Page 15 of Secrets in Love
This morning, before my eyes had even blinked open, I was touching, caressing, and bringing myself undone to visions of him surfing, his arms slicing through the waves as he paddled back to shore. His wetsuit was half off, lifelessly hanging around his waist, as he ran from the water, his board tucked under his bulging biceps. He whipped his wet hair from his eyes and smiled over his shoulder as I ran to catch up to him. When I did, he took hold of my waist, laid me down in the sand, and violated every inch of my body.
No other man had brought me undone by mere thoughts alone. In truth, no other man had made me fall apart full stop.
You see, I had a teeny-tiny secret. I had a few, actually, but the biggest by far was that I, Aoife Evie Mary Austen, was a twenty-seven-year-old virgin.
A life of celibacy was not my intention. I did not dream of being a nun or starring in the female remake ofThe40-Year-OldVirginin an alarmingly short time. Opportunities had arisen here and there in high school and college—the most serious of which was with my first and only boyfriend. I was seventeen, and his name was Luke Bailey. He was kind of a dork, but a super-cute and sweet guy who sat next to me on the bus, where we would hold hands and whisper naughty things. Most days, he would get off a stop early just to walk with me, and he bravely withstood the abuse Finn and Nate hurled the entire time. Our relationship ran almost an entire year, and I fully intended on Luke being my first lover. We got close—naked-and-putting-on-a-condom close—but at the last minute, my ready and willing body surrendered to my freaking-the-fuck-out mind, and I ran.
My hesitation was a blessing in disguise.
Turned out that Luke wasn’t so sweet. He was quite the cockhead. One who broke up with me the next day, then slept with my once-best friend Polly that same night.
Yes, Polly.
The very one who’d called me out of the blue and squealed like a piggy about Nate’s bedroom tricycle act. The timing of her call was suspicious. She was surrounded by people and an undoubtedly hideous pink-and-blue mess at her sister’s baby shower. It was odd, but then again, that was Polly… She never did things by the book.
Speaking of books, my friend Polly was the first to hear the origins of my writing and the first to read a completed work. The collection I’d written in my youth became a series starring my niece, Iris, incorporating Aussie tales my mum told us as kids and the real-life moments from our move from Australia to America. The kid was incredible, coping with the challenges better than me, her dad, or her great-aunt. Her bravery, honesty, and pure brilliance took my breath away, and I couldn’t have loved her more if she were my own daughter. Which I truly felt she was. Even though her father is my brother. Note to self: never say that in public.
My mind was in chaotic shambles. Nate, Polly, and my joke of a literary career fought for attention, so I did what I always did—distracted myself and got on with what needed to be done. Since it was Friday, and I was a single woman in New York, I was naturally at home doing housework in my pajamas, nibbling on Vegemite toast while listening to Taylor. Clearly, I had it too loud. I thought I was alone in the house. Jocelyn was supposed to be meeting with Finn at his architectural firm—he was designing Jocelyn’s dream home upstate—but as I danced past her study, pulling my best moves with the vacuum, I spotted her behind her desk, and by the looks of it, she was mid-plot.
“What are you up to?” I quizzed, popping out my headphones.
She smirked and released a disturbingly evil chuckle. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Evie. I’m working hard here.”
“Working hard at trouble. I know that face, now spill.” Shutting off the vacuum cleaner, I rushed to her side. Luckily, Jocelyn was not holding any national secrets, and she cracked like an egg.
“Well, I was thinking of a girls’ trip and may have been looking at houses available this weekend in Tarrytown. You, me, and Iris. Interested?”
“Bloody oath! A nice, relatively quiet weekend sounds like heaven. But I have to ask, what inspired this sudden need to escape the city?”
“Finn has. Well, Finn and his co-worker slash love interest, Scarlett. A concussion and a rather lot of blood.”
My eyes crossed. “Umm, you lost me at concussion.”
Jocie closed her laptop and rose, dramatically walking toward the window with her arms in an on-brand, theatrical flurry. “As you know, I went to see Finn and Scarlett about the house plans—which, by the way, look fabulous. The three of us were making our way to the conference room, when poor Scarlett tripped, knocking her senseless and cutting her forehead and lip. Finn and I were forced to take her to the emergency room, which is where she and, most importantly, he remains.”
“You seem happy about this, and I’m not sure why. Is the poor girl okay?”
“Yes, yes. She will be fine, but I believe Ms. Grant may need some nursing this weekend, and I believe your brother may be the perfect one to provide it. You know what Finn’s like, though. He will have major guilt if he leaves Iris too long, so I plan to steal her away before he can even question it.”
“You really are an evil genius, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. Without it, you can’t get as far in business as I have.”
She was right about evilness and getting far in business. Though I would be hesitant to tell her in fear of her head swelling, Jocelyn was a bit of a hero to me. I’d watched in admiration for years as she ran our family farming empire singlehandedly, taking guardianship of my brother and me when we lost our parents. Not only that, but she had also been married three times and lived an enviable intercontinental lifestyle, including romancing many, many more young men than I could even dream of. Most of our family’s land in Australia had been sold off as she had none of her own children, and neither Finn nor I were interested in continuing on the Austen/Crane family farming legacy—not on the scale Jocelyn did, anyway.
She continued to reveal her plans as she resumed her seat and showed me the houses she had found on Airbnb. “This one is perfect, and it has a pool. It’s hardly swimming weather, but that won’t stop Iris. What do you think?”
“I think it’s beautiful, but it has seven bedrooms, Jocie. Last time I checked, you don’t need a seven-bedroom mansion for a three-person girls’ weekend.”
“Honestly, Evie. I wonder how we can be related sometimes.” She sighed, clicking away as she looked at me with dismay. “This house has nothing to do with need and everything to do with want. I want to stay there. I want a chef’s kitchen despite the fact that I cannot cook. I want a home theater room, and I want a pool-sized bath in my bedroom, so I will have it. Plus, it’s on the same road as my land, so we can walk to the plot and maybe even have a picnic.”
“But it’s excessive—”
“I do not want to hear it. I do not care, and it’s too late because it’s done. Now, finish what you are doing—which you wouldn’t need to do if we had a housekeeper, like I wanted—and pack your things. We can pick Iris up from school and head off from there.”
“Fine. I still think it’s too much, though,” I added as Jocelyn pushed away her MacBook, took my hand, and began stroking it much like you would a sick, fragile, geriatric cat.
“You need to stop thinking so much and start living a little. You’re too young and beautiful to worry so much. Now that my meddling in Finn’s life is paying off, I need to start on you.” She was right—not about the meddling but the fun. I considered telling her about my current two-man-and-a-coffee situation, and I could tell by her face that she knew I had something to share. She was waiting expectantly, almost giddily, rubbing her hands together in glee.
