Chapter 8
Eight
I drove for over two hours listening to depressing songs as I made my way up the coast of Georgia.
I'd called Avery numerous times to let her know I would be home early, but she never answered. She was my absolute best friend in the entire world and I wanted to spill every little detail. But after Hayden's reaction, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't petrified to tell her.
Exiting the highway, I headed east and drove for a few minutes until I reached one of two long and narrow bridges that sat parallel to each other. Growing up, I'd been terrible with directions. My dad always said, "The beach is east, Ana," which made it easy for me to learn navigation.
I crossed on to the island and rolled down my window to breathe in the salty air.
Lavish cars lined the streets. Porches, Mercedes, BMWs, and Ferraris were the choice of cars driven here along with Lamborghinis.
People of all ages strutted the sidewalks, their arms heavy with posh named bags.
Every single person dressed to the nines, scarves donned their necks to protect them from the chilly weather.
Noses held high in the air, an aura of money surrounded the uppity, entitled people of Amelia Island that was known as the South Beach of the South.
My smile faded. That was the one thing about being a little farther south that I really enjoyed. I never got the sense of privilege over there as I did here.
Thick garland swooped from store to store, red and gold fat bulbs arranged on wreaths topped with giant red bows.
Trees expertly wrapped with white lights—never the gaudy colored ones—and leafy palms garbed with green lights.
Christmas decorations were everywhere and the holiday spirit was all around.
I had to give it to the town, it was a winter wonderland and looked stunning at night.
Veering on to North Ocean Blvd, Amelia Island was small, and it was only a matter of minutes as I drew closer to Avery's house, a large Mediterranean villa home like mine.
Her car was vacant from the pebbled driveway where she always parked.
I knew school was out for the winter break, but seeing as it was the weekend, I had no idea where she could be since she still hadn't answered her cell phone.
I continued past her house and flipped on my blinker and turned left, pulling into the long winding driveway of my home.
The lush lawn, a manicured vibrant green, with two inclined palm trees lined the sides of the purposely weathered front door.
I smiled as I parked my Escalade and glanced around, appreciating my home.
Walking toward the side door I'd used since childhood, I caught a glimpse of a BMW. It wasn't abnormal to see this kind of luxury car in my parents' driveway, but what caused me to stop were the jet black twenty-two inch rims that looked awfully familiar.
I strained my neck to see if there were necklaces hanging from the rearview mirror. The windows were pitch black, I couldn't see in unless I peered through the windshield. If there were—
There were, which left me even more stumped. Orange and blue beaded necklaces hung from the rearview mirror, the colors of the college she dreamed of attending.
I wracked my brain trying to figure out why Avery was here when she refused all my calls in the first place. She couldn't have known I was coming home.
The scent of the black currant and vanilla fusion candles Mom was obsessed with crashed into me as I pulled open the door.
My eyes popped from the aromatherapy that promised relaxation.
Designed in mind to soothe, all it did was give me an instant headache.
I'd forgotten how strong this aroma was.
This time she'd gone a little overboard.
"Dad? Mom? I'm home!"
Noise from every corner of the house caught my attention, but it was the familiar click-clacking of Louboutin heels that turned my head in the other direction.
Mom walked under the arched foyer looking as radiant as ever. She had her face painted on and not a hair out of place. Dressed to impress. Our eyes met, and the corner of my lips hesitated to pull up.
"Ana!" she exclaimed with her arms open. With Mom wearing heels, it put her just under six feet, so she had to bend down to hug me. Despite the many differences between us—and not just in looks, but also our views on life—she was still my mom and I loved seeing her.
"It's so good to see you, honey!" Her Chanel perfume engulfed me and I wrinkled my nose, too many smells going on. She placed her hands on my upper arms and my stomach tightened. I prepared myself for what would come next, yet I couldn't stop the hammering of my heart.
Mom's shrewd eyes moved down the length of my body.
I held my breath. "Aside from your arms and shoulders starting to resemble your brother’s, you look absolutely amazing.
So skinny!" A backhanded compliment. I'd take it.
"But those clothes…" She clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"Oh, Adrianna. You know how much I hate that style, but you look like you're positively glowing. "
I bounced on the balls of my feet. "Thanks, Mom. I missed you."
Her sparkling blue eyes softened. "I missed you too. It's so good to have you home."
"Is that my daughter I hear?"
I turned around at the sound of Dad’s baritone voice rebounding down the foyer. He strolled toward us at a leisurely rate. A crystal tumbler filled with an amber color liquid clutched in one hand, and a delighted smile across his seasoned face.
"Dad!"
Dad placed his glass down on the counter and Mom hissed behind me.
The table was Purple Heart and considered one of the most expensive woods in the world.
Found in the tropical rainforests of South Africa, when cut, it swiftly went from dark brown to a deep, rich purple.
It was my mom's favorite piece of furniture in the house and she made sure to keep it in the welcoming room for all to see.
She adorned it with a monstrous vase of pure white exotic flowers.
"Sweetheart."
I met my dad halfway and threw my arms around his shoulders, jumping into his hug. He lifted me up and my knees bent behind me. He squeezed me tight and I feigned lack of air.
"Dad… Dad." I tapped his shoulder. "I can't breathe."
"You can breathe just fine, don't exaggerate. Let me hug my only daughter another minute or so."
I smiled into his neck, but he really was starting to suffocate me.
Placing me back on my feet, he beamed down at me. "I wasn't expecting you home so soon. Last I spoke to Konstantin, I figured another few days before you came back."
I bit the inside of my cheek. "Well, some things changed at the last minute, so I was able to come home early."
"Speaking of Konstantin…" Mom said, picking up the glass and handing it to Dad.
She eyed the table for a wet ring. "He called a few days ago about the meet you're no longer competing in.
We lost a few hundred dollars on that. He said something about you not being ready.
After all that time away to train, Ana, you're still not in tip-top shape? "
Dad slanted his head to the side. His inquisitive eyes caused deep creases to form between his brows. "Konstantin didn't mention anything like that to me when we last spoke. In fact, he seemed very pleased with your progress. Now that I think about it, he was raving about you."
Pleased with my progress? Raving about me?
No way. Kova had to be lying, or Dad was trying to protect me.
In the past year that I'd been at World Cup, not once did he wear a smile around me, let alone show that he was pleased during practice.
Either it was his way of giving me constructive criticism, or he was lying to my parents.
I twisted my fingers together, hot heat spread to my ears.
"Well, Coach and I spoke about it, and he felt that I should wait just a little longer.
Given my Achilles strain, and changing up my routines, he wants to be one hundred and ten percent sure I'm solid.
That way I start off competition season with a bang and make a name for myself.
I really need to make it count." I put a lot of weight into my words, hoping they picked up the importance of them.
"Let's just say Coach is a little obsessive compulsive.
He doesn't like to lose. He wants to make sure that when I go in, not a finger is out of place and I come out on top.
While I can appreciate his attention to detail, sometimes it gets annoying. "
Dad nodded his head as if he knew what I was talking about.
"He still has that trait about him? Not surprised.
" He laughed under his breath and my shoulders loosened.
"The couple of times we did house flipping, or when he bought property, he was particular about every little thing.
He'd walked around and slowly inspected every square inch of the property.
As a businessman"—he placed his hand over his heart—"his keen eye was welcoming.
He picked out things I hadn't noticed. I once tried to bring him on to my company, but he refused. "
"You did? I don't recall that."
I looked at Mom, bemused by her constipated looking face and narrowed eyes, she didn’t like being kept out of the loop.
"This was many years ago, darling. Ana was just a young child."
She plastered on what I knew was a fake smile—her social event smile. The one she taught me. "Well, things worked out how they're supposed to, right, Frank?"
"Yes, darling."