And the few times I have had too much to drink, nothing good has ever come from it. So when I do have the chance, I drink slowly. Really try to savor it.
Lucas, on the other hand, is on at least his third glass of whiskey. Clearly he doesn’t experience the same feelings about alcohol that I do.
“Do you want another wine, miss?” the server asks me.
I shake my head. “No thanks. I think I’m good for a while.”
Lucas lifts his glass and the server nods, heading off to get him a refill.
“Not a big drinker?” Lucas asks.
I shrug. “Just don’t like not being able to defend myself.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. My eyes widen and I glance at Lucas.
He’s sitting with his hands frozen where they were cutting his own food, his eyes on me.
I turn and focus my attention on the new plate of food I was just given. Some sort of chicken. I quickly slice it into pieces and stuff a big one in my mouth, looking around at the other people at our table, desperate for anyone to engage in conversation so I can avoid Lucas’ eyes.
“Where did you say you were from?” the woman to my left asks me, and I let out a quiet sigh of relief in my mind.
“Phoenix,” I reply. “Arizona.”
She nods as she daintily cuts up her own chicken. “I have a cousin who used to live there. In Paradise Valley.”
Of course her cousin lived there. I’m pretty sure that’s the richest part of the entire state.
“She and her ex-husband had a home on a golf course until he came home and found her screwing her caddy.”
I nearly choke on my chicken, but manage to sort myself out. Lucas taps me a few times on the back and I give him a grateful grimace.
“That sounds… unpleasant,” I reply.
“From what I heard, it was very pleasant for her.”
It takes everything in me to just nod my head and take a sip of my water without laughing. And from the look on Lucas’ face, I’d guess he’s going through the same thing.
We manage some light chatter with the remainder of guests at our table until I see a woman take the stage to my left.
“Ladies and gentleman, thank you so much for joining us tonight at the Annual Charity Auction for the Arts.”
Everyone applauds. Once it trails off, she continues.
“Our evening tonight is made possible by the Calloway Foundation, who provide one hundred percent sponsorship for this event year after year, so that each and every dollar raised goes where it belongs. Now if you’ll please join me in welcoming the CEO of the Calloway Foundation to the stage, Calvin Calloway.”
We all applaud as a tall man in in a fitted suit heads to the stage. He’s handsome for a guy looking to be in his late ‘50s.
“Remember what Paige said about the guy with the midlife crisis and the twenty-two-year-old wife?” Lucas says, his voice quiet.
I nod. Then gasp. “The child bride?” I whisper.
Lucas grins. “That’s him.”
I giggle, looking back at the man on the stage, trying to imagine how anyone around my age could ever be interested in someone so much older.
I shrug, then look at Lucas, hoping to rile him up. “I understand what she was going for, now that I’ve seen him.”
Lucas looks shocked and then I burst into laughter.
The applause fades as Mr. Calloway begins speaking, talking about the different charities that the event this evening helps to support. As much as he seems like a decent guy, he also sounds like someone who enjoys listening to himself talk.
Thankfully, I get distracted when I spot Pier Guy at a table on the opposite side of the room. But then I glance to his right and see his sister, bored next to him.
I can see Lissy when I look at her. Know that she’s feeling that same thing Lissy used to complain about.
“I always feel like I’m on the outside,” she told me once. “Like everyone is a part of something and I’m not invited.”
My heart pangs for Ivy.
When the Calloway guy finishes speaking, people begin standing. I glance around, then look to Lucas, confused.
“Wanna go check out the auction?” he asks, folding his napkin and setting it on the table next to his plate.
I nod, realizing that the dinner is over and the auction part is beginning. “Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Lucas smiles and then heads off to the gallery that connects to the dining room, a large space that looks to be filled with tables covered in stuff to bid on.
I stand from my own chair, and head in the direction of Ivy and Pier Guy.
I really do need to find out his name.
When Ivy sees me heading in her direction, she lifts up slightly in her chair, her expression morphing into a small smile. I connect eyes with Pier Guy, briefly, but keep my attention focused on his sister.
How are you enjoying dinner? I ask her.
It was okay. I hate coming to these things. But mom says it’s important for me to ‘get acclimated’, or whatever that means. She rolls her eyes.
I smile. Did you try that liver thing?
Ivy shudders. No way. That looked so disgusting.
Right? You couldn’t pay me to eat that. So gross.
We both laugh.
Wanna go with me to check out the auction? I don’t even know what I’m getting myself into, and I’d love to have someone who knows what’s going on in there to explain things to me.
Ivy pops out of her chair, beaming. Absolutely. Let’s go.
I catch Pier Guy’s eyes for another moment as Ivy leads me away to the gallery room. I give him a little wave.
“I’ll see you later,” I say, and enjoy the soft smile and nod he gives me in return.
Then I head off with Ivy to the auction.
I’m Hannah, by the way. Your name is Ivy right?
She nods, then loops her arm in mine and leads me into the auction room.
Ivy spends a few minutes explaining everything to me. How the bidding works. How the room is organized, with the smaller items to the right and more expensive items to the left.
Naturally, we walk to the expensive stuff first, and my mind practically explodes when I see it.
Will someone really buy a boat tonight? I ask her.
She laughs. You’d be amazed what people buy.
We spend about fifteen minutes rotating around the tables, oohing and aahing at the fancy stuff people are bidding on. I can’t help but glance at a few of the amounts listed as minimum bids, my eyes nearly popping out of my head when I see what people are willing to throw towards gifts and tickets and extravagant luxury.
I look to Ivy, about to ask her if she’s planning to bid on anything, but pause when I find her staring off into the distance with a sour look on her face.
Everything alright? I ask when she finally looks back at me.
She sighs dramatically. I have to go talk to my dad for a minute. I’ll be back, okay?
I nod. Sounds good. I’m gonna go outside for a bit. I need some fresh air. It’s a little stuffy in here for me.
She giggles, picking up on my pun, then nods and races off to find her father.
And that leaves me free to do whatever I want. Which is definitely finding an empty outdoor space so I can get just a minute to myself.
I walk the perimeter of the room, then slip out of an open doorway, taking in a deep breath when I feel the rush of cool sea breeze on my face.
Closing my eyes, I breathe slowly, enjoying the sound of the water moving around the boats in the marina. I step to the edge of the patio area I’ve found and look over the short hedge to the yachts owned by the millionaires of Hermosa Beach.
There’s so much money here. I can’t help but feel like I’m breaking some kind of rule. Some sort of poor girl rule. Just by being here.
I’m supposed to just scrape by for the rest of my life. Live in shitty apartments. Work crappy jobs. That’s the life the universe has given
me.
Mansions that look at the ocean. Fancy dinners. Yacht clubs. I’m not supposed to see these things, let alone be invited to be a part of them.
I take another deep breath, hoping that my moment alone helps me build back up whatever confidence seems to always slip away so easily.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Wyatt
She doesn’t know I’m out here.
It’s the only explanation for why she’s standing there, her arms wrapped around her middle, eyes closed, taking deep breaths.
When she first walked out, I thought we might get one of those interactions you see in the movies, where I would say hello and she would startle and giggle a little bit. Maybe we’d chat and I could get her to finally agree to grab a drink with me. Or let me take her home.
But then I saw her face. And as beautiful as it was, it was also incredibly sad. As much as I’d like to get to know the girl, even I’m not the monster who tries to pick up on a chick on the verge of tears.
So I sit here in silence, letting her have her moment alone instead of trying to steal it for myself.
She really is absolutely gorgeous. Her long hair is up in a fancy twist, and she’s wearing a beautiful dark dress with an open back and long lacy sleeves. It’s a little bit short for an evening like tonight, but it shows off her long legs, so I doubt any man in the room would complain.
Maybe a few of the women, but really that would just stem from jealousy.
A few minutes go by where she stands with her eyes closed, her face up to the moon-lit sky, taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly.
Then she does something I don’t expect. She takes off her shoes, a pair of black heels, then wiggles her feet around, stretching her toes and ankles.
It’s a move I don’t see often from the girls around here. The whole ‘beauty knows no pain’ mantra having been chiseled into their minds early on.
I think back to our first meeting, when she was in shorts and a shirt, her hair up in a messy knot on top of her head. And our second, a pair of ripped jeans and a zip up hoodie. Nothing about her indicates she’s from money, from privilege and wealth and comfort. If anything, her every movement indicates her discomfort at being here.
Though I can’t help but take in those movements with an appreciative eye, my eyes glued to her legs and that tight ass that fills out her dress so nicely.
Hey, I might let her have her moment, but that doesn’t mean I can’t admire her from afar. I’m not a monster, but am a man.
Suddenly, she turns around, which is when she spots me, sitting in the corner, scotch in-hand.
I assume she’ll be embarrassed that I’ve been watching her. But instead of blushing or stammering or any of the other reactions I’m expecting, that sadness flees from her face, and she gives me a smile. A brilliant smile that might be the first real one I’ve seen on her face.
She doesn’t seem like the type to smile very often. I’d argue that Botox eliminates laugh lines, like most of the women I know, but I don’t see a Botox bunny when I look at her. The reason I don’t think she smiles often is because she has that same hint of sadness in her eyes that I see when I look in the mirror.
The eyes of someone who has seen enough in this life.
Much more than any young person should.
So when she does turn and smile at me, I soak it in, because it’s important to acknowledge the gifts people give to us. And seeing her smile, I can tell, is a gift.
“I didn’t know you were out here,” she says, her long legs eating up the concrete pavers as she joins me at my table.
“You looked like you needed a minute to yourself. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
There’s the slight flush. Now that she’s closer, I can see the bit of embarrassment on her skin. Even though this patio area is a part of the yacht club, the only light is coming from a handful of tall heaters with flames glowing in the middle.
“Yeah, I’m not… really a people person,” she says, taking a seat in the chair across from mine. Then she freezes. “Oh. Is it okay if I sit? With you?”
I laugh. “Of course. I’ve been stalking you for the past day and a half, remember? You’re finally getting with the program.”
She smiles again, and I truly enjoy it.
There is something about her that I’m drawn to. Something pure. Almost raw. I know nothing about her, and yet I’d bet my life on the fact that each reaction I get out of her is genuine. It’s a breath of fresh air after spending time with so many fake, plastic people for most of my life.
“Thanks for spending time with my sister.”
But Pier Girl shakes her head. “I don’t need thanks for that. She’s pretty amazing.”
“She is. But not everyone realizes it.” Which is true. For some reason, the Hermosa Beach crowd doesn’t seem to want to welcome Ivy Calloway with open arms. She’s one of the richest residents, and has a heart the size of the entire fucking city, but being deaf? I guess it’s a non-negotiable for some people.
Those people are pricks, but whatever. I’ve learned that having money can’t buy class.
“Can I ask how it happened? I mean, was she born deaf or…?”
“She got a virus when she was a toddler. Crazy high fever. She was hospitalized for weeks while they tried to figure out what was going on.” I shrug. “She’s been deaf ever since.”
She nods. “My friend Melanie’s daughter had a similar situation. That’s how I learned to sign.”
“You’re really good at it. Ivy’s always telling me I need to get better, that sometimes the things I say don’t make sense.”
“Well if you need a tutor…” she trails off, giving me a playful smile.
There’s a pause when Pier Girl turns her head and looks out at the marina, and I use that brief moment to take in her profile. Her long, graceful neck, soft skin, button nose.
“How was it?” she asks, looking back at me. “Coming home after so long away?”
For a moment, I’m confused. But then I remember what I told her last night, at the pier.
I rub my chin, scratch at the bit of stubble that’s growing in that I refused to shave off even though my mother told me she wouldn’t let me attend tonight unless I did. I’d called her bluff, since she was the one who was obligating me to go in the first place.
“It was exactly what I expected it to be,” I say. “My sister was excited. My mother was a mess of emotions, some of which weren’t particularly genuine. My brother probably doesn’t know I’m in town yet. And my dad… well, we’re not on speaking terms, even though it was likely his idea for me to come tonight.”
She purses her lips. “I’m sorry it wasn’t the perfect homecoming. But at least your sister was excited. How long were you away before coming back?”
“Three years.”
Her brows raise. “That’s a long time. What were you doing?”
I sigh. “Is it cliché to say I was finding myself?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “We’re always constantly trying to find ourselves, aren’t we?” she asks. “It’s a process that never ends.”
“Well, my process took me to San Francisco.”
“And did you find yourself there?”
I pause, wondering the best way to say it. How do I tell her that instead of trying to find myself, I lost myself in someone else? Or, I guess, the plural of that. In the many someones of San Francisco.
I left because I wanted to get away from the drama with my family. I stayed because I wanted to piss off my father. And I left because the enjoyment I got out of being there dwindled enough that I knew it was time to try and find something new. But the reason I came home instead of going somewhere new? That’s a completely different story.
“I didn’t, though I wish I had. I left to escape the drama in my family. It was just supposed to be a vacation. A few months to try something different. But when that time had passed, I realized I’d created a little life for myself that I enjoyed. So I thought I’d st
ick it out.” I shrug, deciding to stay vague about why I’ve returned. “And then at some point, I just realized it wasn’t for me anymore.”
“I wish I could have confidence like that,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
She shakes her head and a piece of her twisty hairdo falls out. Absentmindedly, she tucks it back behind her ear. “Well, I’m kind of doing that by being here. Though I guess I didn’t come to get away from family. I came to find it. I’ve only been here for two days and I already feel like I should just go back home. But I’m hoping I can just… I don’t know, be stronger or happier or more courageous in putting myself out there. I want to belong somewhere and…” she laughs. “Sorry, getting a little too deep there.”
I only kind of understand what she means, but I can tell she’s emotional about it, regardless.
“What’s keeping you from just giving up and going back?” I ask, hoping that her relationship with her family is enough to keep her here, at least long enough for me to spend a little more time with her.
She smiles, though that same sadness sits in the back of her eyes. “Well, there isn’t really a home to go back to.”
My brow furrows, but before I can say anything else, the door to the patio opens and Ivy comes waltzing out and over to us.
Sorry. Stupid dad was being stupid.
I laugh, and so does Pier Girl.
Ivy looks at me. Dad wants to talk to you, too. I’m supposed to grab you and take you back.
I roll my eyes, then look to Pier Girl. His highness beckons, I say, my sarcasm evident in my facial expressions. You wanna come back in or are you going to stay out here?
I’ll come in with you, she signs. Then she looks at Ivy. Maybe I’ll even bid on that boat, huh?
Ivy giggles as the three of us walk back into the dining area, the rush of conversational noise smacking us squarely in the nose.
Dad’s over there, Ivy says, pointing in the direction of the stage where my father is currently holding court, his child bride standing next to him.
I look back at Ivy. Well, let’s go talk to him.
But Ivy shakes her head. No way. I already had to talk to him. It’s your turn. I’m gonna hang out with Hannah.
Promise Me Nothing (Hermosa Beach Book 1) Page 9