The Florence Affair

by Kristy Tate

  “Then we’ll have to make it worth the risk.” He slid his hand down her arm and captured her hand.

  “Where we going?” she asked.

  “I promised you ice cream, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but...isn’t everything closed by now?”

  “Come on. I’m prepared.” He led her to a bike leaning against the brick wall of the Dollar Mart and plucked the two helmets off the seat.

  “You’re lucky someone didn’t steal your bike,” she told him.

  “I’m lucky because I met you.” After tucking one helmet under his arm, he placed the other on her head.

  “Huh,” she said, lifting her chin so he could adjust the straps.

  “What?” He put on his own helmet.

  “You’re still corny.”

  He grinned. “I know I should be embarrassed by the way I acted this morning, but I’ve decided to embrace it. You are quite literally the most enchanting thing—”

  She stopped him by putting her finger to his lips. “I’m not a thing,” she said in a solemn tone.

  He took her hand in his. “Right. You are the most enchanting woman—”

  “Still a girl, and hardly enchanting.”

  “Enchanting, enthralling, captivating, fascinating—”

  “Now you’re being repetitive.”

  He balanced his bike and threw one leg over the seat. “But I do have a sweet ride, right?”

  She nodded and climbed on behind him.

  He turned the key and revved the engine. The bike vibrated beneath her. She held onto Zane’s waist with both hands. Even though their legs weren’t touching, she could feel his radiating warmth.

  They sped through Isla Vista’s dark streets until they came to the street that ran along the ocean’s edge. The brisk air smelled of the sea and citrus blossoms and it rushed around her. Goosepimples rose on her skin and she didn’t know if they came from the chill or excitement. She’d never felt so free. On impulse, Flora threw up her arms and shrieked for joy.

  Zane did the same, his hands momentarily free of the bike’s handlebars.

  Flora screamed and hugged him tighter.

  “If I had known that was going to happen,” he shot over his shoulder, “I would have done it sooner.”

  “Don’t do it again,” Flora said into his ear.

  He responded with a chuckle she couldn’t see or hear but felt. They rode for several minutes along the ocean’s edge. The moon sent bright, shimmery rays across the water. They passed through a pair of stone pillars. Zane waved his hand at the guard in the station and the mammoth wrought-iron gates rolled open.

  Zane drove slightly slower as they passed the mansions lining the quiet road. Eventually, the road dipped down a hill and they followed it to the beach. A linen cloth covered a small table topped with a bouquet of roses, a pair of flickering tapered candles, and two cut crystal bowls.

  Zane cut the engine, climbed off the bike, and held it steady so Flora could do the same.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Flora murmured.

  “Except for, ‘Where’s the ice cream?’” Zane joked.

  “Well, there is that.”

  He took her hand and led her across the sand. When they reached the table, he lifted the linen cloth to show her a hidden cooler.

  “B-b-but what if you hadn’t found me?” Flora stammered. “What if I hadn’t wanted to come?”

  He stared at her momentarily. “For one thing, I almost always get what I want. But, if on the odd rare chance that I was unsuccessful, I would have shared the ice cream with Marco.”

  “Marco?”

  Zane waved at the shadows, where a dark, almost indistinguishable man stood with his arms folded across chest and his legs spread shoulder-width apart. “Flora, meet Marco. Marco, meet Flora.”

  Flora waved at the man and he responded with a nod.

  Goodness. “Is he armed?”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re more interested in Marco than me,” Zane said as he pulled out the cooler, set it on the table, and lifted the lid. “Or the ice cream. It’s not actually ice cream, though. It’s Italian gelato. It’s not as good as you can find in Italy, but close. I brought salted caramel, chocolate mousse, cherry cordial, white chocolate cheesecake, and brown sugar pecan.”

  “Oh my gosh. I have to try them all.”

  Zane picked up the scoop and grinned. “And this is one of the reasons I love you.”

  Flora took a seat and watched him. “You don’t really mean that.”

  “I do.” He lifted all the lids off the gelato containers. “I know it sounds stupid and if any of my friends could hear me, they’d tease me forever and never let me live it down, but,” he shrugged, “I don’t care.” He eyed her. “Unless you think I’m a total geek, then I’ll put on my mask of sophistication and try and summon my inner Liam Hemsworth.”

  “I don’t think I’d like Liam.”

  He brightened. “No?”

  “And I think you’re incredibly sweet.” Her gaze swept over the scene—the lone table, the flaming candles with their curling smoke, the dark and rolling waves. “Even if you’re a little hard to believe.”

  “Why would you say that?” He dished up her bowl first before starting to work on his own.

  “Because I’m me and you’re you.”

  “How can you say that?” He settled into the seat across from her.

  “You know nothing about me.”

  “I know you saved my life, and that you have a dog named Rufus. Your mom works as a waitress at a bar and your dad died fifteen years ago. You have a little sister named Sicily, but I’ve yet to find out why you’re both named after places in Italy. You’re on the school’s debate team—which you’re awesome at—and you also design costumes for your school’s theater department. You have eight hundred and eighty-two Facebook friends, nearly five thousand Twitter followers, and you post very little on Instagram, which I found disappointing, but as I spend more time with you, might grow to appreciate.”

  “Wow.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “I sound like a stalker, huh?”

  “A little, yes.”

  His shoulders slumped. “I’ve come on too strong.”

  “Maybe a smidge.”

  “It’s just I don’t get to meet girls like you very often.”

  “Girls like me?” she echoed.

  “Real girls,” he said. “Girls with jobs and friends who like you for yourself and not because of what you have.”

  A chill that had nothing to do with the ice cream passed through her. She heard the loneliness in his voice and she covered his hand with hers. “Tell me about you.”

  “I’d rather talk about you,” he said. “I’m boring.”

  She cocked her head and studied him. “I don’t think so.”

  “Besides, you can find out about me by picking up a newspaper.”

  “But what about what I can’t read in the papers?”

  “I’m a science geek,” he finally admitted. “I love Nova documentaries and animal shows. One year, I had Bill Nye the Science Guy come to my birthday party...I think that was the last party I ever had.” A scowl settled between his eyebrows. “I hate them, by the way, parties.”

  “Huh, that’s not what the papers say.”

  He shook that away. “I don’t care what the papers say. It’s true. I...” His voice trailed away.

  “What do you study in school?”

  “Biology. I want to go into the biomedical field.”

  “Like your dad.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s cool.” She grinned at him.

  “Do you think so?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “How about you? What do you want to study?”

  “Math,” she said automatically.

  “Huh, I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re so...hip.”

  “Hip?” She wasn’t fishing for compliments; she was simply trying to und
erstand.

  “Yeah. Your clothes and hair...like I said, hip.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think anyone uses that word anymore.”

  “That’s just a part of what makes you...hip.”

  He touched a nerve. In her secret dreams, she desperately wanted to study fashion design, but she considered it a frivolous and irresponsible sort of occupation. “Math is...well, it never lets you down, right? Two plus two always equals four.”

  “I suppose,” he said.

  “No one argues with numbers. They are what they are. Steady. Reliable. They’re like the laws of nature.”

  “Maybe we’re more alike than I thought,” Zane said. “After all, we both like ice cream.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Just maybe?”

  “Well, I’ll make a confession. I’m pretty much in love with Italian gelato,” she said.

  “Me, too. Will you go to the beach with me every day for the rest of my life?” he asked.

  “I can’t promise that,” she said.

  “Then how about tomorrow?”

  THE SCHOOL YEAR ENDED and the summer slid by. Zane spent every possible waking moment with Flora, but as the days grew shorter, he knew their time together would end when he had to return to school. And the thought of being separated from her made him insane. It would be like cutting off his foot and having to get by without it—he’d need to develop a whole new set of coping abilities and he didn’t think he was up to the task.

  “Come with me,” he begged her for not the first time. They sat on the beach with Rufus beside them. Their skin was sun-kissed, warm. The air smelled of distant bonfires.

  “You know I can’t.”

  “You can—”

  She interrupted him. “I have to finish school, get into college. My life is just starting.”

  “So, begin it as you’ll end it—with me.”

  “I wish we could,” she said with a sigh. “But it’s not that far. Just a couple of hours.”

  “Unless there’s traffic and there’s always traffic.” He sat up straight as an idea hit him. “Let’s get married.”

  She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “Someday.”

  “If someday, why not this day?”

  “You’re nuts. I’m seventeen, you’re twenty.”

  “Ancient, practically.”

  She bumped him with her shoulder.

  “I’m serious.” He scooched around so that he knelt in front of her. “Flora Hill, will you marry me and have my babies?”

  She pushed him and he fell back on his butt, but not before he grabbed her hand and pulled her on top of him. She squealed as he rolled over and pinned her beneath him.

  “Say you’ll marry me.” He pressed his forehead to hers.

  “I’ll marry you, but not today.”

  He rolled off her with a groan. “So, when?”

  “In five years?”

  “I’m not waiting five years. Look, we can run off to Vegas and get married as soon as you’re eighteen.”

  Flora tightened her lips. “You haven’t even introduced me to your dad.”

  “And I haven’t met your mom.”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “I don’t see how it’s different,” he pressed. “I think we’re both afraid of and embarrassed by them.”

  “They shouldn’t matter so much,” Flora said.

  “But they do,” he said with a sigh.

  “Do you think about your mom?”

  He nodded. “For a long time, I would see her everywhere I went—but of course, she was never really there. It would just be someone who reminded me of her. To me, she’s always about thirty. Someday, I’ll be older than she ever was. That’ll be strange.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Do you think about your dad?”

  She nodded. “I remember how it felt when he’d carry me on his shoulders. I’d be taller than anybody else. He made me feel important.” She slid him a glance. “Do you think your mom would approve of me?”

  He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. “She’d love you. Do you think your dad would like me?”

  “He would be so thrilled. My mom will be, as well, but for different reasons.”

  “Then why do you hide me from her?”

  “You don’t understand...”

  “Because you won’t tell me.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “Okay, my mom hates rich people. Her hatred is almost pathological.”

  “Then why did you say—”

  “Because she’ll try and milk you. It’s what she does to everyone. You won’t be excluded. The difference is, you have a lot to milk. She’s like an empty bucket that can never be filled. And as soon as she gets a little bit of money, she spends it.”

  He gazed into her eyes. “Why aren’t you like her?”

  “Every day, I promise myself that I won’t be like her. Every penny I earn working for the Geoffreys, I hide.”

  “What are you saving up for?”

  “College. You know that.”

  “Your life will be easier with me,” he promised. “We can get married now if you can get your mom’s permission.”

  “But your dad—”

  “Yeah, he won’t be happy, but guess what? He’s never happy anyway. So, I might as well be.”

  “And getting married will make you happy?”

  “Having you in my life every day and in my bed every night? That’s my definition of happiness." He watched a dozen emotions flit across her face. “Let’s do it,” he pressed.

  “Talk to your dad first,” she said.

  “Really?” He jumped to his feet.

  She gazed up at him and nodded.

  He began to dance around and Rufus, who had been snoozing, hopped up to join in. Laughing, Flora bounced up, too, and soon, all three of them were wildly dancing to music that only they could hear.

  CHAPTER 3

  That night, Zane approached his father’s study with trepidation but steely resolve.

  “Come in,” his father barked.

  Zane pushed open the door to find Weatherford at his desk, surrounded by an army of computers. All of them flickered with different images on their screens. Stacked towers of books stood on the floor like stalagmites in a variety of heights. Zane weaved through these to take a seat.

  Silvia, the housekeeper, wasn’t allowed in this room. Zane knew that he was one of the privileged few deemed welcome in his father’s lair, and for this he should feel grateful and honored.

  But that wasn’t how he felt. In fact, as he sat on the opposite side of Weatherford’s wide desk, his anger and frustration mounted. All he could see was the shiny bald spot on top of his father’s head.

  “I need to speak with you, sir. It’s important.”

  “Important?” Weatherford snorted. “More important than finding a cure for Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease?”

  “Well, no, but it’s important to me, sir.”

  Weatherford’s head popped up and he pinned his son with a disapproving stare. “There’s roughly one hundred and twenty-four thousand victims of Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease who would disagree with you.”

  “And I’m sorry for their suffering and I hate to think I’m prolonging their pain,” he drew in a steadying breath, “but I thought you’d like to know of my upcoming marriage.”

  “Marriage?” Weatherford shot to his feet. “Whose marriage?” He blinked at Zane.

  “Mine, sir.”

  “Your marriage?” He placed a palm to his head. “Are you insane?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Weatherford paced from behind the desk. “But you’re only fifteen.”

  “Actually, I’m almost twenty-one.”

  “Twenty-one?” he grumbled. “How did that happen?” He strode across the room to stand at the floor-length window, gazing out at the sea. “I wish your mother was here. She’d know what do,” he said without turning around.

&nbs
p; “Yes.” That was something on which they could agree.

  His father turned back around, crossed his arms, and studied Zane with impatience. “Well, who is she?”

  “Florence Hill.”

  “I don’t know that name. Does she attend UCLA as well?”

  “No, she’s actually still in high school.”

  “High school?” He snorted a laugh. “No, this is all wrong.” He crossed the room, settled himself at his desk, and hid his face behind his wall of computer screens.

  “Sir?”

  Weatherford looked up. “This girl is clearly not for you.”

  “How can you say that? You don’t even know her.”

  “When you marry, you need someone your intellectual equal. Marriage should be about partnership, shared interests, and rapport. I know you think you’re in love,” he said the final two words with a curled lip, “but marriage should be less about hormones and more about compatibility. It’s like software. In a marriage, two partners should be capable of getting together without requiring anyone to change. No one should require special modification or conversion.”

  This was actually a very long speech for Weatherford, and it took Zane a moment to think of a rebuttal. All he could come up with was, “But I love her. I can’t imagine a life without her.”

  “How long have you been seeing her?”

  “Three months.”

  “So, what can you remember of the winter holidays?”

  “We went skiing in Mammoth... Ah, I see your point.”

  “You didn’t know her during the holidays and you seemed perfectly happy. If you were happy then without her, you can definitely be so now.”

  “No. That’s like saying you can be perfectly happy eating dog chow before you have filet mignon, but guess what? After the filet, there’s no going back to the dog chow.”

  “I don’t think the dog food analogy is the best one to prove your point, but since you brought it up, let’s go with it.” Weatherford steepled his fingers and gazed over them at Zane. “You say you’re twenty.”

  “Almost twenty-one,” he ground out.

  “You must admit that you’ve seen very little of the world.”

  “I’ve been to thirty-seven countries.”

  A worried scowl settled between Weatherford’s eyebrows. “Is that right?”

  Zane nodded.