Love Nouveau (18 page)

“So what were you looking at on the stairs?” she asks, her eyes never leaving her reflection.

“Nothing, really. Just my offer letter from the gallery.”

“Oh?” There is a surprise in her tone that rubs me the wrong way. “How much will you be making?”

Of course that’s the
one
bit of information she’s craving. What my pending salary has to do with her is beyond me. My income is of no concern to her. I could be making pennies an hour and that would be more than enough for me to uproot my life and leave my family behind.

“I, uh … I didn’t get that far before you came home.”

“I highly doubt you’ll get paid much of anything. I mean, it’s
just
art. It’s not like you’re curing cancer or something.”

There’s a pang in my chest at her comment as I’m reminded of Phoenix’s father. I couldn’t care less about her disregard for the fine arts, but her complete lack of tact is downright disgusting.

“You’re right, Genevieve. It’s
nothing
like curing cancer,” I deadpan. I shake my head as I turn toward the door.

Pulling the letter out of my pocket, it is clearer than ever.

I have to get out of this hellhole.

“I WANTED TO LET YOU know that I plan on looking for work in New York after this project outside of Chicago wraps.”

Wait. What?

We’ve been on the phone for more than two hours tonight, talking mostly about the stupid shit we did when we were younger, so his declaration completely catches me off guard.

“Does that scare you?” he asks softly. I swallow my uncertainty as his question echoes through my head. It makes me
something
, but not scared. I search for the words but find myself at a loss. “There is nothing keeping me here in St. Louis.”

“First of all, that’s not true,” I quickly interject. My mind goes to his father, and however little time he has left. It pains me that he still hasn’t spoken with him. I know his dad’s condition is weighing on his mind, even if he refuses to admit it. I can hear it in his voice. As the only child, he should stay close and help him, no matter how strained their relationship may be. I think sensing that his father isn’t all that bad is what softens my insides.

“Second of all, you can’t move just for me,” I lie. Secretly, I want him to move for me. I want him to want to move mountains to be with me, to bend his life to fit perfectly into mine. But that is something I could never ask of him. Especially since he only recently popped into my life.

I mean, who moves for someone they only recently met? For someone they’ve only shared one date with? That’s just crazy.

Love makes you do crazy things
, my subconscious nudges.

But love is suicide,
my mind refutes, laying the foundation to build another wall and guard me from the inevitable pain that is coming. But love? I am most certainly
not
in love. I need to get a grasp on my life.

“I know it sounds crazy,” he says, reading my mind, “but the thought of you being halfway across the country when I know you should be right here next to me makes me … well, it just makes me angry. It’s not how things are supposed to be. This is so fucking unfair.”

There is no disagreeing with his comment. Life is so stupidly unfair. These miles, these phone calls, these late night conversations are not how our relationship should be defined. For some reason, right now, it works for us, but we both know it can’t work like this forever. One of us is going to have to throw away our life plans and dare, or we will have to be apart in every sense of the word.

I pale at that thought.

There is another option, though. My father’s offer nudges my mind. Sure, it’s not my dream job, but I could
probably
be happy at the Museum of Contemporary Art. I could learn to enjoy life in a museum rather than my dream of working in a prestigious gallery.

No doubt my father would hold things over my head indefinitely if I stayed in Chicago. And if things didn’t work out between us, my family would never let me live it down.

But is it selfish to leave and run down my dreams? Or is it more selfish to take the job here so I can have Phoenix close to me?

I still can’t bring myself to tell Phoenix about the offer. I couldn’t bear the aftermath if he ever actually expected me to take it so we could be in the same place. While deep down I know I could never take it, I can’t bring myself to completely discard the opportunity just yet.

Phoenix shakes me from my wandering mind. “I just want to be with you any way that I can. If that means that you’re mine with two thousand miles of land between us, then so be it. I am willing to walk those two thousand miles barefoot just to see you.”

A soft laugh escapes my lips. “Uphill both ways?”

“And in the snow.” He pauses thoughtfully for a moment. “I know it’s not fair to ask the same of you, and I never would, but I have never been so sure about anything or anyone in my entire life. And I’m certain that you feel it too.”

The beating of my heart simply stops.

Our whole relationship is comfortably terrifying. Having grown so close to him over the past month, I’m absolutely sure of my feelings, but that little nagging voice deep down says that this is all too good to be true.

Damn it! Sometimes I wish I could just turn off my brain.

“You realize in a little over two weeks I get to hold you in my arms again?” I can hear the smile in his voice.

A soft moan passes my lips as my soul is soothed at the thought. I lick my lips, remembering how sweet he tasted. The next few weeks cannot pass by fast enough. I wish my life were a DVR machine so I could fast forward through all this mundane bullshit and get focus on the feature presentation.

“While I’m in town, I’m going to take you out on a real date. Wine and dine you like you deserve. Anywhere you want to go, we’ll go there. I don’t care where it is, as long as I have you on my arm. But Ivy, we’ve talked so much the past few weeks, I honestly don’t know how much talking I can do face to face with you. So be ready because I plan on kissing the fucking shit out of you on every last inch of your perfectly soft skin. I need to explore each and every tender curve of your body. The inside of your body will be jealous of the outside,” he says slowly, seductively.

Fuck.
I realize I’m panting at his words. If I have anything to do with it, the outside of my body will be jealous of my insides because that is exactly where he is meant to be.

“I want to be with you in every sense of the word. I want to take my time with you. I want you to beg me, possess me. I want you in my hotel room and I don’t want to see the light of day until the entire building knows my name.”

My mouth goes dry and my fingers twitch at his words. Desire courses my veins and I need to reel in the pooling heat before I turn into a phone sex operator. God, the things I would do to him if he were right here next to me. I would ravage him ten ways to Sunday. The blissful thought of being thoroughly fucked heats me from the inside out.

“Ivy…” The way he exhales my name practically brings me to my knees here on my bedroom floor. “I need to be with you more than I need to breathe.”

When I close my eyes, I can almost feel him sitting here beside me, whispering his wishes and promises softly in my ear. A pleasurable shiver races down my spine and I take a deep breath. I
do
feel it. This feeling is impossible to ignore as it wraps itself around myself and holds on for dear life. I never want to feel it go. My heart aches for his touch. My body thirsts for his skin on mine. There are so many things that I want to do with this man … to this man. I can’t simply tell him how I feel about him. I need to show him with my body what I’m incapable of putting into words.

“I’m yours,” I breathe into the phone. “My body, my soul … it’s nothing without you. Every last piece of me is yours for the taking.”

I say the words without thinking, knowing that it’s true. My desire to be with him in every sense of the word wins out over logic. It doesn’t make sense to be with him, given our circumstances. My head relentlessly reminds me that distance is simply too great. But when your heart and instinct team up to scream at you, you had better just shut up and listen.

WELL, THE GOOD NEWS IS Genevieve was right—I didn’t have to plan one lick of her bachelorette party. The bad news is that the stupid party is tonight—well, more like all day, tonight and tomorrow morning, and I don’t feel like spending my time with Gen and her single-minded minions. My body is still exhausted from staying up until five in the morning chatting with Phoenix.

I arrive at the Four Seasons just off of Michigan Avenue in the early afternoon to get everything set up. Awaiting my arrival is a case of the finest pink champagne already chilled, fresh flowers for our suite, gourmet chocolates at ten bucks an ounce that no one will eat, and the boxes of decorations and gifts that Genevieve had delivered ahead of time.

Our room for the evening is completely and utterly ridiculous. Of course, she reserved the most magnificent suite the hotel had to offer, the very same room that rock royalty stay in when they have a tour stop in the Windy City. It’s outfitted in sleek monochromatic tones with polished dark silver crown moulding and a grand chandelier casts rainbows across the floor and walls. It’s ornate and ostentatious, and even though it shouldn’t, it makes me highly uncomfortable.

Pushing those feelings aside, I quickly unload the boxes and stack the gifts on top of the baby grand piano in the center of the room. Genevieve has pulled out all the stops for tonight. Each of the fifteen party guests will receive a ballerina pink Kashwere bathrobe with their monogram stitched in silver. I adjust the white satin ribbon on each bundle of fabric, tying each bow to perfection. These are just the start of Genevieve’s grandiose gesture, thanking everyone for celebrating her special night as a nearly married woman in an alcohol-induced haze.

A beauty day at the ritziest spa in the city is just the prelude to a drunken night. I call down to the spa and confirm that the nail technicians and massage therapists are primed and ready for our arrival in two hours.

I hang a sparkly banner that reads “Cheers, Bitches!” in the archway leading into the main living space. I want to ask why I'm making such a fuss over everything, but if I’m being entirely honest, it’s because some tiny, miniscule part of me does care. Even though Genevieve drives me bat shit crazy and I have zero tolerance for her drama, she’s still my sister. While I don’t particularly like Genevieve the vast majority of the time, I do love her.
Kind of.
She wasn’t always so bad. We used to be best friends back in the day when things were B.G.—before Glen. I have a tiny flicker of hope that maybe someday we can capture that again, but I don’t hold my breath.

After the confetti sparkles on the table and the sweet scent of flowers fill the air, everything seems to be in order for the grand event. I grab my cell phone and settle into the couch to wait for the guest of honor to arrive and approve of my setup work.

A smile plays at my lips while I scroll to Phoenix’s name and hit the call button. Just the sheer thought of this boy makes me feel all giddy inside. The sensation never gets old.