Page 23

“I don’t know anything.” It’s true. I did all the talking last night, blabbing away while he listened but gave nothing in return. “Do you know something?”
She waves a hand. “You know me. I mind my own business. Now, I need to go clean.” She leaves before I can say another word.
I would nag Gigi for information about Riley, but it’d be a waste. She doesn’t share people’s stories, believing we should share our own stories in our own time, on our own terms.
After eating my breakfast, I walk out onto the balcony and scan the grounds, taking in the beautiful landscape and morning. A couple of birds chirp in the distance. I look everywhere, resisting the urge to focus on the pool house. What if Riley can see me? I don’t want him to think I’m spying.
“What’s your story?” I murmur and turn my head, pretending to look at the hills when really my gaze is on the pool house. He couldn’t possibly tell the direction I’m staring from this far away. If he’s even watching me, which I doubt.
Five minutes pass before I give up on catching a glimpse of him and head inside. I text Aaron that he can collect the cart, and then I push it into the hallway.
This is how my life was when I lived here as a child, but after Mom moved us to Connecticut, I didn’t have this kind of pampering. Mom had a chef for her dietary needs—models can’t gain weight—but she wanted me to cook and clean for myself. I did poorly at both. We had a cleaning lady come once a week, but she was instructed not to touch my room or bathroom.
We had a landscape company do the yard work or else I would have been in trouble. I don’t know dick about pulling weeds or trimming trees…and lawn mowers? Forget it.
Plus, it would have made Mom and Gerard look cheap if we were the only house in the posh neighborhood without a yard service.
Two knocks sound on the door. “Nova, it’s Gigi. Inez tells me you’re not feeling well.”
This is why lying is bad; one always spirals into more.
I open the door. “I’m feeling better actually. Must have been my sugar.” I don’t have diabetes, but my condition is similar. To my credit, if I hadn’t eaten when I did, I would have suffered a bad episode or a “sugar attack” as I call it.
“Oh, good. I have a neighborhood committee meeting I need to get ready for, but I was going to cancel if you weren’t well.”
“I’m fine.” I tug the belt to my robe. “I was about to get dressed.”
“You have the doors open.” Gigi breezes toward the balcony, steps outside, and inhales the fresh air. “This is one of the reasons why I chose this room for you. It has one of the largest balconies and an impressive view. The weather here is simply perfect, don’t you think? Much nicer than on the East Coast.”
“For sure.” I stand at the threshold.
“You could do yoga out here in the mornings.”
Gigi does it on her balcony every day before breakfast.
“Maybe.”
“It’s great for the mind. Keeps plaguing thoughts away.” She turns to me, her workout clothes the same color as the sky.
I nod. Agreeing with Gigi is easier than disagreeing and, who knows, maybe I’ll try yoga out here one morning.
“How was dinner with Riley?” Her jade-colored eyes hold mine. “Did he like the pasta?”
“He did.” I fold my arms and lean against the doorframe.
“And…?”
“And nothing. We ate. I did most of the talking, and that was it.”
“Oh.” She tilts her head, her brows drawn. “Did you have fun?”
“As fun as two strangers can have.”
“You’re not strangers.” She waltzes inside and opens the closet doors. “You’ve known him for years.”
“I met him years ago. I haven’t known him for years.” There’s a difference.
“Did you see the new outfits I had sent over for you?” She fingers through the dresses, shirts, rompers, and jeans hung on the left side.