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We discuss the various materials and lighting options for the court, but my mind keeps drifting back to her, to the dimple in her right cheek and the way she twists her lips when she’s thinking hard about something. We agreed not to become physically or romantically involved, yet every day, I find myself inching closer to throwing caution to the wind and going to the point of no return.
I shake my head, forcing myself to concentrate on the architect’s words. If I need to keep my distance from Lily, I will. After all, what choice do I have? Our friendship means too much to me — and to her — to risk it all for love.
Plus, I wouldn’t be able to maintain a relationship. That’s not me. No matter how hard I tried, I would only end up letting her down.
“Are you sure about this tennis court?” the architect asks, noticing my hesitation. “It won’t leave much space for a lawn.”
“No.” My response is firm. “I want the tennis court. It’s important to me.”
“Okay, then.” He nods, making a few more notes on the blueprint. “I believe we’ve covered everything for today. We’ll refine the plans based on your feedback and schedule another meeting to finalize the details.”
“Thank you.” I shake his hand as he prepares to leave.
Once alone, I take a deep breath, attempting to quell the turmoil within me. This house is an essential step toward our future together. A future that I will be more in control of than I have been in the past.
I walk over to the window, imagining the lawn that will soon be transformed into my private tennis court. My heart pangs as I imagine Lily and me playing a match under the sun.
But no, I promptly remind myself. This isn’t about her. This is about me taking control of my life and being bound to no one.
Especially not a woman — even if she’s the most amazing woman on earth.
CHAPTER 21
LILY
A couple of weeks after getting home from Albavarre, I find myself at one of the charitable organizations I volunteer at — a homeless shelter. The air is thick with a sense of duty and compassion as volunteers bustle around, sorting through donations that have piled up over the past few days.
The atmosphere is a good distraction from what I’ve been dealing with in my personal life: Felix has been avoiding me.
We’ve only seen each other once since returning from Albavarre, and that was so that we could be spotted getting coffee together. Aside from that, we’ve barely communicated.
I know it’s for the best, but I miss him. I’ve gotten used to him being a staple in my life, so much so that my days feel empty when he’s not around.
“Hey, Lily, can you help me with these boxes of clothing?” Susan, a fellow volunteer, calls out to me from across the room.
“Of course!” I make my way over to her.
Together, we begin the task of organizing the clothes by size and usability. As I fold a shirt, I think of how fortunate I am to be part of such a wealthy family. But with that privilege comes responsibility, and I’m determined to make a difference in the lives of those less fortunate.
“Wow, there are so many donations this time,” Susan remarks, and I nod in agreement. “It’s heartwarming to see people coming together like this.”
As we continue filling the boxes, I suddenly feel a wave of nausea wash over me. It’s an unsettling sensation, and one I’ve never experienced before — the last time I had the flu. My hands start to tremble, and I find it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.
“Hey, are you okay?” Susan asks.
“I… I don’t know,” I say, my voice shaky. “I just feel really nauseous all of a sudden.”
“Maybe you should sit down for a moment and have some water.” She touches my shoulder, concern etched on her face.
With a grateful smile, I take her advice and find a nearby chair, easing myself onto it. Susan hands me a cup of water, which I sip slowly, hoping it will alleviate the nausea. But as the minutes pass, the feeling doesn’t subside.
“Still not feeling better?” Susan checks in, looking worried.
“No.” I frown, hating that I feel unwell when there’s so much work to be done.
“Maybe it’s something you ate?”
“Maybe,” I reply, but deep down, something tells me that’s not it.
