Page 2 of Beautifully Wild

My father walks out of his office, and I turn from the window to meet his glowering look. “I trust you’re smart enough to stay out of the jungle.” His tone holds a warning, and I’m guessing he finally read the email with the attached itinerary of my upcoming holiday.

Angling the monitor from his view, I minimize the email on vaccination schedules—specifically, yellow fever, rabies, and our options on malaria prevention.

“Of course,” I say in a level voice.

As if someone upped the cooling, the temperature around us turns icy, reminding me of the winter wind blowing up from Antarctica. Where we live, vineyards lie to the east, north, and south of the city. Adelaide is no jungle.

His executive assistant coughs. I assume she senses the tension between us. “I have the December report you’re waiting on, Mr. Monteford. I’ll forward it to you now.”

“Thank you. I’ll run over the figures in my office.” Blue eyes reminding me of my own, hold my gaze in a warning that this discussion will be continued.

When the door to his private office closes, I swivel on my seat. “Thanks for the distraction. I have no idea why he’s so hung up about this holiday?”

“At least he didn’t make another underhanded comment about letting him down. Remain calm because you’ll be there in no time and leave all this behind,” Dana says, extending her arms wide. She lets out a gentle laugh. Her brown eyes crinkle at the corners as we share an understanding.

I smile at the sound of her laughter because it quickly warms the mood in the small room. “Guilt-tripping isn’t going to change the fact he’ll need to hire someone. I mentioned my sister could help out, only he wouldn’t have any of it.”

Dana pushes short strands of hair behind her ears. Her classy-styled bob-cut never has a hair out of place. Her mascaraed eyes are always perfect. “No need to hide your true feelings to me. For years I’ve witnessed a different set of rules for your sister than you.”

And my younger brother, I want to add. Only I keep the thought to myself.

Our office is located on the bottom floor of the apartment building where I live. It’s ideal in the sense I don’t have to worry about time or expense in getting to work. Not so ideal when it comes to the time before or after work to clear my head. When I clock off at the end of the day, I’ve made a habit of walking along the esplanade to level my thoughts, and breathe in the clean ocean air. I love this time before twilight when everyone is capturing ‘me’ time. Skaters whiz past. Cyclists ting their bells and call out, “On your right.” The Bay is one of Adelaide’s popular beachside suburbs, and we need an extra lane on the path for this amount of foot traffic. I pass groups of fitness enthusiasts doing star jumps on the grass. Further along, families picnic on rugs spread out over the grass and wicker baskets within reach. Others prefer fish and chips enticing the seagulls to behave erratically.

Before entering our apartment complex, I stand out front and admire the white stone building. Built in the early 1900s, my grandparents purchased it in the late 1950s and passed it onto my father. Part of me is proud he trusts me to handle business matters, but the other part is regretful I didn’t seek my own adventure.

The white façade has several cracks in the faded paintwork weathered by the ocean climate. The popular hotel a few buildings down—all modern glass and steel—gleams in the sunlight. Our smaller building has weathered some tough times and regained popularity, mainly for the renovated interior that has incorporated the vintage appeal crossed with a crisp bohemian design. We manage the eight apartments. The hotel on the corner has one hundred and eighty rooms. We are no threat, and yet we’re fully booked until Christmas next year.

The external flights of stairs are stringed with tinsel and fairy lights. I love this time of year when everything sparkles. Choosing to take the internal staircase, I make my way up the three flights of stairs to the penthouse.

The front door creaks as it opens. The cry of a child comes from another room.

“We were just talking about you,” Faith says as she stands.

My sister is visiting.Fantastic.

“Why?” I focus on my father sitting opposite my mother at the kitchen table. A few seconds is all I need to acknowledge Mum has been to the hairdresser—freshly colored mocha hair sits motionless under a can of lacquer.

“We were discussing suitable applicants to replace you while you’re gallivanting in another country.” Faith’s tone is condemning. She doesn’t wait for a response before heading toward my parents’ bedroom, where her sleeping toddler has awakened.

“Let me get him. I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

Faith crosses her arms. “He’s not the happiest when he wakes.”

I ignore her and open the door. My nephew raises his arms for me to pick him up. So adorable. I lift him out of the portable cot and love how he curls into my chest. “How long have you been sleeping, little man?”

“Two hours,” Faith says. She leans on the doorframe. Brown hair borders her face before falling to her shoulders. She’s the clone of our mother with her alluring eyes—pools of melted chocolate.

They’re both extraordinary businesswomen—go-getters in life, confident, and resilient. Our parents named us, as though in hindsight of the future. They always had faith in my sister to succeed and do the right thing in life. My name, Eden, has a meaning of pleasure and delight. My father keeps a close eye on me as if I’m going to become a bohemian hippie if he turns his back. Ironic when I have an average personality and life.

“Are you sure it’s not possible to shorten this holiday? Instead of taking all your leave at once and leaving Dad in a predicament, you could split your leave and travel to Europe next year?”

“I’m not interested in Europe at the moment. And you fail at being subtle.” I stride past her. “Why don’tyouwork a couple of days a week, and Mum could look after Seb? You always say my work isn’t that difficult.”

“You can’t expect Faith to work in the office when her morning sickness is at its worst.”

I blink several times at my mother before turning to Faith.

She raises her hands at Mum. “Not how I was going to tell her.”

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