Luca (I Love the Way You Lie #1) (21 page)

My unconscious is chaotic, conflicted, and terribly irrational.

It was only a short walk to my apartment. The air was warm but slightly windy, ruffling my hair as I walked. My hair blew into my eyes. I stopped, pulling a hairband from my purse; a quick tie and twist and my hair was neatly pulled away from my eyes. The sun was now warming my face. I smiled. It did feel good, and today
was
a great day. I was thankful—blessed. Then why didn’t any of this reach my heart? I was unable to feel, truly feel all the wondrous splendor life was offering me on a silver platter. The days were getting longer and the nights shorter. Well, thank fuck for that. Who needed sleep anyway?
Overrated
, I thought. I bounced up the stairs, pulling the mail free and tucked it under my arm.

I kicked off my pumps, threw the mail on my desk, and poured a glass of pinot noir. I’ve been meaning to read an article in
Modern Psychology Today,
“Fifteen Ways to Love You Better Through Simple Advice.”
Ha!
I laughed, sitting comfortably on my sofa. As
if
the unconscious mind took advice. Unfortunately, my inner-conscience is unkind and often hateful; I’ve been giving myself advice for years. All I get is a big fuck you or not impressed, and I have a degree!

I walked over to my office bookshelf, grabbing for my favorite text to which I’ve relied heavily on. I turned to the chapter “Depersonalization.” A topic I’m very familiar with after working on a case study. It’s commonly associated with childhood trauma, stress, anxiety, depression, bi-polar, obsessive-compulsive disorder, panic attacks, migraine, sleep deprivation, and recreational drug use.
Yes
to all of the above except drugs and migraines.

I took a sip of my coffee to wash the bitterness I had and walked over to my desk to continue reading. This affliction can sometimes be one of split-self, with one part observing and the other participating. I closed the textbook with a slap. Maybe I was suffering from this? I had all the signs. Often times, I feel like I’m in a dream-like state. However, one could chalk that up to not sleeping the night before or just being tired. Huh.
Maybe, I should lay off the coffee?
I thought. Could be I’m just over-stimulated. In any case, I needed to rectify this. Be clear on what going on with me.

My desk was in dire need of organization. After tidying up the pile into little to-do stacks, I went through the mail. There were at least a half dozen advertisements on any given day. After tossing them into the garbage and putting the few bills into their pile, a gold filigree envelope caught my attention. I turned it over.

Ms. Allison Anderson
was imprinted in elegant writing.

Alastair Capital Global

Cordially invites you to our Annual Charity

Gala Under the Stars

To benefit

New York Crisis Center for Women

Saturday May 30
^th
2015

Seven o’clock

Brooklyn Botanical Garden

900 Washington Avenue

Brooklyn, NY 11225

Regrets only

I stood blinking for a solid seven minutes before wiping the unshed tears from my eyes. I never had the Cinderella moment—ever. My eyes glanced to the pumps I kicked off earlier. Nope, not a glass slipper.
Is this real?
I never saw such a beautiful invitation with my name so beautifully written before. Just allow yourself to feel. You’re a good person. Good shit happens to good people
, I thought.

A gala in the most beautiful place in the world—under the stars no less. I sent Mel a quick text, asking if she received hers yet. We spent the next twenty minutes texting back and forth until I picked up the phone, putting an end to the long string of messages. Both of us were cohesive in our recent fortune. We were both left reeling in a sea of
what the fuck
. I felt better for once. I wasn’t the only one second-guessing our recent state of prosperity.

My phone chimed, alerting me that I had a text—Ollie. I let Melissa know and said I’d be in touch. Then I picked my phone up, swiping the screen to the right.

Hey babe,

In town for my show. Me…you…dinner. I’ll send a car.

I can’t wait to catch up. Not being able to talk on tour blows.

I miss that pretty smile. Talk soon.

I smiled happily…thinking no one would know how sweet this rocker was. I missed him, too. It had been a while since we shared a night. I was looking forward to catching up and spending some time with him. I refilled my glass before heading to my closet. I don’t know why I bothered looking; I knew I had nothing fitting for a gala. I’ve spent many a paycheck in some super trendy local boutiques. I had one specifically in mind to call tomorrow. However, I definitely had something cute and sexy for my time with Oliver.

A few hours later

After a much need nap in hair rollers, I showered, taking my time washing and shaving. I wore my makeup heavier than normal—a smoky eye was needed for this dress. It was red, long to the ankle, and I paired it with a black, sling-back heel. It wasn’t so much for Oliver as it was for me. I had the need to feel pretty. It seemed the more stress my body took, the more my mind fucked with me. Unconscious or not…inwardly, I felt like a mess. However, my outward appearance would never show the scars that still demonized me. I had fifteen minutes before the car came to pick me up. I grabbed my lipstick, ID, credit card, and some cash, stuffing it into my black Louie purse.

My wine glass was still half-full. I swallowed the rest down in one breathless chuck.
What a lady
, I thought. I haven’t seen Oliver in a few months, and last meeting wasn’t left on very good terms. He always wanted more than I was willing to give him. Any woman would be lucky to be with him. However, the sore spot between us was still Luca. I didn’t want to rehash the same argument that played on many occasions. Oliver hated Luca passionately. I’m not sure what happened between the boys all those years ago. However, my gut told me it was more about Oliver’s and my friendship than anything else. Luca was crazy possessive in those days. Oliver and I were friends. His friendship grew into something more…on his part. Sure, I loved him. How could you not? But there was only one man that would ever measure up for me—Luca.

My doorbell rang, snapping me out of the past and back into the future.

I couldn’t help but feel emotional at the moment. “My Viking!”

“Hey, gorgeous.” He hugged me, sighing deeply. His head was shaved to the scalp on one side and hung loosely down to his shoulders—severe and wholly Oliver Sven. He’s gained some weight. His thick thighs were draped in chocolate leather. A plain black tee shirt stretched across his massive chest and clung tightly over his abdomen. A simple brown pair of clogs finished him off. Only Oliver Sven could pull off a pair of clogs.
Very Euro-rocker-Viking-chic
, I thought.

“Come in.” I held open the door.

“Nah, babe; we don’t have time.” He checked his watch, tapping it. “Dinner’s waiting.” He smiled. “Maybe my girl’s having her favorite.”

“No?” I was too excited to argue. I didn’t get out much, didn’t cook, and was starved. He grabbed my keys, locking my apartment, and I followed him downstairs to his waiting car. The door shut with a slam and my mouth dropped open. “A Porsche 911 GT1? Where in the world…and
why
, Ollie?”

He opened the suicide door, stepping back to usher me in. “Because, it’s your favorite car, and I’m here to make your dreams come true.”

I kissed his cheek for his absolute sweetness. He really did pay attention to all those mindless conversations. I filed that little bit away for future reference. We drove much too fast to the W Hotel. He explained it’s the only way to drive these cars. While I got that—I really did—we were in NYC traffic, and the stop and go was getting me sick. True to myself, I plastered a smile on my face anyway. His effort was worth the nausea.

Paparazzi lined the street of the W Hotel. News trucks with giant satellites anchored to them along the curb. New Yorkers bottlenecked for pictures and video of this circus. Fuck, this was unbelievable. I turned to him. We normally didn’t do this big show, and opted for back entrances. A tiny crack broke in my heart. Was this for a reason?
God, I hoped not.
I pondered.

The valet sprung to life as we pulled up. Oliver took his time opening my door. Flash. Pop. Flash. Pop. Flash. Pop. I squinted, covering my eyes with the back of my hand and Oliver wrapped his arm around me protectively. My face was snug against his hard abs and I wrapped my arm around him, drawing his calming scent in. He always provided a cage of security I never wanted to leave. Consistent and constant, my burden lightened. We ran into the hotel lobby. It wasn’t much of a break from the cameras. Hotel patron’s gathered, taking in the celebrity scene with vigor. As much as New Yorker’s wanted to paint themselves as nonchalant, they were anything but. Celebrity on your Facebook wall trumped everything. Security surrounded us, walking us to the elevator.

We walked in and he put his key in, hitting PH. “Aren’t we going to dinner?”

“Yes.” He held the door, escorting me off.

“Where?”

“Here.” He opened his suite. The room lit with hundreds of tiny candles leading to an outside deck. I looked around slowly, not believing my eyes. He wasn’t
this
guy. Not many guys were. I spun around, making sure to take it all in.

“Seriously?” One word I hated. However, I didn’t have a more appropriate one. “This is unbelievable, and must have taken you forever to plan. Thank you.” I reached up on my toes, kissing his cheek.

He turned quickly. Every advantage was his now that his arms were around me. “I’d do anything for you.” He kissed my nose.” You know that, right?” His forehead was pressed against mine.

“Yes,” I said breathlessly. He grabbed my bag, placing it on the table, and steered me to the outside table, pulling out my chair. Wow. “This is just so much…”

He curled my hair behind my ear. “Not nearly enough.”

Sigh. I closed my eyes.
What woman wouldn’t crave to hear those words,
I thought. What woman wouldn’t kill to hear those spoken words from someone they loved? Adored?

He poured two glasses of champagne and we toasted to each other. Then he took his seat.

“So, tell me what I’ve missed.”

I smiled, sipping my wine. “Well, NYC Women’s Crisis Center is mostly granted.” I knew he’d be excited for us, despite his offering to fund my project in the past.

“I never doubted you for a minute. I also told you on more than one occasion that I’d love to fund this project for you. Not because it’s you, but because I believe in both you and the project. You’re smart, babe, and I never doubted for a minute you’d make a real difference out there.” He pointed to the hypnotic Manhattan skyline, now lit.

“Thank you, Ollie.” I smiled. “It means the world to me.” I cut it off there because I wasn’t going to bring up
his
name. I didn’t want to ruin the moment. So easy and nice. An argument over Luca isn’t where I saw this night going.

We dined on steak and lobster tails. My favorite, and for that, he owned a piece me. He knew me well. Treated me with care, and never fucked me over. His affection was generous—true.

After dinner, he lit the fire-pit. “Guess what’s for dessert?” His blue eyes darkened. Oh no. I knew that look. When he was turned on, his pupils swallowed the blue of his eyes. He hung back, careful not to press for more too soon. He’s made this mistake before, and it never ended well. It wasn’t that I didn’t care for him. I did. It was about being ready. I was more than willing—he was gorgeous, fucking hot, famous, and my best friend. What more was there? Was I ready, though? Did I have that same addiction I felt for Luca? That spark…burn…fire that I never wanted to turn away from?

“Tell me?” I smirked, knowing he couldn’t resist another moment. He had a kink about feeding me…total foodie. I never probed or asked why. However, he gained some satisfaction. It meant something to him, and it made him happy.

“S’mores,” he said, revealing a silver dome with graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows.

S’mores were some of the last family memories I had before my world was turned upside down. We spent many a summer nights in our yard making them. My brother and I, fighting over marshmallows.
A solid good memory
, I thought. At least I had that.

“Did I ever tell you how much I adore you, Oliver Sven?” I said, kicking off my heels and crossing my legs. I needed to get comfortable to enjoy this. Yes. Yes. Yes. Bring it on. Love me some S’mores.

He handed me a wire, shallow basket. We both opened layering our graham, chocolate, and marshmallow, and then closed and held it over the flame, enjoying the silence. This was a very contemporary way of making S’mores.
Must be Sky Mall
, I thought.

“What?” He came over, sharing the chaise with me. I shrugged. He grabbed a linen napkin, unfolding it to open the hot wire basket. “Here”—he blew on the hot S’more—”open,” he said, and I opened my mouth, closing my eyes. I waited until he placed a temped piece in my mouth—moaning.