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He twitches his lips as he clears his throat.
“Is your apartment ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, the new owners will be moving in here on Friday.”
I can’t believe he’s moving to Destin, Florida. Tears burn my eyes as my vision blurs, and a lump the size of a golf ball forms in my throat as I tap my feet even harder on the floor, trying to calm my nerves.
“You really sold it.” It comes out more of a statement than a question.
“I never liked it. Your mother picked it out. This was her dream house.”
Ever since the accident, he acts like she’s not alive and he can tuck her away in a box like an old toy. If I linger here any longer, I’ll say something mean, and I don’t want to argue with him about her, so I stand up from the chair, flatten out my dress, then fold my arms across my chest.
“Is that all you wanted to say to me?”
He stands up from his chair and smooths out his tie. I study my father’s thinning gray hair sprouting from his balding scalp. He strolls toward me and nestles his arms around my shoulders.
“I’m going to miss you, Lake,” he breathes.
Despite the tension rolling off my shoulders, I suck in a deep breath, swallowing my pride.
“I’m going to miss you too, Dad.”
“We’re leaving tonight for Destin. You can visit whenever you want.”
It’s been his dream to own a house near the beach. I hate the heat in the south. It’s sticky, humid, and dry.
I nod. “Of course.”
He lets me go to sit back behind his desk. “I’ll call you when I arrive safely.”
I want to spend the rest of my evening working on my sketch in the backyard like I used to. When we say our goodbyes, I shut the door, trot to my room, nab my sketch book, tuck it under my arm and then head downstairs.
As I trail through the living room, the party dies down, and most people leave.
Exhaling, I push the sliding glass doors open and I head to the patio.
Once I park my butt on the metal chair, I open my sketch book and work on my latest piece. Drawing clothes has been my passion since I’ve been in middle school. My dream is to be part of a big creative team for a fashion company, then one day own my own lingerie line. I have been applying at fashion companies, but haven’t received a callback yet.
Within twenty minutes, my gaze snags onto the sun playing peekaboo with the gigantic trees as the cotton candy sky bleeds orange. Closing my eyes, I inhale the fresh-cut grass, the sweet air, and listen to the quietness. My creative juices run rapidly when I’m away from loud noises, so I hope I can keep up with the city life. Opening my eyes, I draw my latest piece while humming “Woman” by Doja Cat.
“Your sketch is amazing.”
I glance up, and my eyes meet a pair of piercing blue eyes. Atlas’s sandy brown hair is gel back, and he towers over me with his hands in his pockets. I don’t know how tall he is, but if I were to stand next to him, I’d stop in the middle of his chest. He’s a walking sex symbol. I never liked Atlas; he’s too arrogant for his own good and a class-A asshole in the fashion world. He’s one of the wealthiest men in the world. A multi-billionaire. He owns several businesses, but the only one I’m familiar with is theNakedmagazine company. His work caters to sexy lingerie for women and underwear for men. Everyone treats him as if he’s a god, and he has the power to destroy someone’s career in fashion. I envy him. Not because of his money, because he has the career I dare to dream about.
Embarrassment colors my cheeks. His compliment catches me off guard, and I don’t know how to accept it because my sketch isn’t anywhere near finished.
My shoulders tense as I stare at the custom-made suit hugging his muscular body. “Why are you spying on me?”
My father and his father are close friends. Usually, we have family trips and dinners with them. In the past, I spoke to Atlas, but we are more acquaintances than friends.
A radiant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His eyes linger on my thick scar stretched across my face to my chin. It’s shaped as a slanted line. When people stare, it makes me feel even more hideous than I already do. I have tried every brand of foundation to cover my scar, but it doesn’t work. Yet, I still wear it because it makes me feel as if I’m hiding behind a shield. Tonight, I decided not to wear any, and I didn’t want the heaviness of it on my face. It’s too hot. Once I got the scar after the accident, most people stopped being my friend, and men would only try to use me for a quick fuck. My life has been extremely lonely.
Keeping his gaze glued to mine, he yanks out a chair across from me, sits, and crosses his legs.
“I’m getting away from your stepmother. She kept following me, asking me questions. It’s annoying.”
