Chapter 2 Roxy
Roxy
I stand in the primary suite in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the winding driveway and the lush, perfectly manicured grounds.
The view is incredible, especially with the palm trees swaying in the breeze.
A glass of wine and a good chaise lounge, and I could probably convince myself it’s paradise, but there’s something about all this space that feels sterile.
My guests will arrive soon. It’s not going to be pretty, unfortunately.
I know my old sorority sisters will feel the same way.
This place looks like the goddamn Desert Sunrise.
There’s no denying it. My husband has spent nearly two years of his life re-creating a nightmare.
I paste on a smile and begin pacing the large room, the soft click of my heels on the polished floor echoing in the vast, renovated space.
The walls are a creamy white, the kind that looks expensive, and the furniture is all clean lines and soft textures.
But I can’t help thinking it’s trying a little too hard to impress.
On the wall above the sofa, there’s a massive Slim Aarons photo, the epitome of mid-century glam.
This one’s of a pool party in some impossibly fabulous backyard, with bronzed women in bikinis and oversized sunglasses lounging like movie stars, and men in pressed linen shirts holding martinis.
It’s staged, obviously, but it’s the kind of idealized setting that makes you want to crawl inside it and never come out.
If you squint, you can almost feel the champagne bubbles tickling your nose.
To the left is the closet. The closet. It’s practically the size of my first apartment in Costa Mesa.
Rows of designer clothes hang like trophies, every hanger spaced exactly an inch apart, every rack organized by color and season, just like at home in Newport Beach.
Shoes are lined up like soldiers, glossy and perfect.
And my jewelry that I decided to bring out here sparkles behind the glass cases—bracelets, necklaces, rings.
Too much. There’s no way I could wear it all, but it’s nice to know I could try.
The bathroom might take the cake, though.
The soaking tub is so massive it could double as a plunge pool.
White marble everywhere, so pristine I feel guilty for even breathing near it.
There’s a rainfall shower too, of course, with jets that could blast away ten years of stress.
I imagine Ryan and me rekindling our romance in this luxurious bath, and it makes me smile.
Ryan and I have been drifting apart, no small thanks to this project taking up all his time. But I’m going to fix everything. After this weekend, and the engagement party, and the wedding, we’ll focus on each other. For now, I’ll focus on making Zach’s marriage one for the ages.
I pause in the middle of the room, taking it all in.
It’s the kind of place someone like me is supposed to love—beautiful, expensive, excessive.
I check out my reflection in the mirror: perfection that has come at a hefty price.
But I’m worth it. I’ve made the Gentry name into one of the most notable in Orange County.
I blow myself a kiss and walk back toward the front windows.
I can’t shake the feeling that something about it all feels off.
There are a lot of things wrong in my life, but I’ll deal with them after this weekend is over.
Today, I get to see Zach, and that’s all that matters.
He’s my son, my only child, and together with my husband, these two men are my life.
I mean, I love to host parties, and I raise so much money for charity in Orange County that I’m a legend.
But at the heart of it all, it’s my boys I care about.
And I’ll make this weekend perfect for them, for my boys and for Celeste too.
I hear tires on the gravel driveway as I move back to the windows. A car pulling up. It’s an old dumpy something or other that’s bright red. Horrible. I take a deep breath as I hurry out of the room to greet them.
Let the games begin.