30
Camilla White
M y heart is torn.
I have been having more fun than I could imagine, and yet...it feels like something’s missing.
“I am starving after all of that!” Rachel sighs as we walk through Commerce Square.
Much prettier by night than it is by day, the National Gallery imposes in front of us. In mid-December, the sun sets by five in the afternoon, but it hasn’t stopped us. We’ve been walking around the city, visiting and shopping since early this morning, with a couple of breaks for lunch and afternoon coffee.
For the past two weeks, Rachel has been taking me to the most amazing places here in Livia.
First, we went to the old medieval castle— the luxury! In many other European countries, those old structures have long been abandoned and turned into museums, but not this one.
The royal family has kept it in their possession and turned it into a “small vacation residence.” Small, my ass! Those people are crazy wealthy!
Then, we went to our old university and had a tour down memory lane. Or even, Holycross neighbourhood for an afternoon stroll, the home of our most famous writer, Johnny of Kaisken. Its small, windy roads and picturesque buildings have stolen my heart.
Being out and about with Rachel and getting to know a little bit more of my island has shown me how much I’ve been missing being holed up inside that house.
The last couple of days have been dedicated to Livia, though. We did the tourist sightseeing bus tours and all the free museums there were to visit. We’ve had a relaxing afternoon feeding squirrels in the public park after that horrendous walk through the zoo.
I hate zoos. Those poor animals deserve to live in freedom—in their habitat—but Rachel begged me to.
Today, we visited the famous Triumphal Arch, the one that would welcome all visitors arriving on the island by boat before our airport was constructed in the seventies. Afterwards, we went to the parliament and this fifteenth-century tower that was supposed to be a military defence construction.
It has been wonderful.
And while it has been new for Primrose to be in a different house, she’s been adapting quite well. I make sure to always walk her before and after our visits and to give her extra attention whenever we’re home. It’s been so easy that I often think I won the lottery with how effortless it is to take care of this dog.
One would think that between all the places we’ve been visiting and taking care of Primrose, it would all be enough to keep my mind away from Vincent.
It hasn’t.
We’ve been keeping the texts to a minimum. I wanted this time apart to bring me more clarity, and instead, it’s making me even more confused and making me realise that my feelings are already much more profound than they should be. Then what can they be?
“Cami? Are you listening to me?” Rachel’s voice brings me back to the present.
“Sorry! What were you saying?”
“After walking in the cold, I am in dire need of some greasy food! What about Chinatown?”
“Oh, my!” I fake gasp. “A blue blood in Chinatown? Who are you and what have you done with my friend?”
“Oh, shush.” She waves me off. “My father’s a Baron, not me! But whether I keep within my rank or not is the question.”
“Jesus, you talk like it’s the biggest drama in life. I am a commoner. Life isn’t that bad!”
“Oh, it isn’t. And the truth is, all I’ve ever wanted since I was young was to fall in love with my soulmate, get married, and have my own family. As the years go by, it seems further and further from my reality.”
“Rach,” I squeeze her hand in comfort, “we’re still young. You have time.”
“I know,” she hums, almost inaudible through the hectic sounds of the city. “I’ve just been lonely. Charlie and I hit it off the other night, but…he hasn’t called since.”
Did they hit it off? That’s amazing!
“I knew you fancied each other,” I can’t help but blurt out.
“Well, as it seems, he was just looking for a hook-up. Thank god I didn’t put it all out there on the first night,” she tuts, annoyed.
“Charlie has always been a slow one,” I recall, remembering how I had to be the one to take the first step with the both of us. “Why don’t you call him and arrange to meet up? A brunch or something?”
Her frown deepens. “What if he says no?”
“Why would he?”
“I don’t know,” She sighs, and I roll my eyes.
“You’re gorgeous. There’s no way he could refuse. Text him!”
“What?” Wide and panicked eyes stare back at me. “No!”
Snatching her purse from her hand, I take her phone out and unlock it. Hmm, no password.
“If you don’t, I will.”
Typing, it takes me a few seconds to send him a text.
Rachel Hi! I was thinking we could meet up for lunch one of these days.
“Oh my god,” Rachel gushes, covering her flushed cheeks. “What if he doesn’t answer?”
“Then you don’t spare him another thought.” I nod in reassurance. “You are an outstanding woman. If he doesn’t see it, he doesn’t deserve you!”
She clutches my arm with a stressed sigh as we reach Carpenter’s Road. The funny thing about some of the streets around here is they are named after the artisans that used to work here…
Carpenter’s Road is parallel to the Goldsmith’s Road, for example. And like these two, we have many more. I love it. It kind of keeps alive in the memory of what once was…
Even though it is already dark, the streets are lit up with countless Christmas decorations, giving wet Livia such a romantic look. Our hot breaths mix with the cold air in small steam clouds since the temperature has been rather chilly for a few weeks now.
Even with the heavy coats, our faces are flushed from the low temperatures we’ve been enduring all day long.
“Only you could have such kind words for an uptight rich kid like myself.”
“You might be rich, but you’re not uptight or cruel. Believe me, I wouldn’t get along with you if that were the case.” I chuckle lightly.
“Yin-Yang?” Rachel asks, and I think it over.
“Is Baozilnn still open? It used to be my favourite.”
“Sure, let’s go!”
In the five-minute walk we have left to arrive at the restaurant, Rachel’s phone pings with an incoming text, and she hastily takes the phone from my hold, eagerly reading it. Her eyes widen before a soft smile stretches her cheeks. If it weren’t for the cold, I’d say she’s blushing, too.
“He said yes. Yes !“ she gushes.
Her smile is wide, and her eyes are twinkling. It’s so satisfying to see her happy. My mission has been accomplished by pushing them to get to know each other even better.
“See? I told you so!”
Rachel intertwines our arms together just as we’re about to reach the restaurant.
“He arranged for us to meet in three days, right after Christmas!”
I smile knowingly, “See? Thankfully, I’ll be out of your hair by then!”
“Oh, don’t be silly! I love having you around, reminiscing on the old days and having so much fun and pyjama parties! I didn’t have those growing up!”
“Elite sure don’t have much fun,” I mutter, remembering how lonely Vincent’s childhood was.
“Luckily, my parents are not the strictest out there. Still, having strangers spend the night or let me sleep at strangers’ houses was non-negotiable for them. When I was old enough to decide myself, pyjama parties were no longer cool.”
At the doorway, a hostess greets us, “Good evening. Table for two?”
“Yes, please,” we say in unison.
We are led through the restaurant to our table and are immediately given the menus. My mouth starts watering at the sole mention of the dish names available. Rachel and I end up picking way more than necessary, revelling in the greasy and tasty food that meets our mouths.
For a few hours, Vincent has finally been off my mind as we both eat our dinners and talk about everything and nothing at the same time. We’re often met with curious glances because of our full waves of laughter here and there.
It’s not an over-the-top night, but it’s fun and held in amazing company. So much so that for the first time in a few years, I don't feel alone in this world. I don’t feel alone because I have someone, and Rachel has turned into that person, whether I want it or not.
We’re already arriving at her apartment when my phone pings with an incoming message. I can’t fathom who it would be at almost midnight, not to mention the fact that not that many people have my number.
Rachel excuses herself to the restroom while I sit down on her couch to open it. Primrose quickly climbs up onto the couch—yes, Rachel allows it—and immediately starts begging for cuddles.
I absentmindedly start rubbing her ears as I unlock my phone.
Edgar. What does he want at this ungodly hour?
I click to open the message, but instead, a full-screen video starts.
There’s a big, bulky body working out at the manor’s gym. Well, the gym Vincent had installed when he moved in. And not even on purpose— or maybe yes —the half-naked body doing non-stop pullups is Vincent’s. Glistening with sweat, his back muscles are swollen and straining with every movement, and yet, he keeps doing them nonstop as if he was directly plugged into an energetic current.
He doesn’t seem to be aware of the fact he is being filmed. There is a floor-to-ceiling mirror in front of him, so I can get a good look at both his back and front.
His eyes seem to be shut, but I can’t quite make it out due to the distance. I bet a hundred euros that Edgar is recording this without his brother’s permission.
With a low grunt, he finally let’s go of the suspended bar, landing on his feet graciously. Then, he picks up a towel, wiping it on his sweaty face and neck before sitting on one of the machine’s benches.
“See? The poor sod has to overwork himself to release some of the steam. That’s what happens when you abandon him to his hand!”
I gasp, looking around the empty apartment, expecting to see a shocked Rachel, but the hallway is empty, and I hastily lower the phone’s volume.
His voice wasn’t loud but having my phone’s sound on the maximum level makes it quite audible to everyone in the same room. And it is enough to make Vincent swivel his head, turning in the camera’s direction. Edgar’s direction.
“What the fuck are you doing, Edgar?” Vincent bellows, approaching his brother in long, purposeful strides. “How many times have I told you I don’t want you sharing me on your stupid social media!”
“Oh, no, no!” Edgar answers, backing away from his brother.
He is indeed such a teaser; it’s almost endearing how childish Edgar is sometimes. Annoying, in other circumstances.
“Just a souvenir to sweet Camilla, so she doesn’t forget a lovesick duke is waiting for her in this old manor.”
I cover my mouth, giggling at his words. He does look tired and unkempt but lovesick? Edgar is so dramatic. At the same time, Vincent’s stance falters, and a frown settles on his eyebrows.
“Little Milla?” he blurts, and I feel my cheeks aflame.
“Oh! Little Milla? See? He has a nickname for you and everything! I am sending this right now!”
The video stops abruptly, freezing on Vicent’s face and upper body. He has a frown on his face and dishevelled hair, and the area under his eyes is heavily darkened with eyebags. It’s a high contrast to how fit his torso is in comparison, clashing with the tired look on his face.
He’s got a prominent chest and abs and a defined V that lowers to his hips, hiding in the grey sweatpants’ waistband. Such eye-candy.
Too much too soon, the screen turns black, ending the mouth-watering image of him. A sigh escapes my lips as I watch a sleepy Primrose, half-laying on my legs and the other half lying on the couch. All the moments we shared assault my brain, leaving me with a fuzzy stomach and a hyperactive heart.
I miss him.
A lot more than I should because there’s still a voice in the back of my mind, telling me he doesn’t. Telling me that I am not that important, nor will I ever be.