Love To Hate You

by Isabelle Richards

  “Ma’am, this is final call for your flight,” the flight attendant says.

  “I have to go, Henrik.”

  He pulls me close. “I’ll always love you, Lamm. No matter what.”

  “I’ll love you too.”

  He kisses my cheek and whispers, “Good-bye, gorgeous,” before grabbing his bag and hurrying off to his plane.

  I walk down the jetway and board my plane. It’s time to go home.

  Chapter Twelve

  Chase

  I’ve dreamt about going to the Super Bowl since I was in kindergarten. Over the course of my life, I’ve spent more time on the field than anywhere else, except maybe in bed. I’ve run hundreds of thousands of plays, taken tens of thousands hits, scored thousands of touchdowns in preparation for this game. This should be the greatest moment of my life, but it’s not. Not without knowing Ari’s okay.

  Something’s wrong. I can feel it. I know Charlie and Spencer are appeased by Henrik’s voicemail, but I’m not. I don’t know if she’s hurt or still engulfed in sorrow, but something’s wrong, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. I’m pissed at Henrik and pissed at myself, and I take all of my aggression out on the field. I take risks I know I shouldn’t, but I take them anyway. Thankfully, I’m like a machine, throwing with pinpoint accuracy. The ball hits the receiver in the numbers every damn time. When she gets back and watches the film, she’ll be proud of me. Now all I have to do is get her back here.

  We win by a landslide, but it feels all wrong. Aiden’s dead; Ari’s not here. It feels empty. I play my role as MVP as expected of me. I smile for the cameras, hold the Lombardi trophy up with the appropriate amount of jubilation. I go to the after party for an acceptable length of time. Post-game interviews, the parade, victory celebrations, and sponsor spots—I fulfill all of my obligations. I say the right things, smile at the right times, all the while looking over my shoulder and praying for her to show up. But she never does.

  When I get back to San Francisco, I drive straight to her condo on the off chance she is just holed up at home. After banging on the door for ten minutes, I decide to see if my key still works. I have no idea why I still have it on my key ring after all this time, but I do. Probably the same reason why she hasn’t changed the locks.

  It’s a trip being back here; it feels like stepping back in time. She hasn’t changed a thing since we decorated it together. That has to say something, doesn’t it? But there’s a layer of dust on everything, there’s no laundry in the hamper, and her fridge is completely empty. I don’t think she’s been here in months, so I lock up and drive to Aiden’s to see if she’s there. I picture her at Aiden’s alone and slam down the gas pedal. As much as I want to find her, I don’t want to find her there. Images flash through my mind of her in Aiden’s closet, crying hysterically over a tie she bought him a decade ago. When she goes back there, she’s going to need support. Even if Henrik is with her, I’m not sure he’s up for the task.

  Aiden’s house is completely dark when I pull up. I find the hide-a-key, open the door, and trip on a stack of mail at the front door. From the height of the stack, no one has been here for weeks. To be sure, I walk through the house. Everything appears as we left it. I search the whole house, but there’s no sign of her.

  Frustrated, I sit on the stairs, staring at a picture of her. “Where are you, Arianna?”

  Unable to just sit by any longer, I find Aiden’s computer. I tap my thumbs on the desk while it boots up. I’ve refrained from doing this for almost two weeks now. I’ve tried to respect her, to learn from my mistakes, but I’m only so strong. There’s only so much a man can take. I start typing, knowing I may be risking everything.

  I’m hard at work when I hear the beep of the security system.

  “Ari?” Spencer calls.

  “It’s just me,” I shout.

  Charlie and Spencer find me in Aiden’s office. “We saw the light on. We were hoping Ari had come home.”

  “No such luck,” I say with a sigh.

  Charlie looks at me with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing?”

  I slam the laptop closed. “Nothing.”

  She taps her fingers on the wall. “Herein lies my problem. My sister-sense tells me that you’re up to no good, like googling yourself, or worse yet, googling Ari, and I should intervene. The sensible part of me that has learned from history tells me not to look at your screen because… well, catching your brother watching porn ranks up there with the top five most disgusting moments of my life.”

  Spencer snatches the laptop from the table. “I have no issue with Chase watching porn, but if he’s googling Ari, that won’t end well for anyone.” I reach for it, but the slimy bastard’s quick. He opens the lid, looks at the screen, then glares at me. “Are you kidding me?”

  Charlie winces. “Do I even want to know?”

  Spence shakes his head then hands her my computer. “It’s nothing like that.” He points at me. “She’s going to be pissed if she finds out you hacked into her accounts.”

  I shrug. “Is it really hacking if I know the passwords?”

  Charlie scrolls on the computer. “How did you figure out her password? I’ve been trying to get into her email for years. I’ve never been able to crack it.”

  “December 7, 2008. In some form or another, it’s her password for everything.”

  She furrows her brow. “December 7th? What happened on December 7th?”

  I shrug. “It was the first time we…”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Why would she choose that?” She looks at Spencer. “I don’t remember the date we did it for the first time, do you?”

  “April—”

  I cover my ears. “I don’t need to hear this! The less I have to think of the two of you doing anything, the better.”

  She nudges my shoulder. “All right, all right. You started it with the sex talk, not me. Anyway, did you find anything?”

  I shake my head. “No emails sent or read, no credit card purchases, no bank withdrawals, and no calls or texts made or received.”

  “Nothing?” Charlie asks as she scrolls through the screen. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Henrik could be paying for everything,” Spencer says as he reads over her shoulder.

  Charlie scoffs. “That’s doubtful. Even when they were together, Ari was adamant about paying for her half of everything. There’s no way they’d be gone this long without her buying something. A bottle of water. A pack of gum. Something.”

  Spencer taps Charlie’s shoulder. “What if he finally convinced her to climb Everest? You know he’s been after her to do that for years. And he’s got that friend who offered to cover the costs if he could film it. Maybe she finally took him up on it.”

  My mind goes to a news report I saw a few weeks back about an avalanche on Everest killing a ton of people. Suddenly my chest feels tight, and I can’t breathe.

  Charlie puts the computer on the bed and positions herself in front of me. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms. “I just got this horrible image of her dying on the side of a mountain.”

  Charlie rubs circles on my back. “Wherever she is, Ari’s fine. Even in the state she was in, she wouldn’t do something stupid. She’s not on Everest. She wouldn’t attempt to climb it unless she’d been training for that.”

  I nod. “I’m sure you’re right.” I run my fingers through my hair. “I always get an overactive imagination when it comes to her. It’s like all logic and reason goes out the door and I become a stark, raving lunatic.”

  “That’s because you love her.” She gets a sappy look on her face. “I never thought I’d see you like this. It’s so cute. My brother’s in love!”

  “I’ve been like this for a while. I just couldn’t show anyone.”

  “How about this: I’ll call anyone I know who knows Henrik. Maybe someone’s heard from them?” She opens the computer and types away. “Knowing Ari, she has a list of Henrik�
��s friends in her Gmail contacts. I’ll just run down the list.” She looks at her watch. “It’s morning in Europe. I have no problem getting a few soccer players out of bed.”

  She’s right. Ari has a section of her contacts for Henrik’s friends, teammates, and business associates. Charlie goes down the list, but no one’s heard from Henrik in over a week. Around dawn, her voice starts to give out, and her eyelids droop.

  “I’m calling it,” Spencer says, taking the phone from her hand. “You can pick up again after you’ve had some sleep.” He points upstairs. “Can we crash here, or should I take her home?”

  “Just stay in one of the guest rooms,” I say as though I have the right to offer.

  He picks her up and carries her to bed. I spend the next few hours scouring the internet, looking for any Arianna sightings. She has a few paparazzi who are obsessed with her. If anyone’s been able to get a lead on where she is, it’s likely one of them. I check their blogs and sites, but I come up empty. Eventually, I give up and call it a night.

  A few hours later, “It’s All About the Benjamins” blares from my phone, waking me. My accountant has been blowing up my phone all week. I need to take this.

  “Lance, you’re up early,” I say.

  “When my client has almost a million dollars go missing, it keeps me up at night.”

  That gets me up. “I sure hope you’re not talking about me.”

  “Why do you think I’ve been calling you for the past week and a half? Jenna planned an elaborate wedding and paid for it all with checks signed by you. This five-star wedding planned on the fly has run you about three quarters of a million dollars.”

  Sitting up, I wipe the sleep from my eyes, hoping I misheard him. “Run that by me again? Jenna’s done what?”

  “You heard me correctly. Congrats. It seems you’re getting married this weekend after all.”

  So much for Donald keeping her on a leash. “Three quarters of a million dollars? Like seven-hundred-fifty thousand dollars? Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  He sighs. “I wish I were.”

  Jesus, I thought the invitations were a stunt to get attention. I never dreamed she would actually plan a wedding. “What are my options here, Lance?”

  “This is fraud. My advice is for you to contact the FBI,” he replies.

  A scandal. That’s just what I need right now. The press will eat this up. “Is that my only option? Can’t I handle this privately?”

  “I thought you’d say that,” he answers. “Call your lawyer.”

  Motherfucker. When it rains, it fucking pours. I call Carmen.

  Unsurprisingly, she’s already up and working. “I told you this was coming. You should have listened to me and let me do my job. Now you’re down a million dollars, and we have a hundred-twenty-five pounds of crazy running lose.”

  I run my fingers through my hair. “I know. I know. I should have listened to you. Maybe I should call Donald again and—”

  “Don’t you dare,” she scolds. “You are to have no further communication with anyone from that family unless it’s through me. Do you understand?”

  I nod even though she can’t see me. “Yeah, I get it. Please, just see what you can do to fix it.”

  My next call is to Shelly, my PR rep, to get her on top of the guest list. She connects with Mom, and they go through the potential guest list Jenna had sent Mom back when we were actually getting married. Jenna’s probably working from the same list, and we need to reach out and let each person know this blessed union is nothing but a hoax of epic proportions.

  The next morning, my mother and Charlie join me in Carmen’s office. Charlie attacks the muffin tray as soon as she gets sight of it, but I’m too nauseated to eat.

  Carmen walks in a few moments later with a few lackeys by her side. “Take a look at what your bride-to-be has done.” She slides packets to my mother, Charlie, and me. “There are two words I wish to impart on you: separate finances. Share your life, not your money.”

  I scan the breakdown on what Jenna has spent. “Holy shit. One hundred thousand on flowers? Fifteen grand for swans? Fucking swans? They’d better lay golden eggs for that price.”

  “Damn, look at the menu,” Charlie says as she flips to the second page. “This puts my wedding to shame.”

  Mom holds up her hand. “I don’t want to hear it. I got married on my parents’ ranch, and we served ribs, fried chicken, potato salad, and beer. It was the happiest day of my life, and I’ve had thirty years of a happy marriage.” She waves the paper around. “A fancy wedding does not guarantee happiness, my dear. The only guarantee you get with foie gras is diarrhea.”

  “Well said, Mrs. Brennan,” Carmen replies. “Can’t stand the stuff myself. I’ve been through the contracts, and there’s very little we can do about this. The contracts are iron-clad. Our best recourse is to go after Jenna. A case against her is tricky because you continued to finance her for months after your breakup. We need a paper trail to demonstrate you severed the relationship. Do you have any emails or texts expressing your desire to end your relationship? Did you ask for the ring back?”

  “I never asked for the ring back. Why would I want the damn thing?”

  She smirks. “So she can’t go on telling the world you’re still engaged. Emails?”

  Tapping my chin, I think back. “No.” I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I did break up with her in front of a bar full of people.”

  “Did they hear you say you were ending the relationship?”

  “No, probably not. I was trying to be discreet.”

  Carmen jots notes on a legal pad. “That probably won’t help us. Our best case is that had she canceled these contracts when you saw her in Arizona and subsequently saw her father the next day, you could have recouped at least half the costs. We’re filing suit for five hundred thousand. She’ll be served with papers later today.”

  “What do we do about the fact that she’s still telling people this wedding is happening?” I asked. “Almost everyone Shelly and I contacted received a postcard last Saturday that says, ‘One more week until the big day,’ and a reminder of the date and time.”

  Carmen taps her pen. “She could have ordered those reminder cards with the invitations.”

  One of the lackeys raises her hand. “Five of the venders said they were contacted by her this week to confirm details.”

  Carmen jots down some more notes. “That doesn’t look so good for her sanity, but it’s good for our case. I’ll issue a cease-and-desist letter demanding she stop propagating that you and she are still in a relationship and that this wedding is still going to happen.”

  I look over the sheets again. “So what about all the crap I’ve just paid for? It all goes to waste? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “If you utilize the goods and services, we can no longer go after her for the money,” Carmen answers.

  “I care less about the money and more about getting her out of my life.” I point at the sheet itemizing the food costs. “Can’t we donate the food to food banks or homeless shelters or something? It feels wrong that all that is going to go to waste while people are going hungry.”

  Lackey number two raises her hand. “Um, I think the chef will be very happy to hear that. He’s one of those farm-to-table guys, all about the carbon footprint and sustainability. He screamed at me for almost twenty minutes about the environmental impact of waste when I told him the event isn’t happening. I’ll call over there today and see what we can coordinate.”

  I tap my thumbs on the table. “That makes me feel at least a little better.”

  “You could donate the flowers to couples that are getting married but don’t have the money for exorbitant flowers,” Charlie says. “I could call the florist.”

  “I’ve got two ideas,” Mom says. “She bought out the vineyard and accompanying hotel. I suggest we call UCSF Benioff’s Children’s Hospital and see if they have any families in need of respite. I’m sure many of the par
ents of sick children could use a night away. Since you’re already paying for a band, liquor, and the space, I say we hold a fundraiser. Let’s take this whole debacle and turn it into something good. If people show up for the wedding, we’ll tell them to keep their gifts and write a check.”

  I’d much rather have all of this stuff go toward something good, but a fundraiser seems like an impossible feat. “It’s in four days. We can’t pull a fundraiser together in four days.”

  Mom raises her eyebrows and looks at me as though I’m crazy. “You just brought the Super Bowl Championship back to San Francisco for the first time since 1994. You could host a concert where you make that farting sound with your armpit and people would turn out in droves. As soon as we get the word out, we’ll be turning people away at the door.”

  Charlie smiles. “I think we have video of him doing the Jeopardy theme song. We should totally pull that out.”

  I scowl at her. “Let’s not.” I turn toward Mom. “If you think you can pull it off, let’s do it in Aiden’s name and raise money for cardiomyopathy. I’d like the money to go straight to families if possible, but I’ll leave it to you to work that out. You know way more about this foundation shit than I do.”

  Carmen crosses her legs. “Your people will be thrilled. You’ve just turned a potential nightmare into a PR rep’s dream come true. Our case against Jenna’ is going in the toilet, but your image will be in good shape.”

  Annoyed, I cross my arms and glare at her. “I’m not doing it for that.”

  She taps her pen on her legal pad. “I know, but it’s nice to see someone trying to make something positive out of the situation. Most of the time my clients are all about vindication and retribution.”

  “I just want her out of my life.”

  “And I’ll make sure that happens.” She turns to my mother. “Keep track of everything you use and what you don’t. Once we come up with the dollar value of wasted goods and services, we’ll go after her for it.”

  After the meeting ends, Mom and Charlie start planning how they’re going to transform my “wedding” into a fundraiser. Over the next four days, they race around, frantically trying to pull it together. I play my part, but more often than not, I’m in the way and they shoo me away, a skill I’ve mastered over the years. It’s for the best—I’m worthless right now. I spend my days looking for Ari: calling friends, hotels and resorts I know she likes, anywhere I can think of that she may have gone. Every damn time I think of somewhere I haven’t tried yet, I get my hopes up only to come up empty. It’s like she’s disappeared off the face of the fucking planet.