My forehead leans on the wood as I close my eyes, but now all I can do is see him, and I hate it, so I flick my eyes open again. “What the hell are you doing here?”
TWO
ROMEO
I look back at her door one more time before I put my helmet on. Kicking the stand back, I lean forward to put my hands on the handlebars. The bike revs under me when I turn the right handle, and then I take off. My GPS in my ear is set for the hotel I booked this morning when I was flying in.
The minute the plane touched down, I knew I was going straight to her. I didn’t know what I was going to get, to be honest. I didn’t know if she would slam the door in my face or kick me in the balls. One out of two isn’t that bad. I smile when I think about the shock on her face when she opened the door. Fuck. For the past eight months, I’ve had a memory of her that replayed over and over in my head but nothing, and I mean nothing, could do it justice. Not even looking at the pictures of us could do her justice. She was even more beautiful than she was when we were together, and she was a ten before. Every time we walked into the room, I would see how everyone would look over at her. How people would smile when she would speak to them because she took the time to talk to everyone and not just the fake Hollywood bullshit you usually get. The genuine kind, and she remembered everyone. And I fucked it all up. Threw it all away.
I zigzag through the string of cars before following the directions to the Ritz-Carlton. Pulling up to the front door, I put both my feet down before I shut off the bike, and then kick the stand in place. I take off my helmet, running my hand through my hair. The valet guy runs up to me. “Welcome,” he greets, and I don’t know if he recognizes me or not, nor do I care.
“Where do you want me to park the bike?” I ask, knowing he probably doesn’t have a license.
“I can take it for you,” he assures me, holding out his hand for the keys. I pull the small key out and hand it to him, along with my helmet. “Just let me know when you need it again.”
“Will do,” I reply, disembarking from the bike. I see a man in a black suit rushing out toward us, and I know someone must have alerted them I was here.
“Mr. Beckett,” the man in the suit says, coming outside. “I’m Frederick, and I’ll be assisting you during your stay.” He extends his hand to me, and I hold out my own.
“Pleasure,” I say, shaking his hand and then looking around. I see a couple of people have taken out their phones and are no doubt either filming this or taking pictures. I’m sure a couple will pop up somewhere. “Can you show me to my room?”
“Of course.” He nods at me. “Right this way.”
I follow him inside as he walks away from the main lobby to the side. “From now on, you can use the entrance in the back,” he tells me, walking to a small elevator. “They will be able to assist you from there so you don’t have lurkers.”
“Thank you,” I reply to him as the elevator pings and the golden doors open. I step in, and he presses the button for the top floor.
“This is the only elevator that can lead to your suite,” Frederick says, and we ride up the rest of the way in silence.
The elevator doors open, and there is no hallway, just an ivory door. He holds out his hand for me to step out first. He follows me out and then scans his card to open the door. He walks in front of me and waits for me to walk into the room. I enter the living room and look over to the left where there is a room, the open door shows me that it’s an office. “This is the dining area,” he informs me as he puts his hands behind his back. “We have a chef on-site twenty-four hours a day.” I just nod at him.
