by B. Celeste
She said nothing, but her jaw was locked tight as she glared. I simply nodded and began walking away, remembering another piece she needed to know. “Someday soon, we’ll be leaving the city. I don’t know where or when, but I’m sure she’ll bring it up.”
The shriek she gave was ear piercing. “I take it that was your doing. Are you trying to separate us and get her to stop talking to me?”
Scoffing, I turned to face her. “I would never tell her to stop talking to you. We both know Della isn’t the person to cut people out of her life. She cares too much. She loves you. But it would be better if she said goodbye to the only place she’s known for something fresh. A place where people can’t make her miserable. If you had any sanity, you’d do the same.”
“Leave New York?”
I shrugged. “Admit it, Sophie. You hate it here. You hate your husband and the life you live, so you bury it by buying pointless things. Leave your fucking husband and get a life. Take a page out of Della’s book and find happiness.”
There was a moment of hesitation before, “You honestly think you could make her happy?”
Nothing was guaranteed, but I was sure as fuck going to try. “Think about what I said, Sophie.” She didn’t stop me from leaving.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Della
Professor Ambrose accepted the coffee from the cashier with her typical wide smile stretched across her face, thanking the young man before turning to me as we scoped out the café for a free table. I hadn’t been to the small brick establishment, but Ambrose said it was her favorite place to go.
“I’m hoping this meeting means good news, Della. I’ve been asked a few times if the new model had given her answer yet.”
The word model in relation to me almost had me laughing. Almost. Mostly, I’d wanted to cringe. My art always reflected the conventions of beauty that often weren’t seen in the public eye as traditional. The kinds of men and women that were fuller figured, too skinny, scarred, and rarely flawless. I’d wanted my work to be realistic, not some fantasy I was trying to escape into, even if I found art to be just that—a step out of my own life and into somebody else’s.
Once we sat tucked into the farthest corner of the café, I gave her an apologetic smile. I’d thought long and hard about this, debating on whether to ask Theo, and choosing to make up my mind without anybody else’s influence or opinion. It was long overdue for that to happen. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. The opportunity is amazing and would make a point to a lot of people that might suffer the same trials as me. But I’m not the right person to represent them. It’s not because I don’t think I’m strong enough or that my story or struggles aren’t worthy of being shown, but I don’t think I’m ready.”
There hadn’t been much I was able to control in my lifetime, but I was taking that back. Professor Ambrose would always be my favorite instructor. She was kind and gentle-hearted with everybody’s best interest in the forefront of her mind. However, I knew my best interest wasn’t the same. I’d acknowledged it, thought about it, and knew I couldn’t accept.
“I would love to be able to still attend the class because I think I’d learn a lot and improve my ability to draw people of all kinds, but I’d prefer doing that from my stool and sketchpad. Maybe one day I’ll be able to let people stare at me and draw what they see, but I know me, and right now I know I won’t be able to handle that.”
She reached across the table and placed her hand over mine. “I won’t say I’m not a little sad to see you skipping out, but I understand why. The reason is the best you could have given me, and I’m glad. Truly.”
I smiled back at her. “Your advice helped me a lot, you know. You told me to be spontaneous.”
Her knowing eyes sparked. “I take it being spontaneous worked in your favor in more than one way?”
My traitorous cheeks heated. “It did. I have him to thank for a lot, not that he’d ever let me. Theo is…a very stubborn man.”
“Fitting for one of the most stubborn women I know.” She squeezed my hand before sitting back in her seat and lifting her coffee cup. “You deserve so much, Adele. I’m glad you’re realizing that as well. So, tell me. What comes next now that you’re finished with school?”
All I could think about was Theo.
Of leaving.
I gave her a loose shrug. “I’m planning on painting. Selling my work. I think my next big step is to get away from here. Maybe not forever, but for a while. Too much has happened and even though this is the only home I’ve ever had, I’m ready to try finding another one where I can reinvent myself without old ghosts lingering.”
She nodded along. “Sounds like you’ve got a well thought out plan. Just remember that you don’t have to change yourself. It’s others who need to change their perspective.”
It took a moment, but I found myself agreeing with her. “I know. I’m a work in progress.”
“We all are, dear.”
After we said our goodbyes, I called Theo with a relieved smile across my face to let him know I was on my way home. While that was split between our two places, I knew anywhere he was, was as good as home as any.
When I walked into my apartment, I saw Ramsay and Theo on the couch together, our favorite cooking show on the television, and a Denny’s takeout bag sitting unopened on the coffee table.
I stopped and stared, taking a mental picture, and wanting to bring it to life on a canvas full of color. Full of hope. It was the exact image that I would display on my wall and show off to the world because it was mine. A life deserving to be bragged about and shared.
“Theo?”
He looked over his shoulder and smiled, one hand curled around Ramsay’s back. “I got your favorite for dinner. Didn’t think you’d mind. Come sit with me?”
Kicking off my shoes, I sat on my knees facing him, my eyes freely scoping him out while he watched me with a lopsided grin.
“What are you looking at?” he asked gently, leaning in for a brief kiss and trying not to disrupt the pup.
It might have been cheesy, but the words slipped right off my tongue like they begged to be spoken. “My future.”
His grin widened. “Yeah?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions, Theo,” I teased, leaning in again and grazing his lips in a kiss that lasted too long for Ramsay’s liking. He stirred and barked, causing me to roll my eyes and sit back.
I focused on getting the food out of the bag and splitting it between us. “I was thinking about seeing Sophie tomorrow. I texted Lydia and asked if she could meet us. She was free, so…” I paused, passing him a napkin. “Unless you have other plans. I should have checked.”
“I’m free,” was all he gave me.
“You’re not worried about, Sophie?” It shouldn’t have surprised me that he wasn’t. Theo seemed fearless, and not even somebody like Sophie could get under his skin. She’d tried.
His hand came up and brushed my jaw, something in his eyes that was light and amused at the same time. “No, sweetheart. I’m not scared of her at all.”
Epilogue
Della
The summer came with a brutal heat wave that matched the growing tensions portrayed when Richard Pratt’s trial was scheduled for late August after his arrest by NYPD and Federal Agents for first-degree murder, and drug, weapon, and counterfeit money manufacturing. Special Agent Michael Flamell assured me during a short meeting at the beginning of June that I wouldn’t be needed in the trial and that Pratt wouldn’t be getting off.
Thankfully, I escaped the city by July when Theo set up appointments with real estate agents in upstate New York, far enough from the city where the spectacle of Pratt wouldn’t find me but close enough that day trips weren’t impossible. It’d taken only a week to find a home that I always pictured living in, a space perfect for two people and a dog with plenty of room to run around and be comfortable without the luxuries or complications that the city came with. The house was set back from the
rest that surrounded it with more acreage than we needed and held a serenity foreign to me. On the first night, it’d been too quiet to sleep, so Theo had stayed up with me watching TV even after unpacking and setting up his new home office all day. While he’d need to go to the city occasionally, we both knew we’d never truly escape the Big Apple. When he went in for work, I went to see Sophie, Ren, and Tiffany before she’d left for her newest adventure with the Los Angeles Ballet Company.
My biggest obstacle had been telling Sophie and Lydia that I was in love with Theo and had every intention of leaving with him before the new trial began. The sweat that had collected on my forehead and the clamminess of my palms seemed overexaggerated when Theo took my hand and led me into Sophie’s parlor as if he had no care in the world anymore. Lydia had hugged me with a knowing smile and said she was happy as long as I was, and Sophie had told me, “I suppose you could do worse, Adele” with a tight curve to her lips. I’d expected a fight, a heated exchange of words that Theo would need to reassure me of when we’d left.
I’d gotten closure. A new beginning where my chest was light and the butterflies in my stomach were free to flutter all because of the man who held me in public and kissed me in crowds and hugged me with a purpose no matter who stared. And some people did. But neither of us paid them attention, even if they’d had smiles on their faces from our public affections.
Saying goodbye to the city wasn’t as hard as I wanted it to be knowing my parents were buried there, but I knew deep in my gut I had to go if I wanted to survive the frenzy of a media trial. Ren had gotten me a present and told me not to open it until I’d moved into the new house (Viagra that Theo didn’t find funny), Tiffany told me my present was being delivered there at the end of the week (a new mirror she told me to try to not break), and my aunts had hosted a small dinner with my friends to celebrate both graduation because I chose not to walk across the stage, and moving to my clean slate. Even though I could tell Sophie had wanted to say something, she held her tongue. That night, I’d walked up to my aunt, wrapped my arms around her lightly because I knew she wasn’t a hugger, and said, “I’ll miss you.”
She’d been tense, but eventually hugged me back, rested her chin on my shoulder like I’d done to her, and replied, “I’ll miss you too.” There was a small pause. “Della.”
Unlike my father’s trial, Pratt’s was over fast. With evidence stacked against him, they didn’t want to drag it out longer than it needed to be. He was found guilty for the premediated first-degree murder of Anthony Saint James and sentenced to life without parole, with twenty additional years added for each manufacturing charge. I was cooking dinner for Theo and myself when the sentencing was announced on every news channel known to man, with reporters mentioning the lack of commentary I’d made since Pratt’s arrest.
It wasn’t for the news’ lack of trying. Reporters had called and emailed, but I refused to talk. Sophie and Lydia were both targeted, and agreed it was better not to speak on the matter, even though Sophie had made it known she had thoughts on what she wanted Richard Pratt to know regarding her brother’s death. I wasn’t sure how Lydia talked her down from it, but nobody had gotten one word from any Saint James family member.
Thankfully, nobody had found my new address, which meant my lawn wasn’t littered with men and women holding cameras and microphones. There were no pictures surfacing of me or judgmental comments if I was out wearing leggings and baggy shirts, or old shoes, or any articles on my fluctuating weight from the time I’d moved to the time I’d settled into my new life, to the time Pratt’s trial ended. The anxiety of waiting for something bad to happen had made the first few weeks in the new house tough while news updates on the trial went viral, but nobody had ever pulled me in like I feared. I’d eaten. I’d painted. Sometimes, I’d join Theo in the gym he’d hired people to help set up in the large basement of our four-bedroom home.
It was four days after Richard Pratt was escorted to Rikers Island when I got a call from the prison’s rep telling me about a settlement I’d be getting for the death of my father by negligence of the prison guards. I’d all but dropped my paint palette on myself when they told me how much it was for.
Now, I was squeezing the much larger hand tucked in mine and staring at the blueprints of the old warehouse where my parents had fallen in love, before they began construction. The settlement had been more money than I knew what to do with, and I’d seen what high dollar amounts did to people, so I chose to put it to use. The place my parents loved was being turned into a recreational center for disadvantaged youth, where there would be classes for anything you could imagine. Painting. Dancing. Swimming. Thanks to Ripley, the center would host various groups for addiction, alcoholism, and eating disorders every week for those who needed help—the people like Kat, and the people like me, and the hundreds of others that hadn’t found the support they needed.
Even though Theo had asked multiple times if I was sure I wanted to put all the money into the project, there wasn’t any question. It was the only other thing, besides loving him, that I was sure about in my entire life.
When the Anthony and Elizabeth Saint James Recreation Center opened, it had garnered the kind of attention that put hope back into the Saint James name that had long since dissolved after my father’s arrest.
I was no longer Adele, daughter of the former corrupt New York State governor.
I was Della.
Lover of Theodore West.
Painter of human reality.
And everyday fighter.
There was always going to be somebody who had something negative to say about the way I lived, but I was learning to cope with the acceptance that it was impossible to please everyone. Like the Lauren’s of the world who’d publicly spoken out about how her family, who was evidently also Evan Wallace’s, had never gotten the justice from my father. They received no payout compensation for his wrongdoings then, and received nothing from the Pratt scandal, seeking anything after the settlement I’d received had made national news.
I’d chosen not to follow the story, focusing solely on the future. If I thought about Evan drugging my drink because he was angry, or Lauren seeking restitution by bringing me down, I wouldn’t get to experience life away from the world I’d stepped out of. I hoped them the best, that Evan would sober up, that Lauren would be successful, and that their family found peace in any way they could. Like I had.
The bubble that had surrounded Theo and I in our new home was impenetrable. And when he’d said those four little words to me after finding me in my make-shift art studio, where my “Color Me Pretty” pictures hung with pride across the wall, I knew I’d be spending the rest of my life with him without one doubt in my mind, always dancing atop his shoes, watching TV that he may or may not have hated, and feeding him every recipe I taught myself.
“Do you want Denny’s?”
Want another father’s best friend romance from B. Celeste? Read Ollie and Charlie’s story in Kindle Unlimited!
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In the mood for more forbidden romance? Check out The Truth About Tomorrow.
Age is just a number.
Just like he's just a boy and I'm just a girl.
Except that's not true, is it?
Because fifteen may be a number, but it's bigger than that. Bigger than us.
It's a number that separates us.
An excuse that keeps us apart.
But I'm not willing to give in until I get what I want.
After all, how many other girls can bring a grown man to his knees with one little smile?
1.
Ollie
I don’t remember the name of the black-haired woman sleeping beside me in bed. It started with an R. Rhianna? Rachel? I recall the fruity mixed drink that lingered in her kisses and the way she worked me with her experienced hands.
Hel
l if I knew her name.
Sliding out of bed, I pull on the boxers from last night and make my way to the bathroom across the hall. Rhianna/Rachel doesn’t stir despite me shutting the door a little harder than I mean to. Subconsciously, maybe that’s my way of getting her up and gone. It isn’t like she was a bad lay because she did everything I told her to and never once questioned it, but I’ve got things to do.
Before I can pour myself a cup of coffee after going about my morning routine, there’s a knock at the front door of my apartment. Brows pinching, I set down my mug and look through the peephole.
“Shit,” I murmur, seeing Charlie’s long blonde hair through the hole.
Undoing the locks, I scrub a hand down my tired face and cringe over my lack of clothes. I don’t want her staying in the hall where anyone can watch her. The building is safe as far as I know, but one could never be too sure when a pretty fifteen-year-old is involved. Plus, I promised my sister and her husband I would look out for her since she started at the Chicago School of Music. I take my guardianship seriously, no matter how much she pushes me on everything.
Like when she begged River and Everett to let her stay in a dorm room on the school’s campus instead of with me like they preferred. Honestly, I liked the idea at the time. Having her living with me would have been difficult considering my late-night activities. But not as bad as her showing up whenever she wants when I have company. It’s hard filtering out the women I bring over before she can see.