by Masen, Kat
“What do you expect, Gabriella. You ambush me at my apartment expecting me to welcome you with open arms. The last time I saw you, you pretty much said ‘fuck you’ I’d rather marry some imbecile and live on daddy’s money.’”
“That’s not fair,” I yell, causing a reaction from the snake. It makes my heart stop. “You don’t think I know I made a mistake? Of course, I do, okay? I have to wake up every day regretting that moment, that decision. And you know what else I regret, trying to apologize. You’re an asshole. There, I’ve said it. Now, if you excuse me, I want to enjoy the rest of my day and get out of this cave.”
I walk out into the sunlight, my heart still beating erratically. I don’t know what scares me the most—Oliver and his ambush or the damn snakes.
“Gabriella, stop! Will you stop?” he demands as I walk toward the next enclosure.
“Why? So you can fire more hate toward me. It’s clear you’ve moved on. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have come here. I just thought…”
“You thought what?”
“I just don’t want there to be hard feelings between us,” I admit, crossing my arms again to shield myself from the spray of hurt he’s about to unleash all over me.
Oliver stills his movements, his eyes size me up from head to toe.
Can he be more obvious?
I’m not wearing anything questionable, yet his gaze is full of jealousy like I have done something wrong.
“Are you here with someone?”
“No,” I’m quick to respond. “And if I were, what does it matter?”
“What about last night? Who was he?”
“Last night? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t with a guy.”
Oliver lets out a loud obnoxious laugh, glancing aside at his own private joke. “Wow! Now you’re going to fucking lie to me?”
“What the hell is wrong with you? I wasn’t with a guy last night. And even if I was, it’s none of your damn business. You have Krystal.”
“Krystal is nobody. She is not a part of my life.”
“Oh, sorry… just a quick booty call for the night, then?”
“No…” he stumbles, uncomfortably. “It was unfortunate you saw her.”
“Yes… unfortunate.”
The nerve of him to question my whereabouts. I need to put him in his place. Just as I’m about to do so, he opens his filthy mouth once again.
“So, you’re fucking older men now?”
I’m taken aback by his rude comment—then it clicks. Miles.
Did he see me with Miles?
Why on earth would he have seen me?
Maybe Chance or Aubrey have told him. Or as far-fetched as it may seem, but wouldn’t surprise me one bit, he might have followed me. What a goddamn stalker.
“You saw me with Miles? He’s my father…”
His jaw almost drops to the ground at the same time his body stiffens, obviously from shock at my revelation.
“Your father? I don’t understand…” he trails off.
“When I left home, my father… well, as I knew him, told me in so many words I was never meant to be in their precious family. My mother confirmed she had an affair, and it explained why Edward hated me so much. Miles is my father. He’s Australian. Last night I met him for the first time. So, now you know…”
Oliver removes his baseball cap, running his long fingers through his hair. I know him well enough to understand he’s trying to process what I’ve just said. It’s now out in the open and our passive-aggressive, back-and-forth emotional game of tennis, should finally end.
“I… I had no idea,” he mutters, dropping his eyes to the ground.
The ache of longing to be with Oliver echoes through the marrow of my bones. My mind wanders to our last night together, reliving the way he felt inside me, the way he touched my skin and buried himself deep within. I never knew missing someone could take over every fiber of your being, and the reality is icy cold when standing only inches away from the man you want so badly.
My fingers desperately want to reach out and caress his face, but the torment of our time apart holds me back.
“I should go…” His face softens, and he pauses, an odd smile playing on his lips. “I promised Chance and Aubrey I would take them somewhere.”
“Right…”
“So, are you joining them for dinner tonight?”
I nod, suddenly falling into silence.
“I guess I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my expression to no more than a faint, slight smile. “I guess I’ll see you tonight, Oliver.”
Oliver
The food is served on the table in front of us.
Chance raved on about this restaurant located high above the city in the Sydney Tower. He went on and on about the food being a culinary experience, and what better way to experience the amazing food than with revolving views of Sydney’s skyline.
Thank fuck his rambling took the heat off the tension at the table.
Aubrey is sitting beside Chance, and on her left, CJ is wedged in a small chair. The little tyke is busy on her phone, watching some video which keeps him quiet.
Gabriella is beside me, quiet as a mouse. The corner of my eye gazes at her arms resting on the table. Her skin looks soft, just like I remember it. I can smell her perfume lingering in the air. It is intoxicating and makes it impossible to concentrate. I’ve smashed one bourbon down, the only drink I have allowed myself in the last eleven months. It went down smoothly, instantly relaxing me to a point that Chance doesn’t irritate me anymore with his culinary talk.
“So, this is nice.” Aubrey bares her teeth with a wide smile. “I think the last time we were together like this was when…”
Chance shrugs his shoulders, oblivious to the tension. “The night Olly got pissed ‘cause Gabbo was dancing with that dude at the bar.”
“Chance… enough with the nicknames.” Gabriella cringes. “I gave you Gabbie, although you know how much I despise it.”
I snicker behind my fork, shoving the expensive seafood into my mouth.
“What’s so funny?” Gabriella asks, placing her fork and knife down. “This I’m-Aussie-so-I’ll-abbreviate-your-name is just downright annoying.”
I’m quick to remind her of her newly found heritage. “But you’re half Australian now, are you not? You need to welcome the traditions with open arms.”
Chance nods in agreement, a sinister smile playing on his lips. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that. We need to initiate you. Let’s see… perhaps we should order you the kangaroo.”
Gabriella’s lips curl, her nose wrinkling as she shakes her head. “Kangaroo? You mean people eat kangaroo?”
“C’mon, Chance...” Aubrey exhales. “No one eats kangaroo. They’re cute and carry their baby joeys in their pouch.”
“Australians certainly do. It’s a culinary experience,” Chance informs her.
I bow my head, hiding the smirk plastered on my face.
“How about a shoey,” Chance exclaims, goading a reaction from Gabriella.
“A shoey?”
“You pour a can of beer into a shoe and drink from it.”
Chance is on a roll, the twinkle in his eye gesturing he’s enjoying riling the girls up.
“Right.” Aubrey places her drink down. “Now you’re just making things up.”
I quickly interject, “Preferably someone else’s shoe.”
Gabriella flinches beside me while shaking her head and muttering something beneath her breath which I’m unable to decipher.
“Okay, so you’re not quite the daredevil,” I state, matter-of-factly. “How about we just buy you a pair of stubbies and thongs?”
Chance bursts out into a fit of laughter while Aubrey sits beside him with a confused expression.
Gabriella immediately reaches out for her glass, downing the wine in one go. “I don’t know what a stubby is, but I... um… I h
ave thongs.”
“Au contraire, Gabs,” I sneer, cocking my head to the side. “While I have no doubt you wear American thongs, Australian thongs are on your feet.”
“And stubbies are short shorts,” Chance adds.
“Okay, the two of you can stop now,” Aubrey warns, letting out a huff of annoyance. “Australian thongs are flip-flops. Why they call them thongs is beyond me.”
“Oh… flip-flops,” Gabriella roars. “Well, then, sign me up. I don’t know about the stubbies, but I’ll give it a try.”
In this fleeting moment, Gabriella looks happy. Her shoulders relax as she eagerly eats her grilled chicken. It could be influenced by the wine, but nevertheless, she’s just as beautiful as I remember her. Maybe even more so.
Aubrey switches topics and tells us about all the things they did during their trip here and her desire to return. Chance admits they have spent some time house hunting, nothing too big, but something they can stay in with the purpose of jetting back and forth when time permits.
“What about Pixy?” I ask with a chuckle.
“He’ll have to stay with Adele,” Aubrey says while Chance shakes his head with an annoyed expression. “Like a goat vacay.”
“The damn bugger is blind, princess. He ain’t got no clue where he’s at.”
Leaning my elbow on the edge of the table, I rest my mouth on my curled fist in an attempt to hide my laugh from Chance’s remark.
“Fine… listen, it’s late, and we need to pack for tomorrow.” Aubrey gathers CJ’s belongings as Chance offers to pay the bill which I downright refuse. We argue some more until the pretty waitress finally accepts the credit card out of my hand.
“Thanks for dinner, Olly,” Aubrey and Chance say in unison. “So, I guess we’ll leave you two?”
Gabriella shuffles awkwardly.
“Thank you for dinner, Oliver. I have somewhere I need to be, so I guess I’ll see you another time.”
That’s it?
After everything we’ve been through, I guess I’ll see you another time?
And where the fuck is she going?
It’s nine o’clock. Shouldn’t she be packing like Aubrey and Chance?
My pent-up anger distracts me from her leaving the table without a hug or even a kiss on the cheek.
Chance instantly notices my not-so-relaxed expression. “Let it go, mate.”
I can’t fucking let this go.
We say our goodbyes and promise to catch up when they’re back in Australia later in the year.
It only takes me fifteen minutes to walk to my apartment. Inside the confinement of my own space, I pace the polished tiled floors in short spirts, clenching my jaw with crazy thoughts derailing my rational thinking ability.
I stand on the balcony, staring out over Sydney Harbour for almost an hour. Somewhere in this city she is roaming around. Her plans may have involved her father, but if they did, why didn’t she just say that? Why did she have to go and put thoughts in my head?
Perhaps I am overreacting.
Deep fucking breaths, Olly.
My phone vibrates inside my pocket, I pull it out, and an unknown number texted me.
Unknown: You know what? I don’t need you Oliver. I have Byron. He is way less stuck up than your arrogant ass.
Gabriella. The anger ripped through me like a wild storm on the brink of a cyclone. My knuckles turn white from clenching my fists way too hard, combined with the grinding of my teeth unstoppable as I try to suppress the rage to no avail. I need to find her and now.
Me: Where are you?
Gabriella: What do you care? Me coming out here was a waste of time.
I call the number. No answer.
I call Chance who doesn’t pick up.
Fucking hell! I’ve mentally snapped, desperation fueling my unwanted jealousy.
Then I call Aubrey.
“Olly? What’s wrong?”
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Gabriella,” I grit.
“Oh… um… some bar, I think. Tang… Tink…”
“Tank?”
“Yeah!”
I hang up without a goodbye. Still dressed in the clothes I wore to dinner, I grab my wallet and run straight to the bar. Tank Stream Bar’s only a short walk from my apartment. It’s hidden in an alley away from the main streets through the cobblestones. It’s also known as a meat market.
The Aussie men will eat her up in there.
This Byron has it coming to him.
Thankfully, an old mate, Manuel, is working the door. He knows me from my clubbing days, letting me in even though I cut the small talk to a bare minimum.
Inside, it’s crowded but typical of a Saturday night. The crowd is of mixed age with couples together, some in groups, a bunch of girls giggling at the bar with their extremely short dresses and over-the-top heels. The single guys are easy to spot, they hover near the hot women.
Music plays loudly, drowning out the sea of voices from the tight crowd.
Gabriella leans on the bar, her copper curls lying over one shoulder of her black dress. There’s a man beside her, he looks familiar, but I can’t figure out from where. He’s definitely not the older man she was with the other night in the hotel lobby.
She motions for the bartender, a young bloke, who serves her in a flash. As she leans in whispering in his ear, his eyes drop momentarily to her low-cut neckline.
As she pulls back with a sway in her stance, I know well enough she’s drunk.
What the fuck is this woman thinking?
The man beside her latches onto her arm, pulling her onto the small area where others are dancing. His hand wraps carelessly around her waist.
Yeah, I’ve fucking seen enough.
I burst through the crowd, swerving in and out without a single apology. This is a déjà-fucking-vu moment. The first night I met Gabriella, I was doing the exact same thing.
“Get off her, mate,” I seethe.
Gabriella’s mouth slackens, her hands dropping to her sides as she distances herself from this fucker. “How did you know I was here?”
“Never mind. Let’s go.” I latch onto her arm, ignoring her only slight struggle.
“No, Oliver. We are not doing this again.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. The second you texted me, you left me with no choice.”
I could have sworn her arm relaxed within my tight grip, or perhaps it’s her non-verbal stare which tells me otherwise.
“Gabriella,” the fucker calls. “You can’t leave me here?”
The guy looks pissed. Serves him fucking right.
“Sorry, Byron.”
Outside, in the cool night air, the pale face haunts me. With possibly only seconds to spare, I push her down the alley.
“Ow,” she yells, almost stumbling to the ground. “Why the hell did you push me?”
“You’re gonna hurl.”
“I’m not going to hurl.” She straightens her posture, letting out a drawn-out breath. “It’s just spinning.”
I grab her hand, dragging her to the main street. The walk’s not far, but somehow, I need to get her to my apartment.
Walking in the Quay with an intoxicated woman is now officially my least favorite thing to do. The amount of times we stop is ridiculous. Gabriella has the need to stop and stare at everything, have almost three near-vomiting incidents, and still continues to wave hello to everyone who walks past and calls them mate.
Inside my apartment, I lay her on the sofa, placing two painkillers and glass of water beside her. Forcing her to drink it, she does so but mumbles something about being ungrateful, then accidentally spills water on her dress.
I grab a spare tee, demanding she change into it to be more comfortable. She argues, of course, until I lift her dress above her head, leaving Gabriella in her bra and panties.
Don’t fucking look.
Quickly, I place the tee on her, controllin
g my own desires and more so worried about her.
She instantly falls asleep. I sit on the chair beside her, silently watching her sleep. Every so often, she blinks her eyes, allowing her eyelashes to flutter like wings. I am mesmerized by her beauty, her flawless skin, and the colorful pink of her lips. I ache to run my fingers along her bottom lip, press my mouth against hers, and taste her sweet tongue against my own.
But I know the second I touch her—all walls will come crumbling down again.
I didn’t sleep a wink, watching her until the sun begins to rise. Her face twitches, and she begins to move, opening her eyes at a slow pace and shifting her glance to where I sit still watching her.
“Did you… why am I half-naked?”
“Relax, you’re wearing my T-shirt, and it’s because you spilled water on your dress.
She stands, only to spin in a circle before falling onto the sofa.
“Drink this.”
“No.”
“Stop being stubborn.”
“Chance’s drink is—”
“Awful, but does the trick,” I remind her.
Raising the glass to her lips, she drinks the whole glass, almost appearing pale as the liquid disappears. Moments later, her color comes back.
“What… what happened last night?” she asks faintly.
“Do you really want me to tell you?”
“Argh… no. Spare me the humility.” She closes her eyes, only to open them wide, panicked. “Wait, what time is it? My flight!”
“Relax,” I tell her. “You’ve got hours. It’s five in the morning.”
“Five?” She drops her head to the pillow, closing her eyes again. “I feel so…” She doesn’t end her sentence, lying perfectly still. I suspect she’s fallen asleep, and I watch her tiny breaths increasing slowly. But moments later, she opens her eyes again and stares blankly at the ceiling.
My lips press together in a slight grimace. There’s so much history between us, so much damage which feels irreparable.
Struggling to find the right words, I sit in silence until I can no longer wait.
“Tell me what happened… after you left my hotel that night?”