Chapter 3
Mila arrived yesterday with her family and Robbie’s. The groom’s friends, including Connor, got here this morning, so everyone must already be in full vacation mode since the day began.
“JU-LIE!” Mila screams from the huge oceanfront balcony and comes running with a Margarita glass in hand. Yes, she’s a little drunk, so she doesn’t even notice the sweat on my back when she gives me a tight hug.
To be honest, I think she’s so drunk she didn’t even notice I was on the same flight as Jasper and, for some reason, I did not arrive with him.
“Come, come!” She yanks my hand hard while I try to drag my two suitcases across the grass.
Robbie runs to rescue me, and just by taking the suitcases from my hands, it feels like he’s lifting a ton off me, which allows Mila to drag me even faster into the house.
We then enter a huge living room, all painted white, with polished marble floors shining from how clean they are, and elegant furniture in a modern style that only enhances the decoration, which is a mix of traditional Mexican details with ocean-inspired objects.
The architects took the whole open-concept design very seriously because there are basically no walls. First, there’s the dark ocean out front, then the strip of sand and the little wooden fence separating the property from the beach.
Then there’s the pool, which connects to the lawn, which connects to the terrace, which connects to the living room and then to a kitchen with this giant island in the middle, which is currently serving as a bar counter, covered with bottles, buckets of fruit and ice, and a bunch of dirty glasses that tell me everyone here spent the entire day doing nothing but drinking.
And, of course, they tell me Jasper has been doing the exact same thing since he got here from the airport, because here he is: pouring himself some Scotch, wearing beige linen shorts and a white, long-sleeved shirt, with the top buttons open, calm and relaxed, like… like he couldn’t care less.
Good God! Why does he have to be so elegant even when he’s not trying?
He just got off a flight! There’s no one here besides the families of the bride and groom, so I’m sure he’s not trying to impress anyone. He’s just being… He’s just being himself. Charming and chill, and completely infuriating.
Charming, chill and infuriating as he lifts his eyes from the glass and flashes a smile so friendly it would seem genuine if not for his tone when he asks, “Oh, hi, Julie, how was the trip?”
“It was great, thanks,” I answer with the same fake friendliness.
“Good thing you found the house so fast. Took you what, only two hours?”
Before I can answer, Mila decides to pull me to the other side of the room, constantly trying to avoid another one of our disastrous interactions. Mostly because she doesn’t want me mad at Jasper without a reason, since she’s about to give me a good reason to be mad at him.
I know this is what she’s gonna do the moment she looks at me and whispers, “Promise you won’t hate me?”
“Hate you for what?”
“You were the last to arrive, so…” Mila pauses, a bit unsure how to continue.
Since it definitely has something to do with Assman, I waste no time in asking, “What did he do?”
“Well, I arranged the rooms exactly like we planned.”
“And…?” I push, already seeing where this is going.
“And your room was the one with the little balcony overlooking the ocean and a door with direct access to the shared bathroom,” She says, still hesitant.
“And…”
“Jasper’s room had a tiny window and only a ceiling fan instead of AC.”
“And…”
“And Robbie was the one who took him upstairs, so he decided the ocean-view room was more interesting and mentioned that, during the flight, you said you were terrified of tsunamis and preferred sleeping as far from the beach as possible.”
“And Robbie believed that?” I ask, louder this time. And yes, the bastard hears it. Not Robbie—Robbie is an innocent angel.
I’m talking about his best friend, Jasper the bastard.
She nods, with guilt written all over her face.
“Look on the bright side: my fiancé is a wonderful man who always expects the best from everyone,” Mila gives me a tense smile, knowing I won’t see the bright side the way she does.
I sigh, exhausted.
Thinking about how, if Jasper has direct access to the bathroom, he can lock the door from the inside whenever he wants and force me to look for somewhere else to go just to pee in the middle of the night.
Thinking that it’s only Friday, nine days until the wedding, and this nightmare is just beginning.
Thinking, mostly, that nothing could be worse than Jasper Hassmann. Because, right now, it’s exactly what it is.
It’s Jasper Hassmann.
“I’ll talk to him and try to convince him to be at least a little understanding.”
Sure, because that’s one of Jasper’s greatest qualities. Being understanding.
I wanna laugh.
“I’m sure he’ll understand that you need privacy and space to organize your clothes,” Mila whispers again.
Except she’s drunk, and she’s the only one who thinks that was a whisper. Jasper’s been hearing the whole thing all along.
And because he’s an asshole, he speaks to Mila instead of me, “Of course I can switch rooms, Camila. All she has to do is ask.”
“Just ask?”
He drops two ice cubes in the glass and takes a sip with all the patience in the world. Then he presses his lips, holding back a smug smile, and adds, “And say please.”
“Jasper…” Mila tries, but nope! No-no-nope!
Not worth it. If I ended up in a piece of crap taxi with a driver that thought I worked at a strip club just to avoid asking him for a ride, I’m sure I can survive sleeping in the tiny, bathroomless room inside a luxury villa in the freaking Caribbean.
So I cut in, “Mila, it’s fine! Just leave it. Jasper needs a bigger room to feel like something in his life is big enough.”
He just shrugs, completely unfazed, and I follow his gaze moving toward Connor’s hairy beer belly on the other side of the room, just so he can say, “Well, I’m sure you’ve slept in way worse places than that, Julia.”
“Robbie!” Mila shouts immediately. And you might think it’s something serious, but no, she does it all the time. “Your friend is torturing Julie again.”
Mila, more than anyone, knows what even a slight reminder of my dark days in Connor’s bed does to me, so I get why she’s worried.
But Robbie is out on the deck, playing pool with Tony, and doesn’t seem interested in breaking up any fights. So Mila huffs impatiently, yells another “Robbie!” even louder this time, and storms toward him with clenched fists like an angry child.
Jasper rolls his eyes, bored.
I roll mine, purely annoyed.
“You just love the attention, don’t you?”
He shrugs.
“I don’t mind it.”
He sips his drink, then points his chin at me – and the wet semicircles that apparently were below my bra all this time.
“Is that sweat?”
Shit.
How is he there looking gorgeous, holding his Scotch without a care in the world, and I’m standing here at two in the morning with sweaty boobs after being mistaken for a stripper?
Why is the world so unfair?
“Your taxi didn’t have AC?” he questions. Then studies me for a second before making a different assumption, “You didn’t walk here, did you?”
“Did you really end up at a rodeo because your driver messed up your hotel address?” I ask, impatient, because I feel like I should know, for future reference, if this kind of mix-up is common around here.
And also if the bastard was lying at my expense once again.
“What happened?” Jasper sings with a crooked smile.
And because I have nothing left to lose, I answer, “There’s a strip club called El Callejón Desnudo.”
Jasper bursts into a laugh. And believe me, he only laughs like that on special occasions. Usually when someone else is suffering.
“And your driver thought you were a stripper,” he concludes.
Because he’s a Stanford know-it-all lawyer and knows everything, of course.
Then he looks me up and down, licking his lips to make sure I know exactly what he’s thinking. Nothing good, trust me. Nothing good at all.
“Well, now you know you’ve got the talent for a much more promising career than that little sports hobby of yours.”
Nine days, dear God.
Nine long days.
I’m gonna lose my mind.
I sigh, deciding I’m done with this argument, and even though I already know the answer, I ask, just to humiliate myself further, “Are you going to let me keep the room?”
“Are you going to ask nicely?”
“Obviously not.”
“Then obviously you’re sleeping in the hot storage closet with no view they call a room.”
Obviously.
He takes another sip of his drink. Then looks at me over the glass, a dirty glint in those dark eyes, “But you’re welcome to sleep in my king-size bed whenever you want.”
I hold back, instead of angrily snorting like a wild bull, and simply reply, pretending I’m not affected by his audacity, “You wouldn’t know what to do with me if I ended up in your bed, Jasper.”
He nods once. Barely affected by the comment, immediately firing back, “You can never know if you don’t try.”
“Gross!”, I moan, too tired to argue.
Jasper laughs again, extremely satisfied with tonight’s torture session.
As for me, I’m extremely tempted to punch him in the face, but this is Mila’s wedding and no one wants that, so I just look around for help. Mila and Robbie are arguing on the deck.
He kisses her, they make up, then begin fighting again.
Say goodbye to someone helping me to my room or showing me where the bathroom is so I can please take a shower.
Goodbye to anyone helping me drag my luggage up the stairs.
Well, what’s one more day doing things on my own?
The room will probably be easy to find, ‘cause it’s simply the smallest in the house. And my suitcases… well, I’ve got two arms, don’t I?
Arms that immediately get to work as I begin the horrendous effort of half-lifting, half-dragging my luggage to the bottom of the stairs.
“Need help?” I hear Jasper ask, and there is no way that tone belongs to someone who actually means it.
“Go to hell!”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“Of course it’s a no, Jasper!” I snap, a little breathless as I manage to lift the big suitcase onto the third step. “You’re so smart.”
“I know,” he agrees, ignoring my sarcasm. “It’s a gift and a curse.”
I roll my eyes one last time, but he doesn’t see it. The only thing Jasper gets is a view of my middle finger until the moment I climb the three steps where the suitcase is and have to lower my hand to lift it onto the next steps.
Do I regret my decision? Obviously.
Did I want to strangle Jasper Hassmann the moment I opened my bedroom door and it hit the side of the bed because there wasn’t enough space for it to fully open? Of course I did.
But whatever. It’s been a long day, and a long week.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll find the strength to fight again.