Page 157 of Torrid Passion
It’s a quarter past two here.
“This must be my lucky day. I can’t believe we’re actually on a video chat. It’s been ages. You’re not in a meeting, traveling for business, sleeping or hanging out at a bar somewhere with the boys and the cousins. I’m actually talking to you. Wow. I might have to buy a lottery ticket.”
“Well, you’re the one who lives on the other side of the planet. This time zone thing is complicated.”
“I know.”
We communicate mainly by text. It’s a treat to be able to talk to her like this.
“How’s everything in Paris?”
“I’ve survived three months! Yay!” she says, pumping her left hand up like the ceiling is about to collapse. “My apprenticeship is very demanding, but I can’t complain. It would be like a Powerball winner complaining about not knowing where to spend her money first,” she laughs.
“True.”
“I would’ve preferred a shoe designer, but being part of Chanel’s team isn’t like coming in second place at the race. This is a pretty sweet deal––zero pay and demanding as hell––but a dream opportunity and a prestigious name on my resume.”
Even though our parents send her more than enough money, Harlow insists on working. Since her apprenticeship is only four days a week––from nine to three––that leaves her enough time to keep her side business going. She offers fashion tours. Her clients are Americans, Brits, Germans and Russians. In the last few years, her roster of Asian clients has exploded. All those shoppers are looking to score the best in French fashion. Harlow isn’t perfectly fluent, but she speaks enough French to get by. She’s been doing this since she landed in Paris. She even has a website with tons of positive reviews. My parents are so proud of her. So am I.
“In other words, life is good?” I ask.
“Life isverygood.”
“Are you still planning on coming back home once you’re done with this apprenticeship or will you stay in Europe and try to find a job there? I know last time we spoke, you said you had your eyes on Giuseppe Zanotti and moving back to Italy.” He’s a famed luxury shoe designer.
“I don’t know,” she sighs. “I miss home. I miss Mom, Dad and the rest of the family. I miss our big 4thof July family reunions. I even miss you.”
“Well thanks, sis,” I chuckle.
“Europe is amazing, but Cali is my home. I think it might be time for me to end my European escapade.” She said that after living and studying a few years in London, but then she moved to Italy and now Paris. You never know with my little sister. At least she’s out there chasing her dream, not a man. “Sure, Netflix just landed in France, but let’s face it, a movie marathon when you’re alone pales in comparison to a weekend of movie-binging with your best friend and her cousins.”
It takes everything in me not to react.
Harlow formed some ties when she lived in London and she has a group of people she hangs out with in Paris, but she’s never formed a close bond like she has with Kyla. Those two are like sisters. Although she’s not as close to Stella and Hayden, when they’re together, the four of them are as thick as thieves. It’s normal, they’re all the same age.
“That makes sense. There’s nothing quite like the good old US of A.”
I’ve always admired how she was able to live in a foreign country for so many years. I couldn’t do it.
“On top of that, the longer I live here, the more I’m forced to face reality.”
My eyebrows draw together. “About what?”
“Snacks in this country suck.” She pouts like a five-year-old. “I love, love, love French food, but when I’m watching a movie, I don’t want to eat mini quiches. I want Kettle chips, Doritos and popcorn. The French don’t even consider potato chips a snack and popcorn isn’t widely available. Forget about buying the kernels at a grocery store.”
“Definitely good reasons for leaving that inhumane country,” I joke. “Those French are barbaric savages. They have no respect for sacred things. They must be stopped or else they might spread their warped ideologies. We can’t have that happen.”
She laughs.
“The paltry selection of snacks is a good enough reason, but honestly, I miss Kyla.” I do my best to remain emotionless. “Now that she’s back in LA, I’m itching to get back. It was easier for us to communicate when she was living in New York, but now… the time difference is brutal. And, if I must confess, I feel like we’re disconnected. She’s been back in LA for three months and I feel like I don’t even know what’s going on in her life.” A tinge of sadness veils her eyes. “Oh well, enough about me. I’m going to start sounding like a whiner and we all know Mom is quick to put her foot down on that kind of thinking.”
“Yes, she is.”
Mom is a firm believer of putting on your big girl’s panties––or your big boy’s briefs––and charging through difficulties. Dad is a little more philosophical about it, but at the end of the day, he didn’t become a top surgeon by being a slacker or by complaining.
“Speaking of the matriarch, I spoke to her last night and she said something is up with you.”
I arch my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
