honey. You guys really need to have the talk.” Genevieve stated, and I watched as Avery and Soraya nodded their agreement.
“Fine.” Lifting the second glass of Champagne to my lips, “Is it time to talk about the cruise yet?”
39
Jurnee
Sunshine beamed through the windows of Anderson’s bedroom as summer’s last-ditch effort to hold its dominance over autumn. Greeted with a good morning kiss, Anderson asked if I was feeling well after yesterday’s afternoon of champagne and girl talk before he slipped out for his morning swim. The smell of the coffee he placed on the nightstand next to me worked its addictive magic.
Replaying the events of the night before, I sipped the hot coffee and snuggled back into Anderson’s bed. An uncontrollable smile took hold as I pieced together how I went from day drinking with the girls to making love to Anderson for the first time. Anderson had said we should probably have an important conversation first, but I was filled with expensive champagne and arousal. It had to have been the right thing to do as I was having no morning after freak out.
Sensing an opportunity, I snuck onto the terrace off Anderson’s bedroom to take pictures of Rover’s plastic toy basket. An idea to have toy boxes made for each of the terraces hit me on the way back from the farm. Fortunately, I had just the person back home who had the woodworking skills this project would require but I would have to request a rush to have them done when the new piglet was old enough to join Rover.
Finding the warmth of the morning sun relaxing, I sat on a decorative bench and leaned against the wall sipping my coffee. The grandeur of the space had been overwhelming in the beginning, but the more time I spent in his parents’ home, the more it began feeling like a house, not the gazillion dollar mansion it really was.
Home. The shape and scope of that word had been evolving little by little every day. Last night had shattered the remaining bit of my wall. He said he wanted me to reconsider staying at his house so that I could wait to sell my place in Michigan. Hearing Anderson’s voice through the window made me smile. As I was getting up to join him inside, I froze when I heard my name.
“Her name is Jurnee Messer. Messer.”
I retook my seat on the bench under the window. As a good Midwest girl, we were taught never to eavesdrop. But as an adult making a life-changing decision about my future, there was zero chance I was moving from this spot. He continued his conversation, and I continued to listen.
“She’s from Michigan.”
Not being able to hear the person on the other side of the phone line was immensely frustrating, but I continued to listen.
“Yes. He ran the basic check.”
Background check?
“Dad, I’m just having some fun. No need to worry.”
“Yeah.”
“I understand.”
“I’ll be more careful.”
“They won’t. She doesn’t come up on any Google search.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“It doesn’t mean anything. Trust me.”
A punch to the gut hit and allowed you time to buckle over and feel the pain. This one got stuck in the punch position. The tingles that covered my arms weren’t like the ones I had experienced the night before as Anderson slid inside of me for the first time. These tingles were the precursor to my heart breaking.
My hand trembled as I set the coffee cup on the nightstand and slipped into one of the casual outfits Anderson had delivered to the house while I was laid up with my ankle. Trying to not make any sounds, I headed to the stairs, knowing the elevator’s ding might alert him of my pending departure.
I pulled out a sheet of paper from my bag and scribbled a quick note.
Not feeling so well. Going to head to the apartment to sleep it off.
The morning air felt different on the sidewalk than it had on Anderson’s parents’ terrace. The warmth and comfort I had felt were replaced with a cool breeze that slapped my tear-soaked face as I walked briskly to the train station. One step in front of the other, that was how I would make it home. Home.
An hour later, I stood in the closet-sized sublet. Most of my clothes were still in the bag that Anderson and Eric had packed in an effort to move me into Anderson’s house. What a fucking joke that was. Hell, what a fucking joke I was.