For a moment, I feel like my entire world has completely stopped spinning. It's been almost two weeks since I haven't heard Alejandro's voice, and suddenly now, with a burner phone supplied to me by my royal grandmother in Venetia, he's speaking. To me.
"Alejandro?" I mutter into the phone. I can hear him suck in a sharp breath at the sound of my voice.
"Leslie?" he says. "Leslie is this...this is you? Jesus Christ."
I want to say so much, but so little is coming out of my mouth.
"Leslie, I'm sorry," Alejandro says. "I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry for leaving you. Believe me, I know I fucked up and I'm sorry."
"Why did you
** I'm tired of fighting. My father would be ashamed of me if he heard these words coming out of my mouth. "Leslie," I can imagine him scolding me. "Don't you ever quit fighting. My girls are fighters; they never quit." I suppose if my dear father understood the circumstances that currently plague me, he would have a change of heart. I should have talked to him before going to Venetia; he probably knew the extent of Ramona's 'fury.' Now that I think about it, talking to him should have been the priority. I could have asked him about what happened between him and Genina and about Ramona - my grandmother. But I didn't. I was too eager to meet her, and now I'm left not empty handed, but with a threat in my palm. Ramona had apparently guided my life this entire time, and I didn't ev
** As if my life couldn't get any more complicated. Sebastian and Claude's rental car is unsalvageable. The boys walked outside and tried to see if there was any way they could save the car, but it was completely ruined - as was my hope of getting back to Glasgow. Now, I'm at the dinner table, picking at my plate with Sebastian Harrison sitting across from me. The entire table is quiet, most likely because a tree just crashed on Sebastian's car outside. It's awkward, to say the least. I can't even manage to look Sebastian in the eye. I don't know if it's because my guilt is eating me apart or because I'm embarrassed that he's actually staying at my grandmother's house in Scotland. Yes, he and Claude are staying here until we c
** After breakfast, everyone retires to the living room, the kids having gone outside to play in the rain puddles. I'm in the kitchen by myself since it's empty in here. I think Sebastian knows that I'm trying to avoid him. It isn't the smartest plan, but the only one that I can think of doing. I get up and decide to take another nap in my room, but right when I do, Sebastian comes into the kitchen. He pauses when he sees me, then smiles weakly. I do the same, but somehow goose bumps accompany my grin. "Why are you hiding out in here?" he asks me. By his mood, he seems unfazed by what we spoke about outside earlier this morning. "I'm just thinking," I reply. "I hope my family isn't giving you a hard time."
**Throughout my life, three men have told me that they loved me.Beyond maternal love or "friendly" love; innocent love. These declarations of love were ones that I categorized from the heart or soul, whichever place you find more sentimental.Hudson was first. We were at dinner in New York with a few of his friends from his firm. On the taxi ride back to the hotel, he told me he loved me. I knew he didn't mean it, but I replied anyway to ensure the simplest of car rides was not over complicated: "I love you, too."Alejandro was second. In Venetia, is where he told me. Not in person, no. Over the phone - the burner phone that was supplied to me from my estranged grandmother. In Colombia, thousands of miles away, he told m
** SEBASTIAN Being back home is a feeling almost unfamiliar to me. Everything is pretty much the same - the Board up my ass, Claire's pestering me to no fucking end and the everyday struggles I'm used to facing with carrying a name like mine. Nothing has changed. But still, something is off. Different. Leslie is still in Scotland. At least I think she's still in Scotland; I left before I could even ask her if she was planning on leaving back to the states that morning or staying with her family. The morning after Leslie and I had sex, Claude woke me up when the sun was barely rising above the horizon.
**I never thought I would entertain the thought of watching someone get shot to death, but as Claude aims his gun at Alejandro, I can't help but picture the scenario in my mind.It's been a solid minute since Claude turned the safety on his gun off. My heart wants Alejandro dead for what he's done, but my brain is begging me to indulge in my logic and sense. Killing Alejandro wouldn't be smart - it would be deadly onourend, both metaphorically and literally. Still, I don't have the courage to tell Claude to put the gun down; it could be any second from now that Claude shoots Alejandro dead, and I'm just laying silently, watching Alejandro during this waiting game."If you would just let me explain," Alejandro says. Claude becomes more aggravated at the
** It isn't a good feeling to wake up and find the man you slept with the night before nowhere to be found, especially when you're thousands of miles away from your home country. I'm sure the entire table at my grandmother's house feels bad for me; they suspected that something was up between Sebastian and me, and the look on my face after being told by my grandmother that both SebastianandClaude are gone has only solidified their suspicions. "Oh," is all I reply, forks and spoons clanking against everyone's plates and bowls awkwardly. I retire back to my room and immediately start packing all of my belongings into my suitcases. My hands move faster than the thoughts in my head, which is a good thing because I would have somehow convinced myself to stay; the
** NOVEMBER Three months. What can I tell you about the last three months? Well, it's been a long three months filled with press conferences, appearances, and interviews. Birthdays, too - Sebastian's birthday and my birthday. Of course, we didn't celebrate either of them together since that would be in violation of our "no friendly contact rule" Sarah put in place for us. Ever since the photo of Sebastian and I at Claire's party leaked to the press, Sarah and I came to the consensus that it would make more sense for Sebastian and me to steer clear of each other outside of work until the mess died down. This decision was a lot harder to make after finding out about him and Cla
**I thought my victory over Claire Finch would last as long as the buzz around her scandal. Apparently, I was wrong.I'm unsure if it's because the heat has lasted longer in the press, at a constant peak, then expected—two weeks. It's all everyone is talking about. It's all everyonehasbeen talking about since Claire came out with the statement.In my office, I watch an interview that Claire did yesterday with Diane Sawyer about her infidelity scandal. I read the comments more than anything; they're less than sympathetic. I force myself to see the immense positivity in this, but with Sebastian not here to share this victory with me, it's almost useless in a selfish sense. A professional sense? It's an instant boost in my career. A publicist's ace in the
I should tell someone. I should do something. I should say something to someone I trust, but admittedly, I'm too scared. The journal, dark and tattered but still intact, rest on my lap as I sit in my car, too scared to put the keys into the ignition in fear of the car blowing up with me inside it. I've called Isaac and asked him to pick me up from the restaurant due to "car trouble;" I didn't mention the journal to him. He would only tell me that I should have listened to him about moving to Venetia. He would also tell me that this is certainly Garrett's doing—everything I already know being told to me over again. I don't open the journal again. I feel like I'm invading Sebastian's memories if I were to read it again; he's let go of the drama that's surrounded it. Now that it's back, all of its baggage comes with it. I should burn it. Bury it. Hide it somewhere. Part of me wants to
** I tap my fingers impatiently against the table top, watching restaurant goers enjoy their mimosas and laugh over their egg toasts. Brunch seemed like a reasonable time for Claire to meet me. Not for dinner or lunch or even breakfast, but brunch. That was the only time she'd agree to. She also set the place for our meeting—The Edenboroughin Beverly Hills. Very upscale eatery; money is dripping from every guest in the room. Claire, who had me make the reservation, texted me and told me she would be a little late the moment I walked into the restaurant. At that point, I knew she was messing with me. But I don't mind indulging in her childish antics. The fact that she agreed to meet with me is progress enough. "Can I get you started with something to drink, miss Ki
**JANUARYFor the last thirty days, I've been dealing with the most unbearable anxiety.Not because of everything that happened in December—I have been seeing a therapist for almost an entire month who has helped me tremendously with correctly channeling my feelings about everything that happened to me; Sebastian promised to talk to someone if I did, so we're both making weekly visits to shrinks.It isn't work, either. Work has been "relatively" normal ever since I returned to my apartment and eventually got back into my routine. The ideal reasons aren't the reasons at all. The real reason involves a man that I can't seem to get enough of—a man that seems to always spiral my life out of con
** Sebastian's house has a heavy, eerie feeling to it when no one is here. Its vast walls and weaving hallways have to always be occupied. If not, it's like an abandoned castle from legend. I wonder how Sebastian managed to dwell here on his own when he wasn't hosting parties. I sit outside most of the day on one of the chairs in the courtyard. With my laptop, I get back to work; it takes my mind off of last night. I want to feel somewhat normal again but in truth, I don't know if everything will ever be truly normal like it once was. I suppose this is the life I live now, and I have to learn how to adjust to it instead of running away from it. Hours pass and so do countless emails. I've responded to every media outlet in my i
** I wait for the walls to cave in on themselves. I wait for the lights to go out and for everyone to disappear. Suddenly, I'll be free falling. And right before I hit the ground, I'll jolt myself awake; this is a dream. I want this to be a dream. I want to wake up right next to Leslie with the sunrays and the sheets and shit. I don't want this to be real. But after waiting for the end of the dream, it never comes. This is real life. What I'm seeing is one-hundred percent real. Claude, Isaac and Penny stand beside me, staring in the same direction that I am but wearing different facial expressions; I'm the only one whose expression isn't distinctive. Salvador continues to try and wake Alejandro up. There's a small groan that emanates from him, but he still remai
**SEBASTIANI like watching her sleep.She'll never know this, though. Never on my fucking life; I always preach about how ridiculous it is to watch someone as they're deep in slumber, but fuck, I can't help it this time—she looks so beautiful. Angelic, almost. Peaceful, too. I've done this before, watch her sleep. We were at my mom's house in Tennessee. I went through a rough patch, and she slept on the couch in my room through the night. When I woke up, she was still there, wrapped in a blanket up to her neck, eyes soft and without worry. Now is a little different. Now, she's underneath my sheets with the fabric clinging to the titillating curves of her body. Her bare legs stick out through my bedding, her breasts barely covered. Her hair is a m
** I don't know how to feel about the sight in front of me. Alejandro being carried away. That's what I see, sitting on the ground with Sebastian's arms still wrapped around me. I watch Isaac and Claude lift his body up and haul him out of the room. His eyes are closed, hair hanging back to reveal more of the gash on his nose—the gash I created. I just stare, my body in a state of shock with my limbs frozen stiff. They struggle to haul Alejandro's mass through the door, but they succeed, the sounds of their laborious breathing being heard as they travel down the hall. When they're gone, I look around the room at the mess—the ceiling plaster scattered on the floor, the broken lamp, overturned furniture. None of it seems real when the images burn into my brain. Sebastian begins to remove his hold on me, slowly as if it's a danger to my wellbeing for him to break away. "I'll be right back," he assures me. His voice is certain and adamant
** The only thought that races through my mind is death. Alejandro is going to kill me. That's what's going to happen. He's going to shoot me, and the moment everyone downstairs hears the gunshot, it will be too late; the gun is already pressed into my back. All he needs to do is pull the trigger. "I don't want to hurt you, Leslie," Alejandro whispers in my ear. I'm too scared to speak; he told me not to make a sound. I breathe in the rough leather of his glove and tense against the gun on my back. Eyes closed, I wait for him to shoot. But he never does. Instead, he removes the gun, still keeping his hand over my mouth. I'm pressed even further into his chest, smelling the sweat and tobacco stuck to his clothing. The sound of knocking on the door makes us both jump in alarm. "Leslie, it's me," Sebastian says on the other side. The moment I hear his voice, I scream even louder into Alejandro's glove. "Shut up," he growled into m