by Colet Abedi
“Clayton!”
“The way I think I’ll die without you. Every. Single. Time. ” His voice is filled with passion, as his forehead comes to rest against mine.
Connected.
Not just our bodies.
But our hearts.
“So when you met her, you basically resembled a pig in shit?” Erik says. He’s sitting on the bed watching me model outfit after outfit. I recruited him and Orie to help me find the perfect look for lunch.
Orie’s turned the wingback chair away from the fire to face me and has his legs stretched out on a side table. I’m surprised he isn’t sitting next to Erik on the bed. They both seemed a bit off when they walked in. I really hope they’re not still fighting.
“Kind of,” I nod as I turn in a small circle to show outfit number three. According to Erik, outfit number one was “trying too hard” and outfit number two said “screams we come from two different worlds and mine sucks.”
So now I have on a pair of black tights, knee length black boots and a gray, long-sleeved cashmere fitted dress that comes up above my knees. I’ve left my hair down and put a minimal amount of make-up on, hoping not to come off as overly done up.
“Now this, this, I like,” Erik approves.
“I love this whole look,” Orie agrees as he checks me out. “You have great legs, Sophie.”
“Thank you,” grateful the two of them can make me feel so confident. “But are you sure? You don’t think I should try anything else?”
“This is it,” Erik says with finality.
“You’re classy. Stylish. And pretty,” Orie agrees.
“Just don’t trip over your own two feet in front of the woman or spill a drink,” Erik warns. “Especially on her.”
“Must you?” Orie asks him with some annoyance. There’s an edge to his voice that I’ve never heard before.
“Must I what?” Erik snaps back. I watch as his eyes narrow in annoyance.
Uh oh. Definitely still arguing.
“Be so negative?” Orie tells him.
“How is what I said negative?” Erik challenges.
“Guys,” I say, hoping this isn’t about to turn into a full-blown fight.
Erik waves his hand at me, basically telling me to be quiet.
“I’m really tired of you picking on me,” Erik says to Orie, his voice raises an octave in anger. “It’s getting old.”
My heart sinks.
I don’t want something bad to happen between them. I love them together. I’ve never seen them be so aggressive or angry with one another.
Orie stands up. “I don’t want to do this right now.”
“That’s a shocker,” Erik mutters.
I watch Orie clench his fists at his side and attempt to get a grip. I know he’s dying to lay into Erik, I can totally see it. But he controls himself.
“Sophie, you look gorgeous,” Orie tells me with a forced smile. “They would be complete idiots not to fall in love with you.”
“Thank you, Orie,” I say softly.
“Will I see you tonight?” he asks me.
“Where?”
“They’re doing a game night party with board games and everything.”
“Sounds like fun,” I tell him. “I will for sure be there.”
“See you then, beautiful.”
He comes over and kisses me on the cheek and leaves the room. I can see the hurt in his eyes and I wonder what is going on. When the door clicks shut I swing around to face Erik.
“What was that about?”
“Nothing,” he shrugs. Then, “We’re fighting. Isn’t it obvious?”
I’m kind of shocked. “Yes, but why?”
“Because he flirted with that French shit the other night.” Erik’s voice is filled with a good deal of animosity.
“What French shit?” I ask in confusion.
“That Georgie,” Erik tells me. “Abby’s sad version of me.”
“Versace Georgie?” I’m flabbergasted. “He wouldn’t.”
“Trés.” Erik nods his head.
“Are you sure you’re not overthinking this and making yourself crazy for no reason? I’m a great example of that,” I remind him.
“I’m a man, Sophie,” Erik tells me harshly. “I know flirting when I see it. And it sucked.”
If he’s right, I’m sure it did. I watch him get up and walk over to the bottle of champagne that he and Orie brought in for me, and pour himself a glass. He throws it back like water.
I try to come up with an argument. “Flirting is not cheating.”
Erik pins me with his gaze.
“Would you take that same advice?”
“No,” I say automatically. “But look at me. I’m a hot mess. I’m still trying to get my shit together. I’m the last person you should look to as an example.”
“You’re not a mess.” Erik shakes his head then closes his eyes rather dramatically, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but you’re the furthest from a mess you’ve been in a long time.”
My smile is automatic.
“Really?”
“Really.” Erik tries to smile. “But don’t get too excited, you could always fall back to your old ways.”
He’s right, but I choose optimism and get back to the topic at hand.
“Orie loves you,” I tell him. “It’s so obvious. Anyone can see it. Maybe it wasn’t what you thought it was. Maybe you’re just reading into things. Never make assumptions, right?”
Erik actually acknowledges my words then sighs. “We’ll work through it. I just—”
“What?” I ask as I walk over to sit next to him. I take his hand in mine. Erik’s vulnerability hits me hard.
“I’ve never felt like this before, Sophie,” he says. “This is going to sound really fucked—”
“Go ahead,” I encourage him when he falters.
“I’m always the one who loses interest first,” he says quietly.
I have to pause for a moment. “Why are you even saying this?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
I can hear the hesitation and uncertainty in Erik’s voice and I’m more than surprised by it. My best friend is the most confident person I know. Insecurity and fear aren’t words in his vocabulary.
“Orie is not losing interest,” I say with assurance, then give him a teasing grin. “You’re just being sensitive.”
Erik looks unsure.
“Come on,” I tell him. “This isn’t you.”
“I know,” Erik mumbles. “I feel like after all these years, you’ve finally started rubbing off on me and not in a good way. Like in an Ebola virus way.”
I laugh. I’m not offended in the least.
“Listen to me. You’re reading too much into the situation. You need to stop and get a grip.” I watch Erik’s eyes widen at my words. I realize I’m saying almost the same thing he would to me.
I go on like I’m the Dalai Lama. “Let’s say he did have a flirtatious moment with Georgie. Can’t you just call it that? A moment?”
“Would you?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “But I’m not you.”
Erik closes his eyes.
“I don’t want to lose him.”
I pull him in for a hug.
“You’re not going to lose him, Erik,” I say. “You’re not thinking clearly. That’s all. This is just a moment. And it’s going to pass, like they all do.”
He hugs me hard. I can feel his pain and it hurts to see him like this because he’s always the strong one. The force to be reckoned with. The one that I go to with all my problems and issues for him to solve.
I study his face for a second before I make up my mind.
“I won’t go to lunch,” I tell him emphatically.
“What?” he says as he pulls away to look down at me.
“Let’s you and I go into town to one of those markets and shop, hang out, let loose,
and go wine tasting.” To be honest it sounds way more appealing than a lunch with Clayton’s posh family where I’m going to have to try and be the perfect version of myself.
A version that I don’t even know exists.
He pulls away to frown at me.
“Are you crazy?”
“Yes,” I laugh. “We’ve established that.”
“No way.” He shakes his head.
“I don’t want to leave you if you’re sad,” I tell him with concern. “You would never leave me if the tables were turned.”
“I’m a big boy. I’m going to be fine on my own for a couple of hours. There is no way I will let you miss this lunch for me,” he says firmly. “Go hang with the aristocrats. I’ll be here when you get back and we’ll get drunk and you can tell me every detail because you know if I could I’d spy on you and point out everything you missed.”
“I wish you were coming.” And I really do.
“Me too. Beats sitting here and avoiding a confrontation with Orie.”
“Maybe that’s what you guys need,” I say with some encouragement.
“No,” Erik shakes his head. “I can’t go there yet. Instead, I’m going to pull a Sophie Walker and avoid him at all costs.”
An hour later I’m sitting with Clayton and his family at a restaurant in a small boutique hotel overlooking the lush valley of Avignon. It’s incredible. The owner of the restaurant knows the Sinclairs and has personally come out three times to make sure everything is okay. Clayton’s father is extremely quiet and reserved, especially when he speaks to his eldest son. You can cut the tension between them with a knife. But I notice how his demeanor warms up whenever the conversation is directed at Michael.
“So I hear you’re an artist,” his mother says to me with an inquisitive smile. I think she’s warmed up a bit toward me.
She literally did a double take when I walked up to the table with Clayton and Michael. I’m still embarrassed that I met her for the first time looking like a disaster but since there’s nothing I can do about it now, I figure I’ll try my best to impress her in every other way and pretend like that never happened.
“Yes, I am,” I answer as I rack my brain for appropriate parent small talk. Since I had known Jerry’s parents forever I was never uncomfortable or unsure around them. Clayton’s parents are another story.
His mom picks at the burrata and tomato appetizer.
“And you dropped out of law school,” she goes on to say casually.
I know I can’t be surprised she knows, but hearing a parent say it, especially the mother of the man I happen to be in love with, makes me feel like I’m on the defensive. Like I need to prove to her that I’m worthy of her son’s affections and I’m not some hoochie mama trying to take advantage of his extraordinary looks and wealth.
“Sophie’s an incredible artist,” Clayton interjects before I can think of the proper response. He leans over and kisses me on the head. “She was wasting her time in law school.”
I don’t know who’s more surprised by his spontaneous show of affection, his mother or me. Michael beams. I can feel the blush creep up my cheeks but I give Clayton a grateful look.
“I’m sure she is, dear. Clearly.” Clayton’s mother quickly tries to placate him. “I would love to see her work.”
“You’ll have to ask her,” Clayton says. “But she’s usually very guarded about it.”
“That’s not true!” I say, then look at Rosalind Sinclair. “You can see my work anytime.”
As if there would be a chance in hell that I would say no to his mother.
“You wouldn’t show it to me in the Maldives,” he points out candidly.
“Not my unfinished work,” I correct him.
He squeezes my shoulder affectionately and winks at me.
I think an alien might have taken over his body. I’ve never seen him like this. Teasing. Affectionate. What is going on?
“So tell us, Sophie, were you born and raised in Los Angeles?” Clayton’s father asks this question.
“Yes,” I answer politely. “My father is a criminal defense attorney and has his own practice. I’ve been in LA my whole life.”
“So you tried to take up your father’s profession,” he deduces.
“Yes,” I admit. “But unfortunately it didn’t work out quite the way he would have liked.”
“I’m sure your father just wants you to be happy,” he muses. Then, “Did you ever work for him to try it out firsthand?”
I feel Clayton stiffen.
“Every summer,” I answer automatically, before I recall the conversation I had with Clayton in the Maldives. I remember that he told me he wanted nothing to do with his father’s business and refused ever to work for him. Crap. I wish I had lied.
“Of course,” his father says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze flicks over Clayton. I can see the that Clayton still annoys him. “It’s what most children do.”
“Harold,” Clayton’s mother warns.
He smiles innocently at his wife. “I meant nothing by it, my dear.”
I quickly change the subject. “Do you have any vacation plans after the wedding, Lady Sinclair?”
“Please just call me, Ros,” she tells me with a smile.
I nod politely, grateful that she’s treating me warmly.
“And to answer your question, no, I don’t have any vacation plans. I’ll just be heading back to our summer home in Montecito.”
I look at Clayton in surprise.
“Our Montecito? Near Santa Barbara?”
“Yes, dear,” she answers. “Didn’t Clayton tell you that we have a family home there?”
I shake my head.
“No. It never came up.”
So if the Sinclairs own a home only two hours away from Los Angeles, that means that there’s a possibility that he comes to LA at least a few times a year.
“That may be because Clayton hardly ever comes to visit,” Ros says drolly. “He’s always working.”
There goes that beam of hope.
“And Michael,” Rosalind smiles affectionately at her son. “You’re just as bad. But I never give up faith.”
“I have the best excuse possible,” Michael says with a teasing grin.
“What’s that?” Clayton raises a brow.
“I’m trying to save the world.”
Clayton shares a smile with his brother.
“Touché.”
“Clayton is quite philanthropic as well,” Ros chides. “Just because he’s not swinging from vines in the jungles of Costa Rica doesn’t make his generous contributions any less significant.”
“No,” Michael agrees. “But he has yet to come and spend a week with me to really understand firsthand where he puts his money. I can’t keep track of how many times I’ve asked. Even William’s come along on one of the trips.”
“My schedule—” Clayton begins.
“You can make time,” Michael interrupts. “You’re the boss. Look at it as sibling bonding time.”
Clayton crosses his arms and stares at Michael.
“Sophie can come along for an adventure,” Michael tells Clayton, then looks at me, “if it interests you, of course.”
“I’d love to,” I answer automatically. I’m sure it would be the chance of a lifetime.
“Alright,” Clayton agrees, as he reaches over to squeeze my hand. “Send me a few dates and we’ll see what we can make work.”
I don’t miss the “we.” I wonder if he’s serious about going.
“Are you heading back to Los Angeles after the wedding, Sophie?” Ros asks, then takes a sip of her martini.
All eyes turn to me. The sick feeling of having such a short time with Clayton rushes through me. It was the same way in the Maldives. Whenever I thought about how many more days we had together I was instantly nauseated.
“Well,” I stammer, because a part of me is praying Cl
ayton will interrupt again and declare his love for me then and there, but real life never seems to work out that way.
“I am,” I tell her almost nervously. “I’ll be heading back, but Erik and Orie, my friends who are here with me, they’ll be taking a brief tour of Europe.”
“That’s too bad,” Ros says then pins her gaze on her son. “Does that mean you’re planning on accompanying her to Los Angeles, Clayton?”
God.
I’d pay to hide under the table right now. Literally. Like a thousand dollars. Maybe two. I don’t dare look at Clayton because I can just imagine the look on his face.
“Could you make this anymore awkward for them, mother?” Michael admonishes his mom. God bless him for it.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” she says as innocently as she can manage. Her statement is obviously a lie but I’d bet a million dollars that I don’t have that no one would dare call her out.
“I don’t mind the question, Michael. I am actually planning on traveling with her home,” Clayton says nonchalantly to my complete and utter shock. He drapes a possessive arm around my chair and gives me a smile.
“I’d like to meet her parents.”
12
“That whole thing you said about meeting my parents,” I turn to Clayton in the car as he drives us back to his home.
“Yes?”
He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips. The soft kisses make my skin tingle and momentarily make me lose my sanity because I blurt out the question without any thought.
“Were you serious?”
I silently curse myself for asking.
“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” he asks in a curious tone.
Insecure Sophie takes over like a fast-moving fungus.
“I don’t know,” I begin. “I just thought you might be trying to make me feel comfortable in front of your family.” I shrug as if it’s no big deal and try to pretend that it doesn’t matter to me when it so matters. Actually, way more than matters.
When he doesn’t answer right away I go on lamely. “Considering we’ve never talked about it before.”
