Closing my eyes, I realize how cruel I was in coming here. I stand, walk to the kitchen, and grab my purse from the counter. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
He stands. “Wait—”
I quickly walk to the door. “No, you’re right. I’m so sorry. This was a mistake. I need to figure this out on my own.”
Unlocking the dead bolt, I open the door and rush out. I speed walk toward Prinzregentenstraße, hoping I’ll be able to catch a cab. I don’t know where I’m going to go or what I’m going to do, but I need to get out of here.
“Lamm! Come back,” Henrik shouts as he runs toward me.
I turn around to face him. “Jesus, Henrik! You’re in your boxers.” I look around and see pedestrians staring. A few have their phones out. “Get back inside.”
He puts his hands on my shoulders. “I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t go.”
I kiss his cheek. “Go before you get arrested for indecent exposure. I’ll be fine.”
He clutches my arm. “Come with me. Let’s talk. I was being tired and cross. I didn’t mean it.”
I spot a cab out of the corner of my eye. Stepping toward the street, I wave, and the cab stops in front of me. I open the door to the backseat then turn toward Henrik. “Good-bye, Henrik.” I blow him a kiss then slide into the cab. “Das Mandarin, bitte,” I say to the driver.
As the driver pulls away, I see Henrik still standing there in his underwear, watching the cab disappear into traffic. Closing my eyes, I lean my head against the headrest and sigh.
That will not go down as one of my better decisions. Yes, I need Henrik right now, but it’s positively cruel for me to cling to him knowing full well it’s only temporary. I won’t pay my grief forward. There was a time when I thought Henrik’s feelings were as superficial as mine, but seeing him this morning, I think it’s more than that. I’m not just the shiniest penny in front of him at the moment. There’s something real there, which is why I have to get as far away from him as possible. I can’t crush his heart in the name of saving mine.
But what do I do now? Going home isn’t an option. I’m not even sure where home is. Charlie was right. I’ve been a nomad for two years. I don’t have a life to go back to. What do I do now?
My phone rings. I know it’s Henrik, but there’s nothing left to say. I pull it out to silence the ringer, and I see it’s not Henrik. It’s a text from a number I don’t recognize. From the number, I’m guessing it’s a London exchange.
I click to download the message. It’s a picture of a sunrise over the ocean. The caption reads, Change your mind yet? Ibiza is beautiful in the morning –Sven.
I tap the driver on the shoulder. “Could you take me to the airport instead?” I text Sven back. Let’s make some headlines.
Being a good girl hasn’t gotten me anywhere. Maybe it’s time this good girl goes bad.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Arianna
The sun blinds me as I step out of the airport. The salty Mediterranean air blows through my hair as I look for Sven. I spot him leaning against a small red convertible.
He smiles as I approach. “When I got your text, I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Even when you sent me your flight information, I didn’t believe you’d actually come. But here you are. Live, in the flesh.” He draws out the word flesh. The way his eyes travel over my body makes me feel exposed, naked, practically violated. With his lips puckered, he steps toward me.
Pushing my hand against his chest, I step backward. “That is not part of the deal. I’m here to have fun, live on the edge a little. But my flesh”—I gesture to my body—“is off-limits. That’s the deal—take it or leave it.”
He wrinkles his nose in disgust. From his expression, you’d think I’d just asked him to lick his exhaust pipe. “A platonic party buddy?”
“I can’t do this if I have to worry about you trying to get into my pants. You’ve been telling me for years that I need to break the rules a little. Now I’m taking you up on it. Think of it as you being my tour guide to Gomorrah.”
“All party with no pussy makes Sven a dull boy.”
“I’m not stopping you from playing with anyone else.”
He pouts. “Sounds boring. Why should I waste my time?”
I turn on my heel. “Then don’t.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” He grabs my shoulder. “Fine. I promise to behave.”
“I’m not kidding, Sven. I have no idea why, but I’m trusting you. If you step out of line even once, I will chop your dick off and superglue it to your forehead so that all other women are warned what a dickhead you really are.”
He holds his hand over his heart. “I will be a perfect gentleman. Now the people I’m staying with on the other hand, I can’t make the same guarantee. Maybe we should find our own place.”
“Fine by me. Just lead the way.”
He opens the car door. “Your chariot to hell, milady.”
Just as we get on the road leaving the airport, my phone rings. Not wanting to speak to anyone, I ignore it, but it keeps ringing.
Sven holds out his hand. “Give me that.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
I reach into my bag, pull out my phone, and hand it to him. He throws it out the window. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch my phone bounce along the concrete, smashing into pieces. I feel better already.
“We’re escaping reality, remember?” he says. “Pick up another one when you return to the real world. Until then, all that thing would do is kill your buzz.”
The island is beautiful. Much like other Mediterranean islands, it’s built up along the coastline. Colorful buildings are constructed practically on top of each other. Everyone trying to grab their piece of the ocean view. From the main road, I see a mixture of resorts with enormous pools and areas for outdoor clubs and small villages with houses and churches.
Since the March weather is still cool, Ibiza is fairly slow. Sven was able to connect us with a fantastic villa built on a cliff overlooking the water. After stopping to do some quick shopping for me, we arrive just after eight o’clock at night. From the back deck, all I can see is the endless expanse of sea and sky. It’s breathtaking. The house is thin and long with floor-to-ceiling windows so that every room has a view of the ocean. Every bedroom has a balcony. It’s too cold for the infinity edge pool, but there are several heaters and a fire pit, so I suspect we’ll spend quite a bit of time outside.
Sven joins me on the deck. “This’ll make for one hell of an after party.” He points at one of the balconies. “We can have the DJ set up over there and use this area here by the pool as a dance floor.”
I scoff. “Maybe tomorrow. I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept in days.” I turn to walk back into the house.
He grabs my elbow. “Oh no, no, no. Tonight is happening. 7Q9 is playing tonight. It’s the whole reason I’m here. We’re going.”
“I have no idea who that is, but I’m sure he or she or they will be great.” I tap his shoulder and pull away. “You can go. I’ll go out tomorrow. I promise.”
“You’re not living up to your part of the bargain. How can I show you a good time if you’re stuck in the house? I’ll give you something that will put a little pep in your step.”
I roll my eyes. “Now who’s not living up to their part of the bargain?”
“That’s not what I mean.” He pulls a vial out of his pocket. “Insta-energy.”
Cocaine? Jesus, what the hell am I doing? This was a mistake. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re not playing anymore, so that whole ‘my body is a temple’ shit doesn’t fly. You’re not even getting drug-tested anymore. One little line won’t kill you, but it could make you feel all better.”
He pours a little of the white powder on the glass table then uses a credit card to divide it into neat lines. He pulls a five hundred Euro note out of his wallet and rolls it up tightly. He holds it out to me. “Nothing will help you forget your t
roubles faster. I can promise you that.”
His peer pressure is so cliché. Straight out of an after-school special. But clichés become cliché for a reason. They’ve been used a million times over and work every time. He’s right. What reason do I have for saying no? There’s no one left to disappoint. Very soon my life will be tabloid fodder, so even if I get caught, all I’ll be doing is throwing another log into the forest fire. It won’t matter. If Daddy is watching from above, I can’t possibly disappoint him as much as he’s disappointed me. It would serve him right.
I snatch the Euro from Sven. “How do I do this?”
The cocaine burns. I feel it in my sinuses all the way up to my eyes. The taste of chewed-up aspirin fills my mouth and drips down the back of my throat. The discomfort only lasts a few moments though. I’m waiting for a big rush. A life-changing moment. Something that lives up to all the hype. I feel a little bit of energy but nothing monumental.
I look at Sven. “This is it? I have to say it fails to live up to my expectations. I really don’t see what the big deal is about this stuff. It seems like such a scam. How much did you pay for this? Maybe you should ask for your money back. Are you sure you bought the right stuff? I hear they cut the cocaine with all sorts of stuff. Maybe you bought a bad batch. How would you know anyway? Do you have a testing kit? How long have you been doing this?” The words spill out of me as though some sort of verbal dam has burst. I can’t say them fast enough to keep up with my thoughts.
Sven laughs. “Clearly you’re not feeling anything at all. Try another. Maybe you need just a little bit more.”
No longer nervous, I do another one. We sit and chat, and slowly the conversation becomes more animated. I have the urge to share every thought that comes through my mind. We talk about the patio furniture and child labor laws in South East Asia and if I should put out my own clothing line and why does Count Chocula cereal only come out at Halloween. I never feel the tidal wave of euphoria I was expecting, but I do feel different. With each line I snort, I feel as if I chip away at the darkness that has encased me for months.
Sven blows another line then stands and wipes his nose. “You need to put one of those party dresses on and get to this party.”
It takes a while for me to get out the door. Which is so unlike me. I’m usually much more direct, but not tonight. I have to try on everything we bought then try it on again.
Eventually I come downstairs in a sequined backless dress that barely covers my covers my ass. “Let’s go stir up some trouble.”
He whistles. “In that dress, trouble will find you. There’s no doubt about that.”
Sven drives us to some village with an open market square in the center of town. For the holiday, it’s been transformed into huge outdoor club. The stone-and-stucco buildings have been painted in glow-in-the-dark paint that shines under the huge black lights. The music is so intense the reverberation of the bass makes my whole body hum. It’s the most exhilarating feeling. The energy is unparalleled by anything I’ve ever felt before. I have a constant sense of anticipation. I feel as though I’m on the cusp of something amazing, and each moment, no matter how banal, does not disappoint.
The night is full of meeting new friends and seeing a few people I’ve met before. Most of Sven’s “friends” are a group of posh Brits who live off of their family money. They’re spending their spring hopping between ski/snowboard fests all over Europe. They’re stopping in Ibiza for a little “R&R” between competitions. A nagging feeling in the back of my brain desperately wants to mock them for their pretentious, trust-fund-baby lifestyle, but I don’t. Any negative thoughts just float away as I do another line.
Despite the great music, I don’t dance. I’m too busy talking to pause the conversation to dance. We talk about cars and parties and fashion shows. Who knows who and who’s been seen where. No one cares who I am or who my father was. They look down on American football, which is kind of refreshing. There’s no pressure to conform to some preconceived notion of who I’m supposed to be. They don’t care. We talk about boats and cars and planes and parties. Its empty, meaningless, and sheer perfection.
The party in the village goes on until dawn. When the sun peeks up over the horizon, I’m shocked. Did the entire night go by that fast? I feel as though we just got here. We rush back to the villa just before dawn. Sven turns on the heaters, I pull all the blankets off the beds, and we bundle up and watch the sunrise.
I can see why people get addicted to this feeling. I feel invincible. For the first time in months—no, for the first time in my life, I feel free. I don’t ever want it to end.
Three days go by in a blur, which is amazing because we don’t stop to sleep and we barely eat. It’s an endless party, but it feels as though it’s gone in the blink of an eye. Shopping, clubs, and parties fill the days and nights. The parties don’t end at dawn—the drinks just switch from martinis to mimosas, bourbons to Bloody Marys. Someone turns the music up louder, and the party carries on. We meet endless streams of people. If this is what Ibiza is like during the slow season, I can’t imagine what it’s like during its busiest time. We’re on the go from sun up to sun down and sun up again. There isn’t a moment to stop and think, and I love it. I could stay here forever.
Around noon on my third day on the island, the party thins. I’m lying on the balcony, trying to soak up some sun, when some guy plops down on the chair next to me and starts ranting and raving about how he doesn’t understand Americans girls’ obsession with circumcised penises. Or is it peni? Or is penis like deer and fish where it doesn’t change when you make it plural? Anyway, his accent is so thick and he’s talking so fast that it’s hard to follow, but apparently he’s just been rejected by some girl, and as I’m the closest American, he’s venting his grievance to me.
Thankfully, Sven comes over to save me. He taps the guy on the shoulder. “You’re in my seat.”
“Find another seat,” the guy sneers.
Sven claps. “That’s it. Party’s over. Everyone get the hell out.”
He walks across the room and flashes the lights, but it’s so bright in here from the mid-day sun pouring through the windows I’m not sure it makes a difference. Slowly though, the last few party hangers-on leave.
Sven lies down on the chaise next to me. “Parties are fun, but sometimes they just need to end. The longer the blow binge goes on, the more the quality of the conversation and the company starts to degrade. Sometimes it’s best to reboot and start fresh. What do you think about taking a little trip? There’s another major party in Reykjavik. Some of the hottest DJs around will be there. It’ll be wild. Want to come?”
This has been a nice break from reality, but at some point, don’t I need to deal with the mess waiting for me in San Francisco? Do I care?
Sven opens his iPad, taps on it a few times, then hands it to me. The browser is open to the music fests website. I have no idea who any of these DJs are, but from the pictures from last year, the party looks crazy. Wall-to-wall people, strobing lights, everyone glowing from Day-Glo paint.
“What else do you have going on?” he asks. “The French Open isn’t until May. You’ve got months before you have to be anywhere. Doesn’t this look like fun?”
He’s wrong. I told my agent to cancel everything for me for the year so I could spend more time focusing on my relationship. Ha! That’s not going to happen. For the first time in my life, I have absolutely nothing to do.
While I consider whether I want to extend my vacation from the real world, I check Google News to see if any news about Daddy has leaked. It’s only a matter of time. With all of the publishing houses that woman sent her proposal to, there’s bound to be a secretary or assistant who’s underpaid and overworked and looking to make a quick buck by leaking the story of the year. I scroll through the news feed but don’t see anything, so I type in Daddy’s name. A picture of Chase pops up.
Brennan Pays Tribute to Former Coach, the late Aiden Aldrich, in Touching Speech a
t NSSA Awards
I don’t know how Chase can stand there and preach about Daddy as if he were a saint. After exiting the browser, I close the cover of the iPad. “All this sun is starting to give me a headache. Let’s go to Iceland.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chase
If I can’t be with Ari, I’m damn well going to put a stop to this book deal. She may be furious with her father right now, but she’ll be devastated if her family’s name is dragged through the mud. Even if this woman’s claims are true, the whole world doesn’t need to know about them. And more importantly, I’m going to do my best to get answers.
Trying to sleep the night Ari leaves is a waste of time. My brain won’t turn off. Where is she? Is she okay? Of course she’s not okay—her whole world just imploded. I know she’s strong, but I fear this may break her. The human spirit can only be pushed so far, and I think she’s at her limit. Arianna was always the ice princess. She had an impenetrable emotional force field; nothing made her flinch. Then Aiden died, and the ice thawed, revealing the beautiful, vulnerable, and entirely real person that I’d always known was hiding under there. She’s so fragile. Not weak by any means but almost childlike, as though this is her first time experiencing raw emotion. She rebounded from his death but not easily. I worry what this will do to her. She always put her parents on such a high pedestal. Their fall from grace might just take her down with them.
As worried as I am about her, I’m fucking pissed she’s turned me into the villain of this story. She really has a gift for playing six degrees of how everything is Chase’s fault. If she tried, I’m sure she could figure out how I shot JFK. I know she’s hurt and lashing out, but I’d thought we were past this shit. I was looking at rings for Christ’s sake. She’s the person I want to be with for the rest of my life. Not just for times of success but because she’s the one I want with me when life throws curveballs. I’d finally thought we were in a place where we could rely on each other. Lean on each other. But here she is, pulling the same old crap. Pushing me away because it’s easier than letting me in. Our only chance for a future together is if we stop reliving the past.
Love To Hate You Page 22
