Mad Love (12 page)

Fuck.

He kisses me hard on the lips then pulls away. I’m disoriented from his kiss and I know that gives him immense satisfaction. I shakily walk away from him and head to my villa, which is painfully close to his. I don’t dare turn and look at him because I know he’s standing there waiting for me to walk inside.

Seconds later, I’m in my room. I start to breathe again as I fall on my bed. Except I don’t feel as free as I thought I would. Clayton is all around me. He’s in my mind, and if I close my eyes I can even imagine his touch on my body. There’s no escaping him.

7

“Jesus. Fucking. Tits,” Erik says dramatically.

After I sat in my room for about five minutes and thought over the events that had transpired, I rushed over to Erik and Orie’s villa to tell them the whole story. The two stare at me from the couch in utter shock.

Orie is the first to move and he immediately makes a beeline to the bar and pulls out a bottle of Rosé. I know he’s too stunned to even comment.

“I know,” is all I can manage to say back.

Orie pours wine and thankfully brings it to us.

“I’m speechless,” he says as he hands me a glass. “But I’ve got to say, I’m happy you took the plunge and jumped in the ocean. That was so brave of you, Sophie.”

Erik holds up his hand, demanding silence. “I can’t even talk about that part of the story now. It’s so fucked, I can’t even address it.”

I laugh. “I know.” We clink glasses from habit.

“Do you think this is Noom’s fault?” I dare to ask as I look at the two of them.

“Noom?” Erik looks like he wants to spit up his wine. “Really? Is that the best you can do, Sophie?”

Orie plops down on the lounge chair. “This relationship already feels so heavy.”

“I know!” I nod in agreement. “Is this normal?”

“Since when do you do anything normal?” Erik gets up and walks over the lounge chair and scoots in with Orie. I watch them cuddle up to one another. I can’t stop my smile.

“But I’m so normal.”

Orie laughs in my face. “Girl, sometimes you say the funniest shit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Where should I begin? First, out of left field, you drop out of law school. You break up with a guy you’ve known all your life, which I don’t disagree with, by the way. You convince Erik and me to come all the way across the world with you because you need to ‘find yourself’ and get away from your family. You insist you need to do it in the Maldives. After twenty-three years of being the biggest prude around, you fall for a guy who literally screams hard-core S-E-X, and you’re asking if we think any of this is
normal
?”

When he sums it up that way, I totally see his point. But I still feel the need to defend myself.

“I’m just free-spirited.”

Erik and Orie find this vastly amusing.

“Sophie, we love you so much we’re not even going to make fun of that ridiculous statement.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Let’s just get back to the problem at hand,” Erik says. “What are you going to do?”

“More importantly, what is she going to wear tonight?” Orie interrupts.

Without even hesitating Erik answers, “White. She’s a sacrificial virgin taking her last steps. Innocent. Pure. Spectacular.”

“I love it. Long, wavy hair flowing behind her. Totally ethereal.”

Are they crazy? They’re planning my outfit? The sad part is I can totally picture it in my head as well.

“I saw a gorgeous white dress in the gift shop,” Erik says.

They are full-on having a conversation without including me.

“I know which one you’re talking about. It was amazing. It would look so good on her, especially if she gets more sun. The golden tan on white, you can never go wrong with that.”

“Did it have a
gorgeous
price tag as well?” I cut in, wanting to be included.

“It’s our losing-your-virginity, end-of-days gift to you.” Erik answers, almost brushing me off as he and Orie start to plan my outfit.

“No way!” I stand up. “Did you guys hear anything I said to you before?”

They look at each other before turning to face me. Erik speaks.

“Sophie, babe, yes, we did. What do you want us to say? You’re half in love with him already. I think it’s rad. It’s incredible. It’s fucking awesome. Stop running. From all you’ve told us, he’s fucked up, no doubt. But you picked him. He’s your destiny. Your whole life has built up to this moment, tonight. Twenty-three years of virginity has led to this. And God willing it will be one giant orgasm.”

“Amen.” Orie clinks glasses with Erik. “Hopefully he lives up to all the hype.”

I lay back on the lounge chair.

“But he’s so rich. And he’s so handsome. And he’s
English
.”

“Those are three favorable marks in my book,” Erik says as he stands up and walks over to the iPod. He puts on some cool dance mix he heard while he was in Ibiza.

“And what about what happens after? I mean, is it just a wham bam thank you ma’am type of experience I’m going to have? Is that all I should expect?” I have to ask.

“Did you really just say
wham bam thank you ma’am
?” Erik looks horrified.

I try another cliché. “How about love ‘em and leave ‘em?”

“Why does it even matter? Aren’t you the new spontaneous Sophie who’s living for the moment? Why do you want to torture yourself and think about what happens after?”

He has a point.

“You’re right. I’ll try—“ I say.

“You won’t try.
You’ll do
. Stop worrying. Just be. It will be way easier and less stressful and a million times more enjoyable if you live in the moment,” Erik tells me. “Nothing else matters.”

I nod in agreement, but I’m not really so sure.

He puts his hands on his hips and faces me. “Since according to Mr. Perfect, this is the last afternoon we have you to ourselves, what should we do?”

“We have to go buy her that dress.” Orie says.

“I don’t need the dress—“

“Are you kidding me? I know what you packed for yourself. I told you to bring something sexy, but you didn’t listen.”

“You knew I’d meet a guy?” I roll my eyes.

“Yes. Anyway, you always have to be prepared, Sophie. That’s travel packing rule 101. Haven’t you learned anything from me all these years?” Erik sounds like he’s explaining this to a child.

“We’ve got it handled,” Orie says. “Let’s get the dress. Sophie, go to your bungalow and we’ll meet you there after and plan the look and the outfit.”

“How do you even know it’s going to fit me?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Erik says.

I nod, trying my hardest not to laugh at how annoyed he looks.

“Is the pope Catholic?” Erik continues, getting all dramatic on me.

“Yes!” I laugh.

“Am I not the most amazing stylist in the twenty-first century?”

“You are.”

“And the hottest.” Orie stands up and pulls him close. “Sweetest. Most good-looking man I know.”

“I second that,” I say loyally, smiling at the way the two of them stare into each other’s eyes. Even though they’ve only been together for a little under two years, I can’t remember a time when they weren’t a couple. It’s like they were made for one another.

Erik met Orie at a party in Los Angeles. At the time, he was in a long-term relationship but had found himself instantly drawn to Orie. He called me on his way home.

“So I met this guy … ” His voice was giddy, filled with excitement.

“What guy? You have a boyfriend,” I reminded him. I loved his ex, even though the two never seemed to go a week without a fight.

“I know, Sophie. But this guy, there’s something about him. I felt like I knew him. I’ve never really experienced anything like it before.”

“Maybe you do know him. You are the mayor of West Hollywood,” I reminded him, hoping my voice didn’t sound full of censure, even though I
wasn’t very happy about him looking at other people when he was still in a committed relationship.

“No. I would remember. I don’t know how to explain it.” Erik’s voice was soft, so different from his usual confident tone. “I know I’m with Miguel and I love him. I’d never do anything to hurt him, but something kind of called to me. Don’t judge me.”

“I would never judge you,” I told him, because I knew he wouldn’t cheat on Miguel.

It was three years before Erik and Orie were both free and clear and could be with each other. They had kept in touch, ran into each other a few times at various events, and, after they finally got together, both of them had told me that they knew their time would come.

It’s funny that now I finally know what Erik meant when he said he just felt drawn to Orie. It makes absolute sense to me.

“You guys are making me blush,” Erik interrupts my trip down memory lane. Erik blushing is about as possible as a pig flying.

“As if.” I laugh.

“I can be shy,” Erik says defensively. “It’s happened. Once. Twice, maybe.”

“I’m not going to respond to that, babe.” Orie sounds amused. “I’ll let you go on living in your dream world.”

Erik pinches his cheek then looks over at me with a serious expression.
Crap, here comes the lecture
, I think.

“Alright, you need to go to your room and stay there. Don’t jump in the shark-infested waters outside your bungalow. Don’t call him. Don’t even move beyond the ten-foot radius of your bed and deck. And for the love of God, shave your legs.”

Orie turns up the volume on the iPod and starts dancing around the bungalow in excitement and I can’t stop the adrenaline rush that comes over me. The countdown for the evening has just started.

I used the opportunity to get out my sketchpad and pencils and draw my view of the ocean. Landscapes are one of my favorite things to paint. I love to add a bit of my own magic to the beauty that is already there. I
become obsessed with getting the color of the water right, the dreamy current. It all has to be perfect. As usual, I quickly lose myself in my work. Time and place seem to disappear when I sketch or paint.

These are the moments when I realize how much I need my art for my sanity and happiness. It’s been my passion my whole life. It’s also been my secret sanctuary. I get such a feeling of fulfillment that I can’t even put it into words. I feel peace when I paint. It’s like I was born to do it. If I’m honest with myself, I knew when I enrolled in law school that I would eventually drop out.

I never believed I would last in that cut-throat environment. There was no joy in it for me. Yes, I could get the grades. I understood the law but I was bored and scared—frightened of how it would bring me a kind of existence that would inevitably make me unhappy.

I remember sitting in a Torts class, eyes glazed over, and feeling overwhelmed and desperate.
Is this going to be my life?,
I thought in horror. What if this monotony was what I had to wake up to every day? It was too depressing to consider. It was so completely unappealing to me that I ended my torture then and there. I got up during the professor’s coma-inducing lecture and walked out and never looked back.

It was the happiest day of my life.

And this is the part my parents cannot understand. They think passion can be found in any profession. That you can miraculously make yourself love something because it is the responsible thing to do, the right thing to do. But it’s simply not true. Passion can’t be willed or found. It just is. And I think it works that way in every part of your life, from jobs, to friends, to relationships. The spark has to be there or you’ll just be lost. You have to love what you do and who you’re with. And want it every day. Otherwise your life will be one, big, empty void and you’ll search for happiness and never understand why it keeps escaping you.

The idea of spending my life practicing law was unacceptable. And now more than ever, being with a man just because it’s what society or my family tells me to do is appalling. Now more than ever I’ve felt something different with a complete stranger and I know better now. I can thank Clayton for
this miracle. In a single moment, with a single gaze, he showed me what I had been searching for, what I had been missing all my life.

Speaking of Clayton …

I blush at the thought of the coming evening.

I’m apparently prepared to jump into bed with a man I just met.
Oh, a nun would jump into bed with Clayton
, I tell myself defensively. I know there’s no way in hell that I’m the only woman who would act this way. Anyone would. I think about his kisses and the way his hands feel on my body and desire washes right over me.

Stop, Sophie
.

I try to concentrate on the soothing sound of the ocean and not a bed. Anything but a bed. Let me clarify, a bed with Clayton in it. Sigh. I know this is going to be an impossibility.

I’m jolted out of fantasyland by the loud ring of the phone and I’m glad it stops the sinful thoughts in my mind. I run inside from my deck and grab it, thinking that it’s Erik and Orie, ready to come over and turn me into Cinderella on her way to the ball.

“Yes, I shaved my legs.”

“They felt soft enough to me this afternoon.”

Damn.

Why don’t I think before I speak? I’m too embarrassed for words. Why do I continue to be such an idiot?

“What else have you been up to?” he says into my silence.

Oh, you know, just fantasizing.

About you.

Lord.

“Um. I’ve been sketching.” I try to sound cool.

“Can I see?” He sounds genuinely interested.

“I don’t show anyone my work until I’m done.”

“I’m not anyone.”

And there goes my heart again—banging against my chest. No, he’s not just anyone. He’s the man who is dominating all my thoughts. Not letting
me concentrate. Just making me think about him in all sorts of scandalous, X-rated ways.

R-rated. Okay, PG-13, but a PG-13 with lots of action.

“Admit it, Sophie,” he continues.

I give him what he wants. “I admit it. But I’m a little apprehensive about showing people my work.”

“You’re shy about a lot of things. And I think you’re perfect. I have no doubt that your art is as well. I want to see what you do.”