Chapter Nine
Flora in Red
A week and some change passed.
Flora didn’t see either of the boys. They’d both been sent away to New York for business.
It was common for Finn to jet off at a moment’s notice to London, New York, Chicago, occasionally Edinburgh, but it was odd for Roman to go with him, especially in his continued state of recovery with bouts of sleepiness.
The estate was quieter than usual.
A dull air of boredom settled over everything. Flora hated it. Mrs. Woodhouse must have felt it too, because she took to planning an engagement party. As if they needed another party.
Flora found herself wondering why she had once idolized the events. After experiencing one with Finn, it was clear they were only fun when you were with the right person, not because of the party itself.
Allison called her late one afternoon after school let out for summer.
“We should get pizza or something.”
“Sure. I’ll bike downtown.”
“You sound down in the dumps.”
“I feel like such a loser, Allison.”
“Why?”
“I’m a total vagrant! Just hanging around this huge estate. No job. Not even an interview. You know that place I interviewed at never even bothered to call me back. I don’t know if I should go back to Paris or stay here and try to figure something out. I feel so… lost.”
“Well, join the club. No one knows what they’re doing at twenty-three. My brother was working at a dairy farm at twenty-three, and now he’s in finance at Deloitte. Things change.”
“How is Arnold?”
“Making bank, living in a penthouse, still obsessed with Star Wars. If things don’t work out with Finn, I’ll let him know you’re single.”
“Nothing is going on with Finn.”
Allison chuckled. “We can discuss that lie over pizza.”
A day later, Flora was still contemplating her future—where she should move to, if she should move at all—when the long, quiet days ended.
The boys came back late on Friday evening.
Flora was in her room, touching up a watercolor of Kovac Hill, when she heard the cars pull in. Moments later, their voices carried through the courtyard to her window.
Roman was complaining about his crutches. Finn was telling him to shut up because he had, “heard more than my share of complaining on the flight.”
She didn’t leave her room—that would be too eager—but was relieved that things wouldn’t be so quiet anymore. The boys caused more trouble than she realized, yet it was trouble that everyone missed when it was gone.
A few days later, Flora left to visit friends in Lake Tahoe with Allison—an annual summer trip. She came back tanner, lighter, in better spirits. Maybe the answer was simple: pack up and leave. Go start somewhere new.
If Roman really did marry Jane, if he moved out, or Jane moved in, then maybe removing herself was the best thing. She might have been over Roman, but that didn’t mean she wanted a VIP ticket to watching his life unfold with someone else while hers stalled out.
She had to leave the estate eventually anyway. She couldn’t live there forever, even if she wanted to. She had to get her own life started. So, for once, she made a practical decision. By the end of August, she had to know what she was doing and where she was going.
She told her father.
He said it sounded wise and went back to reading.
She wondered if he would be sad if she left, but she didn’t think her father minded either way. This bothered her. It always had. Her mother had left and her father was notoriously aloof. She’d never known if her existence had caused this and she tried not to think about it.
Though, her father’s detachment wasn’t her primary concern. She’d become used to it over the years. What bothered her more was the number of times she’d thought about Finn at the lake. In fact, she’d thought about him so much he was becoming a habitual thought pattern.
“I think he likes you,” Allison said one night sitting on a dock.
Flora flinched. “I think about him a lot.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Allison shrugged. “He’s Finn Woodhouse. He looks like Prince Charming from the live action Cinderella.”
Flora grinned. “He does. Just taller.”
Allison laughed. “You know, when we were at the concert, he was watching you because he enjoyed it, not just because you’re a complete idiot.”
“No way,” Flora sighed, “no way, no way. He likes that Holly girl and there is no getting around it.”
“If he liked her, then why would he have asked you to the party? And stayed up until one with you, telling you all his secrets? That’s not a very Finn thing to do, now, is it?” Allison countered.
Flora just shrugged.
“He likes you, Flora. Or something close to like. He doesn’t strike me as the type to have crushes. But even if he does like Holly, then you’ve dodged a bullet, because that means he’s insane.”
Flora wasn’t so sure Allison was right. She was beginning to think it was all a bad business though. There was no good that could come from a crush or fondness on either side, especially if she moved away, or if Finn ended up with Holly.
How had this happened?
From a lifelong crush on Roman, only to find herself thinking constantly about his older brother. Just a few weeks ago she’d still been afraid of him, and now she found herself hoping and wishing he thought of her too.
Flora was a dramatic person at times and after realizing that she was developing a crush, she promised to stay away from both Roman and Finn (for different reasons).
She kept to her room when they were out, timed her movements to avoid them, and used the size of the estate to her advantage.
It worked.
For about two days.
She was hurriedly exiting the studio with a full backpack, intent on spending the day at the park reading and applying for jobs, when she heard it.
A sharp whistle.
The same one Finn had used a thousand times when they were younger to call the sheep on Bedford Hillside in. He had tried to teach her and Roman, but it had never worked.
That whistle was his signature.
She turned, slowly, and saw him standing at the end of the gravel path. He was dressed casually—no vest, no dress boots—but he was holding a file.
“Where have you been?” he asked, approaching her.
“I, uh—” she said, stepping back and nearly tripping over uneven pavement. “I went to Tahoe with some friends.”
She was staring at his outfit—linen button up, NY Yankees hat (a crime), loose fitting trousers. He looked far more at home like this than in his business uniforms. The faint scent of Portofino lingered still.
He was objectively disgustingly pretty.
She’d always known this. It hadn’t bothered her until now.
“I know that,” Finn replied, pulling her back to earth, “but I mean where have you been since then? I’ve been wondering when we might bump into each other. I’ve got your book. I finished it on the plane.”
“What book?”
“You lent me Pride and Prejudice when we went to Carmel.”
“Oh! I forgot… wait—you read it?”
“Of course.”
They stood a few feet apart still.
“Oh, I’m glad you read it,” she said, hugging her books tightly to her chest. “You can just slip it through the mail slot at our door if you want. Or leave it in front of your office. I could grab it from there.”
“Where are you going?”
“I was going to Paradise Park,” she replied, giving more information than she’d planned. “It’s such a nice day.”
“Come grab the book before you leave,” he said, casually. “I was just coming to see if you were home to give it back.”
That worked for her. He wasn’t inviting himself along.
“Sure. Okay.”
As they walked across the grass, Roman sped by on a golf cart, wearing a fuzzy bathrobe, playing an old Donnie Trumpet & The Social Experiment song over a portable speaker. He was likely headed for the lower pools.
He truly was one of those people that got away with being wholly irresponsible because of his family.
People tried to say he wasn’t so bad, but this was one of those moments that counteracted every statement ever made in his defense.
He had the time to buzz down to one of the many estate pools, wearing a Lalita Hotels bathrobe, half-eaten deli sandwich on the seat, open bottle of expensive wine in the cupholder, listening to pop rap.
Classic.
Flora and Finn stopped, watching him go by with identical expressions of exasperation.
Finn was on the verge of cursing. He had spent the entire morning on calls with Hong Kong, dealing with translators and an intense legal dispute over a product licensing agreement, and Roman had been doing what? Getting a massage and having brunch, most likely.
Roman noticed them and reversed the cart slowly, trying not to run them over. The obnoxious beeping stopped as he pulled up.
They both stared.
“Hey Sour Patch Kids, where are you both going?” he asked, smiling and curious. “Haven’t seen you two hanging out since we were kids. Something gone wrong? Space-time-continuum collapse?”
“I have a book of hers,” Finn said flatly. “She let me borrow it.”
Roman looked at his brother, face clouding. “Since when are you two borrowing books from each other?”
Flora felt uneasy suddenly, and clearly Finn did too because he changed the subject before anyone had the chance to answer.
“Where are you even going dressed like that?” Finn asked, eyes narrowed. “And how do you have the time to buzz around on a golf cart but never read any company emails?”
“I do read company emails,” Roman informed him. Though this seemed highly suspect. He then looked at Flora and patted the seat next to him. “Want to come with?”
Finn didn’t move and didn’t say anything.
Flora’s eyes slid back and forth.
“I need to get my book back,” was all she offered.
“Well, come by later,” Roman said, unfazed and unbothered.
Roman made a face at Finn, something darker than his usual expression. Roman might have been entitled, but he was not stupid or above noticing the details. But the pool was waiting. He put the cart in drive and took off in a blur of dust.
Once they were in the office, Finn rummaged through his still-packed bag from New York and handed her the book.
“I really liked it. Jane Austen… she knew how to write.”
“She sure did.”