The Dahlia Trilogy (The Gilded Flower Series)

by Winslow, Vivian

  Chapter 6

  “Tell me where he is, Mother.” Dahlia stands, hands on her hips, as her mother casually flips through an interior design magazine. Not wanting to be ignored, she bends down to speak into her ear. “I want to know where I can find him.”

  Her mother finally looks up. “Who, dear?”

  Dahlia pushes away the dryer and says, “I think all these foils are affecting your brain cells. You know who I’m talking about.”

  “Everything alright here, ladies?” A jaw-droppingly beautiful man with hazel eyes appears. Dahlia can’t help but admire his lean, muscular body and chiseled face. He places his hands on her mother’s shoulders and gives her a gentle massage. Finally he bends down and says in a low voice, “You look magnificent today.”

  Her mother returns his look with a smile, her blue eyes sparkling.

  “I’ll get you and your beautiful daughter a glass of champagne. Although I swear she could be your sister.” He winks at Poppy.

  Dahlia can barely disguise an audible gasp as she glimpses the tight ass in his fitted jeans as he walks away.

  “Stop drooling, dear,” her mother smirks. “I hardly think Rodrigo would appreciate your wandering eye.”

  “He’s a bit young for you, Mother, don’t you think?” Dahlia asks, snidely.

  “Age is immaterial, Dahlia,” her mother replies, coolly.

  Dahlia rolls her eyes. “If that’s the philosophy you’re going to run with. Now that I have your attention, Mother, I want you to tell me what I need to know.”

  “I don’t know why you want to open that door again, Dahlia.”

  They stop sneering at each other and smile politely as an assistant offers them champagne.

  “Because, if I am going to move to Miami to be with Rodrigo, I need to close out that chapter of my life.”

  “We could get our lawyers involved again.”

  “That could take time, which I don’t have a lot of. That’s why I’m here instead of searching for him myself.”

  Her mother purses her lips, searching her daughter’s face. After what feels like an eternity, she replies, “I’ll make a call and have his address to you by tonight. Dahlia, I truly hope you know what you’re doing.”

  She raises an eyebrow at her mother and says, “I could say the same to you. Perhaps we’re more alike than you think, Mother.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” her mother says, taking a long drink of her champagne.

  Chapter 7

  Dahlia hugs her knees to her chest as she perches on a break wall. She wraps her cardigan around her tightly to block the cold, damp early morning breeze. From behind her Wayfarers, she watches the water, timing the waves like he once taught her to do. Dahlia steels herself against the feelings that begin to roll in like the tide—the roar of the waves drowning the pounding of her heart. She should’ve known she was never going to get away from her past that easily.

  An hour passes before she sees him emerge from the water. He had caught the last wave with incredible ease, managing a frontside cutback after his first bottom turn. It was a flawless move she’d seen him do many times before. But this time it appeared effortless. Perhaps because this time, he wasn’t surfing for anyone else—not the judges, the sponsors, or even her.

  Dahlia’s breath hitches as he draws closer. Over the past seven years she had managed to push his memory so far back in her mind that he could’ve been a figment of her imagination. She never stalked him on the Internet or allowed herself the luxury of wondering about him, or ever played out the “what if’s” to their story. It was a passionate and painful two years of her life, which, despite all the partying and destructive behavior, she could never completely forget.

  She remains on the wall as he walks toward her. Little has changed about him except his arms and chest are more muscular than before. It appears to be the only visible difference between the man before her and the barely-twenty guy he was when they met. He doesn’t seem surprised to see her. Perhaps they both knew this day would eventually come. During the flight to Santa Barbara, Dahlia had considered what she would say to him. Somehow, ‘hi’ was the easiest, albeit most banal opener she could think of. But in this moment, as he stands before her, even that simple word is too difficult to utter.

  He rests his board against the wall and lifts her sunglasses off her face. His dark blue eyes stare into hers for what feels like an eternity, radiating an intensity that makes her feel nineteen again. Finally, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and says, “Come with me.”

  Chapter 8

  Dahlia follows him up the weathered wooden steps and down a dirt path, the same one she had taken when she arrived. As they approach the gate, he looks at her curiously when he spots the small tote bag she had left by it. Dahlia shrugs, not bothering to look at him. She had been so anxious to get this over with that she didn’t stop by the hotel to drop off her stuff before heading to the beach. The gate swings open after he punches in a code, and he guides her inside. As soon as it closes behind them, Dahlia lets out a long exhale. She didn’t realize she had been holding her breath this whole time.

  “I’m going to shower,” he says to her. “Help yourself to whatever. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Dahlia nods, still unable to speak. As soon as he’s upstairs, she takes in her surroundings. The walls of windows and limestone are a far cry from the beach shack they used to call home. She smiles as she begins to remember the place with the broken tiled shower and one-burner stove. It was all good enough then.

  The sleek dark wood and stainless steel kitchen reminds her of her own in New York and not one she ever imagined he’d have—especially since he preferred take-out to cooking. Dahlia continues to wander down a hallway and peeks in a few empty guest bedrooms and theater room before stumbling into his office. In the corner stand a few surfboards, one of which she recognizes as the board he rode during the semi-finals in the ASP at San Clemente.

  Dahlia glances over her shoulder, feeling a bit guilty for spying at his things. She scans the wall covered by trophies and pictures, recognizing some she took of him during competition or practice. Behind a few frames she spots a black & white she took of them while they were camping in San Clemente. It had been taken shortly after he signed with his first sponsor. The way he looked into the camera as she gazed up at him reminds her how solid she thought their future was then. Tucked into the frame was a picture she instantly recognized. It was a sketch she had drawn of him surfing Rincon.

  Dahlia traces the lines with her fingers. She had such confidence in her hands then. Her drawings and photographs were more real to her than her own life.

  “I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away,” he says.

  Dahlia turns around surprised to hear his voice, the sketch floating to the floor.

  She swallows as she takes him in leaning against the doorframe. Wearing torn jeans, a white hooded sweatshirt, and blue Reef sandals, he runs his hand through his wet hair. She quickly looks down, picks up the paper, and returns it to its hiding spot in the picture.

  “It’s okay you kept it,” she says in a low voice. She glances around the room and then at the floor. Her eyes move everywhere but never stay on him.

  “Are you hungry?” He asks.

  She shrugs.

  “Well I am. Let’s go. Grab your bag.”

  Dahlia proceeds to the door and waits for him to move his arm. The proximity and his post-shower scent draw her close to him. There it is, she thinks to herself. The pull in her core, the reason she stayed away for so long. She wasn’t sure if she would have the strength to leave him again.

  Chapter 9

  They ride quietly for a few miles, Dahlia noticing how much downtown Santa Barbara has changed over the years. And how much he’s changed, from driving an old, beat-up truck to a shiny, new Range Rover. But she won’t ask. She doesn’t want to know.

  He puts the car into ‘Park’ across from Backyard Bowls. Leaning against the door, he asks, “Are
you going to tell me why you’re here?”

  Dahlia sighs and gives him a pained expression. She opens her mouth to talk, but no words come out. She wants to speak, to say what’s in her heart. But it’s been too long, so long that the words don’t make sense to her anymore. A single tear escapes her as she turns away.

  “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs.

  Dahlia checks her phone. Two missed calls from Rodrigo. She sighs, realizing that she’s going about this all wrong. She should’ve just told him about her past and had the lawyers take care of it. But she didn’t want to involve her family or anyone associated with them. It seems any time her parents, especially her mother, get involved, more people get hurt. She wanted to believe that she could handle this—to confront her past and the one man who could keep her from Rodrigo. Feeling attracted to him after all this time was not something she had consciously counted on.

  He opens Dahlia’s door and hands her a large cup of açai with berries and granola. “I’m assuming you still eat,” he says, with a friendly grin.

  Dahlia nods and manages to return his smile. The memories of their post-surfing breakfasts come back to her. She loved how energized she felt after surfing the dawn with him. They usually followed it with a big breakfast at Backyard Bowls then incredibly long, morning sex. The thought sends a pulse of desire through her.

  “That’s better,” he says. “I want to show you something.”

  Chapter 10

  After driving a few blocks down Montecito, he turns right onto Gray Street and pulls up in front of a non-descript warehouse. Dahlia gasps when he leads her inside. One side of the ten-thousand square foot space is lined with finished surfboards of all sizes: longboards, shortboards, big wave riders, and paddleboards. She walks over and runs her hands along one.

  Motioning toward the back, he says, “Over here is where we finish the boards. I’ve been working on this line for the past few years. It’s become really popular with some of the pro girls. Let’s go.”

  Dahlia trails him to the other side of the warehouse and nods her approval. It’s definitely something she would’ve ridden.

  “I named it the Blue Dahlia.”

  Dahlia’s stomach drops. Her eyes dart from the board to him.

  Pointing to the bottom of the board, he says, “See the insignia? You drew this picture when you were sitting in our backyard one day.”

  “Maybe I should’ve copyrighted it,” she replies with a half-smile.

  “I’ve got to deliver a few of these today. The guys are just hitching a trailer to my car now. You want to come?”

  Dahlia nods. “Sure.” Maybe then they can talk.

  As she follows him to the car, she feels her back pocket vibrate. Rodrigo. She turns off her ringer.

  “You need to take that?” He asks.

  Dahlia shakes her head. “Not right now.”

  Chapter 11

  Driving up Pacific Coast Highway, Dahlia struggles to start the conversation. Fortunately, he does it for her, probably sensing her discomfort.

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re here? I think it’s safe to say that after seven years this isn’t just some casual visit from an old friend.”

  Dahlia raises an eyebrow at him. Friends. As if that’s all they were.

  “You know what I mean, D,” he says, answering her thought.

  She sighs. “We just didn’t leave things right, Shane.”

  “Holy shit. You remember my name. I was to beginning to wonder,” he chuckles. “You haven’t been able to look at me or say my name all morning.”

  Shaking her head, she says, “After all this time, I didn’t realize it would still be so hard.”

  He reaches over and caresses her cheek with his thumb. “I get it, D. So much went down between us. But it’s all good now. You’ve seen for yourself.”

  “My parents’ money made it good, didn’t it?” Bitterness begins to creep into her voice.

  “That’s not fair, Dahlia. And you know it!”

  She looks out the window, tears streaming down her face. He shakes his head and turns up the Cold War Kids, the loud music filling the car and drowning out her cries. Now she remembers why she decided they couldn’t stay together. There was never any communication. They would each say hurtful things and then ignore one another until they’d resolve it by making love. It seems little has changed between them. Except she’s not twenty anymore.

  Turning toward him, she says, “I want you to give me the divorce.”

  Chapter 12

  A couple of hours pass with no response from Shane. Dahlia refuses to speak anymore. She only wants one answer from him. It’s what she came for, and she won’t leave until he agrees. Her plan was to stay in Santa Barbara for the weekend, figuring that his stubborn side would get in the way of a quick resolution. Of course when she envisioned his reaction, she didn’t anticipate having to sit in a car with him for hours.

  Finally, when she can no longer stand the silence, she asks, “How much longer? I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Cambria isn’t far.”

  “We’re stopping in Cambria? Where in the hell are we going?”

  “Santa Cruz,” he replies casually.

  “What the fuck, Shane? I didn’t fly all this way so we could road trip.”

  “Too late, D. I gotta get these boards up to S.C. Besides, what better way for old friends to catch up?” He smirks.

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re an ass, Shane.”

  “I remember a time when you liked my ass,” he says.

  “You better get me back to Santa Barbara tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, saluting her.

  Chapter 13

  Dahlia spots Shane leaning against the black Range Rover when she comes out of the coffee shop. Her breath catches as she allows her eyes to linger a bit more on his body. His chest appears broader, and his sun-kissed hair is still thick but much shorter than it used to be. She shakes her head, trying to keep herself from wondering what it would be like to have his hands on her again. To feel his lips on her body.

  She’s about to open the door when he says, “I picked up some tacos and beer. Let’s go eat on the beach.”

  He leads her down a path to a bank of rocks. She takes a long pull of her Corona as soon as they sit down. Riding in the car was becoming stressful, anger and tension radiating between them. Being near the water feels less stifling.

  “Why won’t you answer me about the divorce?” Dahlia asks.

  “Why do you want one? Wait, let me guess,” he says, taking a bite of his fish taco. “Poppy’s found some trust fund asshole for you.”

  “Jesus, Shane, you’re the asshole.” Dahlia forgets about her taco and drinks her beer.

  “Tell me this, D. Why couldn’t I ever be good enough for you?”

  She shrugs. “Good enough wasn’t the issue.” Dahlia begins to fight back tears. This was the emotional baggage she had tried to avoid all these years.

  “Then tell me, please, D.” He looks at her, his passionate gaze revealing his feelings for her.

  This time it’s Dahlia’s turn to shut down. She picks up her uneaten taco and empty bottle and heads back up the path to the car. She doesn’t have the strength to tell him that she still loves him, but that being with him would always remind her of the baby they lost.

  Dahlia sleeps the rest of the way to Santa Cruz, the emotional and physical exhaustion from traveling and seeing Shane catching up with her.

  He wakes her when they arrive. “This won’t take long,” he says in a sympathetic tone. Clearly, he realizes he’d pushed her too far.

  Dahlia checks her phone. Five missed calls and three texts from Rodrigo. She sighs. He has no idea she’s in California. By now, they would’ve spoken at least once and exchanged several texts like they do everyday. But now she’s too spent.

  Dahlia wakes again just as Shane pulls into a driveway. “Promise me this is it for today,” she mumbles.

  “I promis
e,” he replies, climbing out of the car to open the door for her.

  Leading her to the front door, he says, “Welcome to Casa Walker.”

  Chapter 14

  Dahlia takes in the white oak floors and exposed dark wood beams. The design is flawless, with marble throughout and floor to ceiling glass windows revealing a breathtaking view of the ocean. He shows her the four bedrooms, each with their own en-suite bathrooms and fireplaces.

  “You can sleep here tonight,” he says, leaving her bag on the bed. “It has a view that I think you’ll like.”

  “Thanks,” Dahlia nods, taking in the sweeping panorama of the Pacific.

  “I’ve got some steaks I can grill for dinner. We’ll eat out on the deck. Should be a great sunset tonight.” Shane closes the door before she can respond.

  She sits down on the bay window and pulls out her phone, hugging her knees to her chest.

  “Baby! I’ve been calling you all day,” Rodrigo says.

  “Hey,” she replies quietly. “I miss you.”

  “Is everything alright?” Concern enters his voice.

  Dahlia nods, as if he could see her. “Yeah, it’s been a long day.”

  “Then maybe you should come to Miami sooner rather than later.”

  “I will, I promise. Everything okay with your family?” She asks, trying to distract him.

  “Yeah, you know Alejandro. He’s all worried that some investor is going to start raising hell. You remember Gustavo de Lima?”

  “Uh-huh,” Dahlia says, the name barely registering.

  “He bought a bunch of shares when we went public. My brother is so pissed. Apparently your sister had an affair with him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Dahlia, honey. Are you okay?”

  “Of course, baby, I’m just tired. I flew to California early this morning.”