Chapter 31
Silvie
I stand barefoot at the window of my penthouse, looking out over the city, with glass and endless lights stretching into the city as the sun sets. My pink suit is still perfect, my lipstick is still on point, and my hair is still smooth. Although, my heels got kicked off by the door.
From the outside, I look like I have everything together.
The CEO of Montclair Holdings. But on the inside, I’m a lovesick mess.
I’m homesick for a place and a person who has stolen my heart.
I cross my arms and realize that I don’t even want to be here anymore.
And that thought surprises me. I thought this was everything I wanted.
To work and keep my family’s company going.
And now that I’ve got it close, I wonder if this is truly what I want.
Because right now it doesn’t feel like it.
Cal’s working at Cocktails & Chaos tonight.
He and I texted earlier, and he said that he’s been busy.
The bar has been slammed. He’s been short on texts and calls.
Not cold, just distant. He says he’s working, but I feel like there’s more to it.
And I hate it. I’m homesick for a man at a beach in a tiki bar.
I want to fall asleep next to him and wake up in his arms. I wrap my arms around my waist, feeling sad and full of longing for him.
New York has been so lonely. And I’m questioning everything.
I haven’t eaten all day. I had non-stop meetings, calls, strategy sessions, damage control, and was in full CEO mode.
I open the fridge in my kitchen, and it’s sparse.
I have no appetite, yet I know I need something.
I scroll through my phone and order Chinese food from the place two blocks over that I love.
I need some ultimate comfort food. Something warm and spicy that I can eat and then take a long hot bath and soak the day away.
The apartment is too quiet. I wander around while I wait for my food and stare at the fancy decor that I realize isn’t me at all.
This place doesn’t feel like home. It feels like a prison.
I should sell it. Find something more...
like me. Like home. Then I close my eyes and think of Cal.
He’s my home. Wherever he is. I don’t think I’d find anything here in New York that would feel like that.
The buzzer sounds, and I walk toward the door, assuming it’s the doorman with my food delivery. I open it, and it’s not him. It’s my mother. She steps inside before I can speak, her perfume sharp and familiar.
“What do you want?” I ask, feeling too tired for her crap tonight.
She looks around the penthouse, inspecting it, and says, “You’ve made quite a mess of things, Silvie.”
I close the door slowly, sighing in frustration at her intrusion. But I also know that if I throw her out, it will make a scene and that is likely what she wants.
“What were you thinking?” she continues. “You’ve humiliated this family.”
I walk calmly to the panel beside the door and press the security button. She’s still ranting and hasn’t even noticed.
She continues, “As if your wedding wasn’t a big enough embarrassment, you had to go and marry a bartender from some beach town?”
“I find it interesting that I’m the problem in all of this,” I say. “Did you forget that Belladonna slept with my fiancé?”
And this is exactly what she wanted. An argument and a scene. Here we go...
“Why can’t you just be happy for your sister and move on?” my mother snaps. “She’s happy, and Tyler could have helped out at the company. But no, you had to ruin him, too. I swear, Silvie, I don’t know what your problem is.”
I don’t respond. Because what does one say to a mother who accepts treatment of her daughter this way and believes this nonsense? That I’m actually the problem. This is crazy. She’s literally crazy.
“We could have found you a suitable match,” she continues. “A man who understands our world. Someone appropriate.”
Appropriate.
I stand there and let her continue because adding anything to the conversation right now would be like pouring gasoline on a fire. And what my mother wants is an explosion.
“You chose to make this an issue,” she says angrily. “By marrying some random bartender.”
There’s a faint ding behind me, and the elevator opens.
Thank God. Security is here.
“Silvie, you’ve...”
Security steps into the foyer, and my mother turns, offended by the interruption. She realizes that they’re here to escort her, and her face contorts with rage and embarrassment. “You can’t be serious.”
I hold her gaze. “Don’t come to my home again. You’re not welcome here or at my company.”
Her face goes red with rage. “Silvie! I am your mother!”
“Then you should have acted like it,” I hiss back as security gently but firmly guides her toward the door and escorts her out. The door closes, and the apartment is silent again.
I sigh, exhausted from her. I make a note to let my building staff know that she’s not to enter the property. My food arrives a few minutes later, and the timing makes me almost laugh. I take the bag and thank them as the door closes behind them.
I set the container on the table and sit down. It smells warm and comforting. I take a bite and close my eyes. Lonely and needing to talk to someone, I call Birdie, and she picks up.
“Well, hello, sugar.”
I put her on speaker and keep eating. “My mother just showed up at my apartment.”
There’s a pause. “And?”
“Oh, her same old stuff. How I embarrassed the family. And that I should have just let her find me a suitable match. As if I’m a piece of livestock she can auction off.”
Birdie exhales softly. “I know, sugar. But are you surprised?”
I stare at my food in front of me. “No.”
“She’s always valued optics over happiness.”
I push my food around with my fork. “I know.”
Birdie hums. “You sound worn out. I don’t like it.”
“I am,” I admit. “I’ve had nonstop meetings since I’ve been back. Trying to cram everything in.”
“Are you eating? You know you forget to eat,” she reminds me.
I glance down at the food I’ve been picking at. “I’m working on it.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then says gently, “Your mother was your very first bully.”
I swallow, and tears prick my eyes at the memories that have haunted me for thirty years. She’s right.
“I had you,” I say gratefully.
“And you’ll always have me, sugar. You know that,” she says in her soft voice that has always comforted me.
My throat tightens, and I lean back in my chair, looking around the penthouse. “I hate it here, Birdie.” She listens, and I continue. “I miss Cal, and I miss Coconut Beach.”
“When are you coming back?” she asks.
“In two days.”
“Two days,” she repeats. “That’s not too long, sugar. And you bring that Wilby with you. He’s a hoot, and the Bees all love him.”
“He’s coming.” I smile at the mention of him. “I have to finish up with the board review. I can’t leave in the middle of this.”
“I understand.”
I stare at the skyline again. “It feels like I’m living two lives,” I say. “In one, I’m powerful and necessary. In the other, I’m loved.”
“You’re allowed to have both, you know.”
“Am I?” I choke out.
“Yes,” she says firmly. “Just because you didn’t have that growing up doesn’t mean you can’t have that now for yourself.”
“I don’t want to lose either,” I admit. “I want to have my job, and I want to be happy.”
“Then don’t,” Birdie says simply.
I think about the polished image I’m expected to have. Then I realize for the first time in my life, maybe this isn’t my dream life after all. Maybe this was just a chapter in my life. And maybe it’s time for a new chapter. Maybe I’m allowed to want more.
“I’ll be back soon,” I say again.
“We’ll be here,” she replies.
After we hang up, I sit at the table a little longer. The food is cold now. The apartment is still quiet and feels so lonely. My phone lights up with an email from legal.
I ignore it. Instead, I pick up my phone and open my texts. I type a text out to Cal.
Me: Miss you.
I stare at it for a second before hitting send. For the first time in years, I’m not chasing the future.
I’m hoping it includes him.
I wake up reaching for him, but my hand slides across the cool and empty sheets. Then I remember that I’m in New York. But in my dream, I was back at Cocktails & Chaos. Cal was behind the bar, smiling at me like the world was simple again, and paparazzi wasn’t waiting for me everywhere I turned.
Then I wake up to reality. I still feel nauseated, probably from not eating enough, and remember that we’re leaving today. Wilby and I are going back to Coconut Beach for a while. My suitcase is packed and ready. I’m ready. I miss Cal.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand.
The hard floor is cool beneath my feet. It feels sterile and immaculate here.
Not comfortable like Cal’s cottage with rugs and mismatched cozy lamps.
I walk out and stare out at the skyline from the massive windows and don’t feel anchored here anymore. I feel done.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Wilby: Car will be there in twenty.
Me: I’m ready.
That’s not true, but twenty minutes is enough to get myself Coconut Beach ready. Because in Coconut Beach, I feel myself when I’m going there. I get to wear simple and comfortable clothes. I get to be me.
The ride to the airport is quiet. The city blurs past the window. I don’t check the headlines or my email. For once, I let everything sit.
At the private terminal, Wilby is waiting for me next to his suitcase. I haven’t missed how Wilby wants to go back as well. He loves it there. We both do.
“Hey, have you seen the weather they’re calling for tonight at Coconut Beach? There’s a bad storm coming.”
I discuss this with the pilot, and he’s convinced we’re safe, so we prepare to take off.
“You sure about this?” Wilby asks.
“Yes,” I confirm. “He says it’s okay.”
He studies me for a second. “Okay. If you’re sure.”