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I’m never one to track cycles, so the concept is foreign. All I know is that when I turn into a hot-headed bitch, it’s time to get the tampons ready. And of late, sex hasn’t been on my mind until last night.
“Speaking of sex, I met someone last night.”
“Hold up,” Amelia raises her voice. “We’ve talked for almost an hour in which I complained about a funny noise my washer was making, and you only bring this up now?”
“You were rambling on about it. Considering your husband is a billionaire, I don’t know why you just don’t buy a new one?”
“Stop distracting!” Amelia then follows with a groan. “What happened last night?”
I begin with my encounter at the bar, to the woman I saw him with, then the moment while waiting for the elevator. This is followed by describing precisely what he looked like, though, for a moment, my memory fails.
“So, I’m going to text him soon, and I know about the stupid bet…” I mention with annoyance.
“Screw the bet. Sparks don’t just fly with anyone,” Amelia informs me. “And an Aussie? Give me his name, so I can stalk him online.”
I laugh, then wonder why I haven’t done the same. This is the first point of call after I meet someone as good-looking as Lochie.
“Look, let me text him first and see what happens. After the start to this year, I just want to be cautious.”
“Uh, hello? Am I talking to Ava Edwards? When have you ever been cautious?”
My sister knows me well. After all—she is my best friend. But, then, it flashes before me, the night with Austin. I try to suppress the guilt, knowing it will fade away eventually, and some other man will be my focus.
Amelia sighs heavily. “What’s going on with you, Ava? You haven’t been the same since Olivier left you.”
I swallow the lump inside my throat, never one to be consumed by emotions. Life has thrown me a curveball, tested me more than I care to admit. Mom pointed it out, reminding me of how fortunate I’ve been, and it may not always be that way. Yet even though I know I’m resilient, something isn’t right. The problem is, I don’t know what’s causing this unsettled feeling.
“I’m just tired,” I confess, taking a breath. “It’s been a shit start to the year.”
“Maybe you need a girls’ weekend? We can organize a nice resort just for you, me, Mom, and Addy. We might be able to drag Alexa if I can convince her it’s cool to hang out with us.”
Perhaps that’s all I need—a break from life with the women who mean the most to me. It’s been a few months since we’ve all been together.
“Ava? Did you hear me?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, breaking my thoughts. “It sounds like a plan.”
“Okay, something is very wrong because normally you would be all over this idea, take over, then plan something epic. What’s really going on with you?”
“Honestly, Millie, I just don’t know, and that’s the truth. But if you’re too busy, I’m sure Eric can plan something for us.”
“I’ve got a meeting in an hour, and then when I pick up Ashton from Mom’s this afternoon, I’ll talk to her,” Amelia tells me, then falling quiet for a moment. “You’ll get through this, Ava bear, I promise.”
I laugh softly. “You haven’t called me that since elementary school.”
“I mean it, okay? You know I’m always here. You’re my sister. No judgment from me, no matter what you’re going through.”
Since Amelia married Will and became a mother, she has changed for the better, if I’m honest. She’s a lot calmer, always nurturing the closest to her, and it’s almost like she became our mom. She often worries about me by regularly checking in to make sure I’m okay. According to Addy, who sees her more than I do, it’s like someone took our hot-headed sister and replaced her with someone the complete opposite.
Yet moments like earlier in our call remind me that Millie will always be passionate about what matters the most. She’s just become more patient when it comes to family.
“I know you’ll always be there, Millie. But you do have a demanding husband and a two-year-old.”
“Will knows how important my sisters are to me.”
We speak for a few more minutes before Eric texts me with a reminder to be at the photoshoot at three o’clock sharp. He then continues to send me images of the gown, suggesting I wear a white strapless bra to suit the design.
Pulling open the drawer with all my lingerie, I take out my white satin strapless bra. As I unclasp the bra and put it on, the cups are too tight, and my fingers fidget with difficulty. My patience wears thin until I let out a frustrated growl with dead arms, throwing my bra across the closet. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, open them, and place my hands on my breasts. My skin feels tender, and the swells of my breasts are slightly larger than usual. What the fuck? These stupid diet pills are working in reverse. Why I agreed to be a guinea pig again highlights my poor judgment.
