Page 8 of Eat Your Heart Out
4
Ali
Last night, I’d roamed the room a few times and listened to the splashing waves.
For eight years, I’d barely slept. John had been more a friend than a boyfriend and not even a good friend, if I was honest with myself.
His offer to take care of me after my mother’s death had sounded nice at the time. He’d offered an escape from lawyers, reverse mortgages, and tears.
At the time, he’d been exciting. After a while, he’d become exasperating. And finally, he stopped mattering. He was my past.
I would never in a million years have guessed I would end up with a bedroom for a night in a mansion bigger than anything I’d seen in a movie or show. Eventually, I slept, and when I woke up, my body wasn’t tense.
I showered then picked out a T-shirt and shorts that hopefully weren’t too expensive. I’d glanced at the Prada labels on some of the items and skipped right over anything rich.
Birds chirped outside the window, and I slipped onto my personal balcony. I was alone. The sun was shining, and I gazed up, closing my eyes. Maybe happiness was possible.
I had no idea, but I whispered to the wind and the sun, “Mom, I know you’re listening. I don’t know if you sent Gerard into my life or not. I’m not sure I trust anyone since you died. Going from one disaster to the next would never have happened to you, and I’m so sorry that I disappointed you as a daughter, in life then after.”
A knock sounded at my door, and I jumped.
Fuck. I hope no one heard me.I needed to learn to bite my lip, as bleeding physically was preferable to being vulnerable in the real world.
Tensing, I expected to be ridiculed. I squared my shoulders then opened the door. However, when I gazed out to see who was here, my eyes widened as Roxanne Norouzi smiled at me.
“I thought you were up, my dear.”
I’d not been anyone’s “dear” anything. I hugged my waist. “Yes, good morning, Mrs. Norouzi.”
She motioned to be invited in. My heart raced, and I hoped she hadn’t expected me to make the bed. Next time, I absolutely would.
As she closed the door, she said, “You look a lot like my friends and family back in the old country.“
I shrugged. “My mother was blond and blue-eyed. But my dad’s genes were stronger. I was told he was from Iraq.”
She smiled brighter. “That’s close enough. I’m happy you’re going with Gerard. I worry about him.”
I rubbed the back of my head. “Why? He seems capable.”
She opened the closet and studied the clothes she’d lent me. “He’s unhappy with his life.” She turned back and studied me. “He doesn’t tell me, but he’s my son. Last night, I saw you both laughing. I just wanted to let you know it would be nice if you stuck around. You’re much sweeter than the last girl he brought home.”
My entire body tensed. If she hated someone, I needed to avoid her. I lifted my chin. “Ashley.”
She smiled at me again. “This is my tailor. I hope you don’t mind.” She opened the door to wave a staff member in. “I’m glad he told you about her. She was always telling Gerard to buy her things. She was… predatory, but if that’s who he wanted, then it wasn’t my place to tell him otherwise.”
I tensed at the thought of someone dressing me. No one needed to see my scars.
The woman wrapped a tape measure around me.
“Well, I do appreciate the clothes. I don’t have anything, but I hope the dress fully covers me.”
Someone else came in and took my picture.
“No worries.” Mrs. Norouzi waved her hand. “I’ll send you some dress options for tonight. We need you to steal his breath away.”
My eyes misted. I refused to take what wasn’t mine. “Don’t stress about me. There are enough clothes here already.”
The tailor left. Roxanne Norouzi then wrapped her arms around me and hugged me. “You’re our guest. Don’t worry about a thing.”
