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“So you always tell me,” her tone has bite to it but I brush it off. I love my parents dearly, but everything I want is here in LA. Not back home in Lovelock Bay, not anymore.
Placing the cooked chicken on the stove top, I close the oven and pull my mitts off. My mom is still talking in my ear but I’m not paying attention. I am too busy making sure everything is perfect for when Luke comes home.
“Mom, look I’ve got to go. I’ll call tomorrow, okay? Send love to pops and Austin for me. Love you.”
“Okay sweetheart, speak soon. Love you,” and I hear the defeat in her voice, setting a coolness off deep inside of me, making me shiver as the ice dances up and down my spine. The phone cuts off and I pull it from my ear, pinching my brows so it causes a deep V to set in as I stare at the screen but whatever I was feeling leaves me as I see the background on my phone.
Me and Luke on our engagement shoot. Standing in the middle of Central Park, the blossom cascading down over us, my left hand is held out and towards the camera as I showcase my huge oval diamond. Luke is kissing me on my rosy cheeks and I’m bearing a wide, full tooth grin. I really was living my fairytale. My heart thrums in my chest.
I met Luke one evening in downtown Manhattan at a cocktail bar with my college friends, he was cocky and so sure of himself. I liked that about him. He wouldn’t take no for an answer and when I agreed to date him, everything fell into place. I had no idea who he was until he sat me down and showed me an old sitcom that he starred in, but now, his name was in shining lights.
Luke Montgomery.
Hollywood actor and most women’s fantasy. But I didn’t have to fantasize, because he was mine.
We lived on Plymouth Boulevard, Windsor Square, Los Angeles in a stunning house that was fit for a King and Queen. Large windows, spacey rooms and everything you would expect from a mansion in Los Angeles. I was a thousand miles from home. But this was my home now. Luke was the new home I had tied myself to after leaving a piece of myself back in the country.
My parents and brother live in Lovelock Bay. It’s all rolling green hills, beautiful mountains that were tipped in glistening whites and pretty little rivers and streams that flowed through the valleys. It’s idyllic.
Picture perfect.
But that’s not me anymore.
I grew up on a farm; my pops has worked all of his life growing crops and breeding, raising and selling horses, and when I was younger, I never wanted to leave. But when I got into Cornell, I never looked back. I loved the city life, the hustle and bustle. I never wanted to stay on the farm. The dreams I once had as a young girl were not the dreams I followed as a young adult. Life changes quickly, and I soon adapted to a new dream.
Happiness radiates from me as I look out the window to the front yard, our house was beautiful, but it wasn’t our forever home. Luke was given this when he was picked up for his movie, but once it wraps up late next year and we’re married, that’s when we will move into ourownhome.
Pulling myself from my wandering thoughts, I spin and turn the stove top off, the potatoes soft boiled and ready to be mashed, the vegetables cooked and resting. One thing I missed about living back home that wasn’t my parents, was the fresh produce. I’m sorry, but you can tell the difference between fresh, home grown and store bought. But it’s a small change I can live with.
Turning my wrist to face me, I check the time on my diamond encrusted Rolex, and it’s just gone seven p.m. He should be home soon. Placing a lid over the potato saucepan and covering the vegetables, I untie my apron and hang it up just inside the pantry as I walk past. Turning out into the long hallway, I climb the stairs and turn the light on in the main bedroom and I smile. Floor to ceiling white panelled walls, coving wrapped round the high ceilings and a beautiful ornate gold light hung from the middle of the ceiling. Our bed sat perfectly in the middle of the room, large sash windows that line one side, white, linen drapes tied back with gold tiebacks. I move forward, walking into the walk-in wardrobe and slip out of my jeans and tee. Grabbing a cream knee length fitted dress, I slide it over my head and am careful not to mess my blowout. I reach for nudeJimmy Choo’sand slip my feet into them. I take a moment to look at everything I have and think about just how grateful I am.
When I met Luke I was drowning in student debt and I was too proud to ask for help from my parents. I knew they just about made ends meet when I left, so I worked two jobs. An office job in the day and a cleaning job of an evening.
But then Luke happened. He paid off my debt and asked me to be a stay-at-home fiancée. At first, I was a little hesitant as I never wanted to not work, but I have fallen into my new life easily, though I do feel guilty sometimes. I miss having my own life and independence, but I know this makes him happy. He likes having me at home, dinner on the table waiting for him, the house clean and tidy. I spend my days reading, lunching, shopping and when inspiration hits me, I sit at my laptop and work on one of my hundreds of unfinished manuscripts. My old dream was to become a world champion show jumper; my new dream is to become an author, but I have never typedthe endon any one of them.
Maybe one day.
Maybe this was my new dream.
But I knew Luke was in this new dream and to me, that’s all that mattered.
I brush the ends of my loose curled dirty blonde hair and smile at my reflection. My hazel eyes are glistening, freckles scattered over my button nose and across my high cheek bones. Running a lipstick over my full lips, I paint them in red and I spray myself with a perfume and let it settle into my skin.
The reflection of the light on myHarry Winstonengagement ring catches my attention and my heart stutters in my chest, and suddenly I feel an unbearable weight. My chest aching, my pulse throbbing beneath my skin and my stomach knotting with an unknown anxiety.
I was twenty-three when I met Luke; I’ll be thirty next year in May. Luke is in his late thirties. I know people speak about our age gap. But I love him with every fibre of my being. The love I felt for him was different than I’ve felt before… I just didn’t know if it was thegooddifferent.
I hear Butch, our Pomeranian, bark and my heart thrums in my chest.
He’s home.
I rush down the stairs, careful not to break my neck as I do and my smile widens as soon as I see him. Copper brown hair, beautiful blue eyes, but when they meet mine, they’re not glistening like they normally do. There is no wide, toothy grin and there certainly isn’t the look of adoring love when he looks at me.
“Baby?” I test his nickname out on my tongue, and I don’t miss the way it tastes bitter somehow.
“We need to talk,” he just about manages, his jaw is wound tight and his fists are balled. He is on edge, tense, anxious. His eyes fall from mine as quickly as they found them and he walks with his head down towards the kitchen.
“Okay,” my voice cracks as I try and hide the panic that is clawing at my throat, thickness growing and it doesn’t matter how much I swallow, I can’t seem to stop it. I follow him, Butch on my heels as they click on the tiled floor. The knot in my stomach grows, the small beads of sweat that prick under my skin grow more with each step I take, a prominent throb starts behind my eyes.
