Page 9 of Vicious Sentiments

“I thought a Bitcoin billionaire would drive a Tesla?”

“Do they? My mistake. I’ll have to add one to my collection.”

The little window that separates us from Eddie rolls down, and I quickly sink back into my seat, feeling like I’ve been caught playing when I shouldn’t.

“You want me to stick around, Julian?” he asks over his shoulder and I realize we’ve parked.

“No, that’s alright.”

Whatever fun I was having is quickly replaced by dread. Why isn’t Eddie sticking around? How long will we be here?

Julian grabs my hand and opens his door. He slides out of the car with grace and I’m left shimmying after him.

I almost trip over my shoes when I take in the house we’re standing before. We are in a curved driveway of smooth cobblestone, flanked on either side by pillars. The drive is slanted and I have to look up to see the massive house—excuse me, mansion—that has different levels jutting out. Most of the ‘walls’ are windows and just between corners of the levels, I can make out that the back of the home faces a cliff that must lead down to the beach.

“You alright there? Or is this not up to your standards?” Julian is smirking when I look back at him and I pick my jaw up off the ground.

“I don’t belong here,” I say, looking down. I’m not even inside the house yet and I feel unworthy in the driveway. I’m ashamed to be so insecure, but it’s true. I wouldn’t even belong here if I was sent to clean the house. There’s a pedigree about these things that I know nothing about.

Like when middle to upper-class people ask you to take your shoesoff, that is expected. But this level of upper-class? Their shoes only touch red carpets and Porsche interiors. Why would they take their shoes off? I’m not supposed to be here in my beat-up sneakers and exposed legs.

Julian frowns. “You belong wherever I take you.”

The front doors are unlocked and click luxuriously when we enter. The house is silent when Julian hollers, “Ma!”

For a minute I forget that I’m about to meet his mom and hold my breath at the gorgeous home. It smells like a department store, fresh and new, but it’s filled with plants. So many tall, drapey, and vine-like plants that I don’t see any color scheme besides green.

Julian steps ahead of me, and I linger by the door, contemplating if I should take off my shoes when he turns around. He sighs and puts out a hand for me to take.

Timidly, I do so. He tucks me into his side and hollers again. His body is warm and firm, so much so that I may lean in more than what is appropriate.

I hear a faint response but it sounds distant. We round a corner that opens into a sprawling kitchen gleaming in white marble, while beyond there are french glass doors that are open with billowing curtains letting the sea breeze in.

I would think I’m in a dream but I don’t think my heart would be beating so fast in such a tranquil environment.

There’s a staircase to the right and I hear light steps padding down. I immediately look at the floor. I know it’s not respectful, or how I want to make a first impression, but I’m scared and self-conscious. I don’t want to meet her eyes in my travel-worn clothes or feel ashamed that I didn’t take my shoes off in her palace.

“Jules! Did everything—”

She halts, hand poised on the banister and notices me. My discomfort heightens.

“What’s this?” She continues down the stairs.

“So, Ma…” Julian drags out the words and trails off. I feel his hand slip from mine and in a panic, I look up. He’s leaned himself against a wall, stuffing his hands in his pockets, head hung in a way that is nothing like the high chin I’ve seen from him.

“Oh, Jules. What did you do?” her voice is round, full of emotion, and not at all threatening. I hazard a glance at her, a nervous tremble at my lips, and realize she’s billowing towards me.

She is wearing a silk floral blouse that drapes down to her knees and her hair is tied in a loose bun on top of her head. She must be in her fifties but her skin is glowy and full. She’s voluptuous and soft around the edges, not lean and slim like I expected, based on Julian’s form.

She comes up to me without any hesitation, arms outstretched.

“Oh, sweet little peach. How old are you?” Her eyes are wide and concerned.

I blink, unsure how to answer and look to Julian for help. I’m not about lying and would prefer if he handled this. But all I get is a slight shrug while he rubs the fresh stubble on his cheek.

When I don’t answer, she turns to Julian. “What did you do, Jules? She’s nowhere near you…” she trails off and quickly wraps her arms around me. I don’t flinch, despite the pain in my rib. She’s warm and her hug feels all-encompassing, cocooning and safe.

“You better not have laid a hand—”

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