Page 52 of I Shouldn't Feel This Way

“I know, Mom.”

“Good. I’m going to get some rest. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t.” Just as her mother was about to leave, she asked, “Hey, Mom, can I bury my own time capsule in the yard tomorrow?”

Emily gave her a warm smile and nodded. “Grandma’s got some empty shoe boxes in the attic. We can bury it together tomorrow.”

“Great.”

“Goodnight, sweetie.”

“Goodnight, Mom.”

As soon as her mother closed the door, Aria opened her book bag and pulled out a notepad and pen. She propped a couple of pillows behind her on the bed and sat with her knees bent up, placing the notepad in her lap. She tapped the pen a few times on the paper before she clicked it and started writing:

November 24, 201111:30 p.m.

Dear soulmate,

My name’s Aria Hunter, I’m sixteen years old, and I’m sitting in my mother’s old bedroom at my grandparents’ house right now, writing to you. I know you don’t even know me, and I have no idea who you are, but I want to believe that someone out there is thinking of me too, and possibly writing an anonymous love letter addressed to me, even though they don’t know my identity yet. Okay, yeah … that sounds mega confusing, I’m sorry. I always tend to ramble on and get lost in my own winding thoughts when I write. It’s sort of like stepping into Wonderland. Maybe I’m Alice reincarnated.

This is the first love letter I’ve ever written to anyone, and it’s funny that I don’t even know who you are, what you look like, and where you live. Maybe you’re someone I might meet when I travel to Brazil or France. It’s quite possible that I might even have to travel farther than that … Italy perhaps? Spain? If that’s the case, then I should definitely consider learning French, Italian, and Spanish. But I really hope you speak English too, because language barriers suck!

I’m not sure when I’ll meet you, but I hope it’s before someone breaks my heart and jades me forever. How much would it suck to meet you one day and let the opportunity fly right by because I’d be too afraid to get involved with you? Isn’t that just tragic? Hopefully, that won’t happen. I’m still an optimist. Maybe I’ll run into you at a café in Paris, and let my book “accidentally” drop off my table to catch your attention. I imagine that you’ll pick it up for me like a gentleman, and find yourself entranced when you look at me. No, I’m not full of myself, but I do have nice eyes. I’m sure you will love them. Or maybe I’ll meet you somewhere local, like New York. I’ll be walking through Central Park and a destined gust of wind will unravel my scarf from around my neck. I’ll chase after it, but it crosses your path, so you’ll bend over and pick it up. And once we lock eyes, it’s over. We’ll both know that we have found our missing half. I know, I’m a hopeless romantic, but I’m sure you are as well. We’re soulmates after all, right? I assume that means that we have many things in common.

I’ve never been in love before. I’ve had many crushes, but it’s never been love … and I’m still a virgin. I hope that once you meet me, that won’t turn you off. I’ve heard that most guys get bored with girls who are sexually inexperienced. I’m not trying to wait until marriage, I’m just trying to wait for you because I believe you are worth it. I have faith that you will always love me and would sacrifice for me just as much as I would for you. We haven’t met each other yet, but I know that you will read this one day, and when you do, I want you to know that I waited forever for you. I love you more than words can describe, and no matter what has happened to you in life or the things you have done in your past, it doesn’t matter to me. I love you for who you are. I love your soul, and I always will, regardless of the way time will age you. Just know that you won’t be alone, because I’ll be by your side, aging with you, growing with you, and loving you always.

Yours forever,

Aria Hunter

She skimmed through the letter and folded it, feeling somewhat lighter after getting all that off her chest. Aria rose from bed to open the window. She paused for a moment and looked up at the sky, noticing the twinkling North Star.

I hope you’re thinking of me right now, right at this moment, wherever you are.She smiled to herself.

The next morning, Aria buried that letter along with her old diary in a shoebox near the oak tree in her grandparents’ yard.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

aria

I’ve discovered that you don’t need to be a celebrity to live in Beverly Hills—you just need to be hella rich. When I moved to LA, my life drastically changed, like literally overnight. I remember seeing palm trees for the first time when Noah drove us home from the airport. It was a bright, sunny afternoon as we pulled up to the gated property, and I was convinced that I must have been dreaming because his home was too amazing to be real. Noah lived in what I considered a mansion, probably worth millions. He never did tell me how much he purchased the place for, but he did mention inheritance money. His father was a billionaire. Apparently the house had gone through a series of expensive renovations. The home had a stunning 270-degree city and ocean view, and the interior was laid out with an open floor plan. The massive kitchen offered stainless steel appliances that would have impressed any chef. The family room was generously large, and included a formal dining and gathering area. Almost every wall on the first-floor level was made of glass.

The patio doors opened to a large terrace with jetliner views. I was given a full tour of the five-bedroom home on my first day there. His master bedroom was themed with Venetian furniture, and Noah mentioned that it was decorated to Vanessa’s liking (he preferred “modern meets rustic”). I particularly liked the fireplace, the skylights, and my stepmom’s walk-in closet. It was big enough to be another master bedroom.

The guest wing offered two sun-filled guest rooms, all painted in a vanilla color, including their own separate baths. The interior décor of the home was contemporary with a variety of modern-styled furnishings in earth tones. But my room was just awesome. It was bigger than my old bedroom, painted in a lavender color with silver Victorian-style wallpaper on one wall behind my bed. I loved the big bay windows, and especially loved the cushioned window seating. That was something I always wanted, since I was a secret bookworm. Fortunately for me, I got to upgrade from a single to a queen-size mattress. It felt so good to sleep on at night. I had two bookshelves stocked with books, a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and my mirrored vanity was covered in brand-new cosmetics and gift baskets. On a long white desk in one corner of the room rested a brand-new MacBook and iPad. Noah hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he would get me new stuff.

In the basement, there was a temperature-controlled gym with glass walls encasing it. Noah had all kinds of equipment down there, some of which I had never even used before, but I liked the idea of him training me. The backyard was professionally landscaped, and I couldn’t wait to dive in the pool on a hot summer day and soak in the hot tub in the evening. The outdoor fireplace, patio furniture, and cabana were straight out of a home gardening catalogue. There was also palm trees on the property, and a five-car garage. I couldn’t even describe the extent of detail and craftsmanship that went into creating this dream home. It was worthy of being aired onMTV Cribs. Gazing out at the city at night was an incredible experience by itself.

I’d been rescued from my former life and felt like a modern-day Cinderella from the first day I moved in. The only difference in my tale was that I had been living with my evil stepfather, instead of a stepmother. And yeah, there were other blatant differences too … Okay, I was seriously bending the shit out of that fairy tale, but you get the idea.

My stepmom hadn’t been around when I first arrived, but I got to meet her later on in the evening. She seemed a little too enthusiastic to meet me, and it was a bit awkward because I felt like she was trying so hard to be nice. It just didn’t feel genuine—but whatever. I didn’t make a big deal out of it. Most days I rarely saw her. She was too busy either shopping or working. Noah told me that when they got married, she quit her job as a legal secretary and started her own swimwear company (with his financial assistance, of course). Maybe this was shallow and conceited of me, but I honestly felt like he could have done better. She was three years younger than him, but he was more attractive than her. All that plastic surgery she had done to her face and body took away from her natural beauty … if she had any to begin with?

I got along fine with Vanessa … for the first three weeks,that is. After that, my “friendship” with her turned sour. I couldn’t understand it, but every time Noah and I grew closer, she tried to sabotage our bond in some sort of way. Jealousy, I guess? I couldn’t imagine why. I mean, she was married to him, for God’s sake. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe I was the one who was jealous and demonizing my stepmom. I couldn’t find anything in common with her. It’s not like she made an effort to get to know me. In Vanessa’s eyes, I was just some temporary accessory added to her house, like an object or a doll—fun to dress up and look at, if only to match her superficial world. If my stepmom had a theme song, it would definitely be “Barbie Girl”by Aqua. In fact, she should’ve starred in the music video. Her entire persona would have been an accurate depiction of the lyrics.

My transition to a private school was more difficult than I thought. It was a huge change of social scene, and the teachers taught differently. The classes were harder and expectations were higher. Switching between semesters was not something I wanted to do, so I convinced Noah to let me finish up the semester in New York before I moved in with him. Of course he had a hard time flying back knowing I’d be staying with Mom and Rob, but my stepdad gave me no trouble ever since Noah beat the crap out of him.

I had no problem making new friends. Although, I wasn’t sure if the popular girls befriended me because they were genuinely interested in getting to know me or because they’d discovered that the hot guy that had picked me up at the end of the day was my dad. It seemed odd that the popular clique of chicks who had avoided me on my first day of school, suddenly decided to become my best friends. Well, whatever the reason, it was better than being a loner.

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