I'm home.
I feel it in my bones as the cab rolls past the immense iron gates. I hope that maybe I'll catch a glimpse of Jonathan. Maybe he'll be out in the garden and I'll be able to pass innocently by and say hello.
It would be nice just to see him.
The house comes into view. It's practically a castle. There are two tennis courts, multiple swimming pools, gardens, gazebos, patios, tea gardens, a koi pond, and a solarium. The house has sixteen bedrooms, a matching number of bathrooms, and three kitchens. The wine cellar is bigger than most houses.
There's a good reason why this house needs a butler. The house is bigger and has more amenities than some hotels.
The cab drops me off in front of the main house rather than the tiny apartment above the storage area. It's not a far walk, so I don't protest. I can pretend to this one cab driver that I belong here. That I'm not broke and from a poor family. I pay him, giving a good tip. As far as this cab driver is concerned, I'm the billionaire heiress that owns this whole place.
Not just the butler's daughter.
Familiar scents and sounds fill my ears. I smell gardenias and roses in the garden mixed with the soft scent of warm summer trees. The buzz of lawn mowers is in the distance and everywhere I look, people are scurrying and hurrying around making sure the house is picture perfect.
Everything is exactly the way I left it. There's the garage with the apartment I grew up in perched above it. The house and the grounds. The neat paths of crushed gravel and the carefully manicured gardens and lawns.
This was the last place I saw Jonathan. He was, of course, with another girl. They were sitting under a tree having a picnic. She laughed at his jokes and he smiled at her. Neither one of them had seen me near the front door. I'd been invisible then, just the hired help.
He'd leaned over and kissed her, putting his hand in her hair as he tasted her.
I'd imagined that I was that girl so many times. I'd imagined what it would feel like to have Jonathan kiss me under a tree in the summer.
In my mind, it was always heaven. I sigh and begin the walk around the main house and to my father's small apartment.
That's when I see him.
Jonathan is out playing tennis. He's just as I remember him. Better even.
He's tall and trim as he effortless runs after the ball. He's got lush brown hair that styled in a carefree way that I know takes forever. I can't see them from here, but I know he has piercing blue eyes that make all the girls go weak in the knees.
He's laughing as he lobs the ball back to his companion. I consider walking over and saying hello, but I'm still in my traveling clothes and I have two suitcases with me. I haven't done my hair and I'm sure I'm a mess.
I sigh, and leave Jonathan behind yet again.
Tucked back behind the trees and out of sight is a building for storage. This is where they keep the lawn mowers and pool equipment. This is where spare tables and pavilions wait for the lavish dinner parties the Lewis family loves to throw. This is where they keep all the things that make the house look beautiful and the parties run smoothly. It's all out of sight. Just like my father, the butler. Integral, but unseen.
There's a set of wooden stairs with a rickety handrail leading up to the apartment. My father has replaced the rail three times, but it always seems to be loose no matter how many nails and screws he uses.
I run up the stairs and open the door to my childhood home.
My father is in the small kitchen, a frown on his face as he opens and closes drawers. He's still wearing his butler's uniform, but the jacket is unbuttoned and his tie is crooked. I can hear him mumbling about always losing his keys as he checks another drawer.
He looks older than when I saw him last, although, in my mind he'll always be the giant of a man that can do anything. In my head, he's the man he was when I was seven and could keep the monsters away just by growling into the closet.
There's more gray in his hair now and less hair in general. He's thinner and more worn. His brown eyes are still warm and bright, but there are wrinkles around them that aren't in my childhood memories.
I came home from the Caribbean when the doctor's first found something two years ago. I'd nearly stayed, but Dad had insisted that I go back after the surgery. I'd called him everyday and had the other household staff giving me daily updates. He'd been fine, but it had been stressful.
We'd lost my mother when I was six. I didn't want to lose him too. I set my bags down by the door.
“Nora!” My father's eyes light up as he sees me in the doorway. The years fall away from him, and suddenly he looks like the man in my head again. “You're home!”
He hurries across the living room, dodging the small coffee table piled high with books. He wraps me up in a giant bear hug that makes me feel small and safe again. I close my eyes, breathing in the scents of silver polish and freshly washed linens.
“Hi, Dad.” I'm home now.
“Let me look at you,” he says, pulling back and holding me at arm's length. “You look more like your mother everyday, thank the lord. I like the way you have your hair. The lighter color suits you and I love the cut.”
Yet again, my hand goes to my hair and smooths out the light blonde strands. “Julie made me get rid of the bangs,” I tell him. “You like it?”
“I love it,” he assures me with a smile. “It's much more you.”
I grin at him. “Thanks, Dad.”
“How did you get here?” he asks, pulling me back in for one more quick hug. “I was just coming to get you.”
I bend over and pick his car keys up from a stack of books and hand them to him. “I took a cab. I figured it was something with the family, especially since you didn't call.”
My father refuses to answer his personal cell phone during working hours. When he is on duty, that is all he does. He takes his job very seriously.
I go to my bags, happy to have an excuse to talk about something other than Jonathan. While he might be my favorite subject, Jonathan is not my father's preferred conversation topic.
“I got you some things,” I say, going to one of the bags. I unzip the zipper and dig around for a moment before I find what I'm looking for. “Here.”
Dad laughs as I hand him the gifts I got for him this time. There's a bottle of good Caribbean rum, a sailing ship made from driftwood, and a pirate hat.
Dad puts the hat on his head and squints one eye. “Arrrgh, matey!”
I can't help but laugh. I love to see this silly side of him. It's a side so few get to see. As a butler, it's his job to be polite and perfect. There is no goofiness or playfulness when he's with the Family. With them, he's a paragon of polite subservience. With me, he's silly and playful.
I love my dad.
“These are lovely. Thank you.” He kisses my cheek, making me smile. His eyes narrow. “You ready for your conference?”
I nod. “I'll go to the city tomorrow and hopefully come home with a new job.”
I better. I'm not sure I can walk past Jonathan again without my heart breaking.
The conference is packed to the point of being overwhelming. Every travel agent, hotel manager, social media guru, and everyone with an interest in becoming one is here with at least three others. I didn't expect it to be this crowded.Suddenly, I'm a little more nervous about my job prospects. I'm really good at what I do, but it's still hard to stand out in a crowd like this. How am I supposed to wow a company when there's fifteen other people trying to do the same thing?I attend a couple of sessions, and eat the conference luncheon, but I'm not really learning anything new. These classes are geared toward beginners, and I'm anything but that. There's only one more class for the day, but I can't really stomach the idea of sitting through another basic class on why having a social media presence is necessary, so I go out to the hotel lobby.The big hotel foyer leads to a bar and a restaurant as well as a comfortable seating area. There's a fireplace, but it isn't turned on since it'
I'm on cloud nine. If there were a cloud ten or eleven, I'd be on cloud fifteen. I'm going out on a date with Jonathan Lewis. The man I have loved since boys stopped having cooties. I'm positively giddy. He holds my hand as we walk out of the hotel lobby and across the street. My heels click on the sidewalk as we walk through the twilight. I see people look over at us and smile. I hope that they see two people who are meant to be together. The restaurant is way out of my price range. Most nice restaurants in the city are. Once again, I'm sure this is fate. The universe is setting me up for something amazing. Why else would I be wearing my best dress? Why else would Jonathan happen to be having dinner in the restaurant across from my conference. It's fate. It has to be. Jonathan goes to the check in desk and gives his name. The lobby for the restaurant is still packed with people, but the waitress simply waves Jonathan and me inside. I try to ignore the angry glares directed my w
I get to the hotel extra early the next morning, taking the first train into the city. I don't want Jonathan to see me leaving, so I make sure to leave well before he is even awake. I am excited about this surprise. I'm not sure how Jonathan is going to react when I tell him who I am. I hope he doesn't lose all interest in me once he finds out who I am. We had such a connection yesterday that I can't imagine that he'd be anything but excited. He's dated people not in his social sphere before. Still, I'm nervous. I barely slept last night and the few hours I did sleep were filled with wonderful dreams of Jonathan. For once, my dreams actually had some substance and weren't completely made up of conversations I'd wished we'd have. He isn't coming until the end of the day. I wish I had his phone number so I could tell him to come earlier. I hate waiting. The conference does nothing to help me pass the time time. I'm too distracted to focus on the classes. I make a couple of contacts,
Christopher sighs and puts his hands on the table. “No, he's not technically engaged. But he does have a ring. And he has asked her father for permission. He just hasn't asked her yet.” I sink into my chair, this news hitting me like a punch to the gut. “I think he has a fear of commitment,” Christopher continues. “He keeps pushing it off. He keeps finding excuses and looking for reasons to back out.” “So he lied to me.” I stare at Christopher's hands on the table. They are beautiful hands with long fingers and carefully trimmed nails. I'm waiting for the tears, but they haven't come yet. Perhaps I'm still just in too much shock. Maybe it's just the public setting. “Technically, no. He's not engaged.” I look up at Christopher. “But he really is,” I say. “He has someone who loves him. Someone that isn't me. He didn't tell me he was taken.” “Can you blame him?” Christopher shakes his head. “The man who can barely commit to wearing the same shirt an entire day met a beautiful, funn
“Did you have a nice time at the conference yesterday?” Dad asks. He comes and joins me at the small kitchen table, coffee cup in hand. He's almost ready for work, his suit pressed and perfect. There are no wrinkles on his pants and his vest and jacket hang neatly from a hanger by the door. They're perfectly pressed, too. “The conference was fine,” I tell him. It's not a total lie. The conference itself wasn't bad. “You sure? You look exhausted this morning.” Dad raises one eyebrow, the coffee mug halfway to his mouth. He has the paper in the other hand. “I've just got a lot on my mind,” I reply. I spent most of the night tossing and turning, thinking about Jonathan and Christopher. I still don't know what I want to do. I don't know what the right thing to do it. “Okay. Well, I'm off to work. Apparently there's been some sort of incident today. It's going to be a busy day.” Dad loses the stern look and smiles at me. He gets up and rinses his mug in the sink before putting it in t
The helicopter is waiting on the pad for us. The blades already whirl and spin as we approach, ready for us to take off. “We're taking the helicopter?” I ask, sure Christopher had said something about a plane. I realize that I have no idea where we are going. Christopher looks at the helicopter and then at me. “Saves time,” he explains as if it should be obvious. “The plane's waiting for us at the tarmac.” I frown, wondering what a helicopter like this must cost and what the hell I have gotten myself into. “What, you'd rather sit in traffic?” Christopher asks me. With that he walks out to the helicopter, right under the blades, and steps inside. He doesn't duck as he walks. He doesn't look afraid. He walks into the helicopter the way I walk into a subway car. Like it's something I've done all my life. I swallow hard and follow him. I duck low under the swirling blades. They're noisy and I can feel the wind they make. I pull myself up the stairs and into the cabin of the helicopt
I finish my lemonade, but before I can even set the glass down, I have a fresh one. When you are the only customer, the service is pretty amazing. It probably helps when the boss is flying with you, too. Christopher finally finishes his business call. He looks to put the phone in a suit coat pocket, but since he's dressed casually, he has to adjust and put the phone in his pants. He looks awkward and annoyed. “Sorry about that,” he says as if we didn't just have a forty-five minute interruption. “Business.” “It's always business with you,” I reply. “That's my lot in life.” He shrugs, but doesn't deny it. He motions to the file in my hands. “So, what do you think?” “It looks like a great resort and hotel,” I tell him. “I'm not sure if it's a great price, though. I'm afraid I don't know what private islands are going for these days.” “It's a seller's market,” he says with a shrug. “If the amenities are what they claim to be, it could be a good investment. The nearby ecology sanc
Blue skies and leafy green palm trees greet us. I step off the plane and take a deep breath in. If I ignore the scent of jet fuel, I can almost smell the ocean. It's different here than in New York. The ocean here is lighter and more tropical. The sun is different here, too. There's more yellow and colors seem brighter. A man in a dark blue suit is waiting for us at the base of the stairs. He's smiling as we carefully navigate the steps from the plane. Christopher leads. The wind whips at his brown hair and he squints in the sun. “Mr. Lewis, your suite is prepared and ready for you. As requested, there is a fax machine and video conferencing equipment available in your room,” the man says. Christopher glances in my direction. I cross my arms. He's not getting out of this. He doesn't get to fly me out here and leave me on my own. “Actually, that won't be necessary,” Christopher tells the man. “I'll be accompanying Nora.” “Of course, sir.” The man smiles and nods. “If you'll come