But apparently I won’t be seeing that anytime soon.
I smile wide and act like I’m having the time of my life. When this is over, I’ll put a video together explaining why I was hiding out and put the inevitable rumors to rest. I can only imagine what people will think when they hear there was drama at my sister’s wedding and how I escaped then suddenly vanished.
“Are you done filming?” Tristan asks when I walk into the living room. He’s showered and changed now, covering all of his sex appeal.
“For now,” I say, plopping down on the chair.
“Will you be doing that every day?”
“Doing what?” I sneer, grabbing the remote.
“Pretending you love everything when moments before you were complaining about the food and whining about no air-conditioning?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
I turn on the TV, praying there’s cable.
“Understand what exactly?” he asks.
“My life. Sharing things with the public for them to nitpick every single detail. Keeping up appearances,” I ramble off only a few things that most people wouldn’t get.
“Then why do you do it? Why put your life on display like that if you’re just going to fake it? Not like you need the extra attention. Everyone already knows who your family is.”
I snap my gaze to him. “I don’t fake it, I just don’t emphasize the shitty moments. And I film because of what’s known about my family. I want to prove every single tabloid wrong and show them who I am, not just what page six says about us.”
“But you’re not genuine, you do what gets you views. Staged entertainment.”
Tristan’s words hit a nerve. How dare he. It’s bad enough the public judges me, but to have Tristan imply that I’m vapid and fake cuts deeper than the negative comments I get from strangers.
Slamming the remote down, I stand and leave.
I went up to my room and slept for a few hours. With nothing to do, my body has no energy to even stay awake. I’m not used to this much free time, and I don’t like it.
Hearty smells fill the house and I know Tristan is cooking something, so I decide to get out of bed.
“Are you hungry?” Tristan asks as soon as I walk downstairs.
“A little.”
“Take a seat, I’ll bring you some spaghetti.”
I’m surprised he’s even talking to me, but considering my parents pay him, he doesn’t have a choice.
“Would you like parmesan?”
“Sure, thanks.” I pull out a chair and sit, in the mood for some comfort carbs.
The sun is setting, reflecting a gorgeous hue over the water, and I wish I could go out there and relax.
“Garlic bread?”
“Just one.”
Moments later, Tristan brings over a plateful. “Thank you.”
“Hope it’s edible and to your liking.”
There’s his condescending attitude.
“It’s pretty hard to screw up spaghetti but I guess if anyone could, it’d be you,” I sing-song.
“You know how to cook?” he challenges, arching a brow as he walks back to the kitchen.
“I can manage the basics,” I reply.
He returns to the table with his own plate and sits across from me. “Like what? Maybe I’ll add the ingredients to the list so you can pull your weight around here.”
“Are we a domestic couple now? We’re taking turns cooking for one another?” I muse, twirling my fork in the noodles.
“We could be here for a while and you’ve already said I’m a bad cook so having you make something might be better.”
“I never said that, I just had a couple of suggestions,” I correct, then take a bite. “And this isn’t terrible.”
“So glad to hear you approve,” he says dryly.
“Fine, I’ll make grilled cheese with tomatoes, but I need Sourdough bread.”
“How do you manage to make a simple recipe into something boujie?”
I bark out a laugh. “That’s not boujie! Sourdough bread is healthier than white bread and it tastes better. It’s a personal preference.” I shrug.
“That’s because you’ve never struggled or had limited options. If you had, you’d have learned to appreciate whatever you had, even if it were moldy bread and expired cheese.”
“What makes you think I don’t appreciate things just because I have money to buy what I like? That seems judgy.”
“Well first, I’ve worked for your family for the past six months, and have watched you very closely. I see what you do and how you act, and have drawn my own conclusions. It’s not unreasonable to think that your privilege is why you are the way you are. You’ve never had a bad day in your life.”
I grind my teeth, growing angry by his unfair assessment. “Wow. Glad to know what you really think of me when you’ve taken all of two seconds to get to know me. Meanwhile, you hide in the shadows, glaring at life as if you were purposely dealt a bad hand. You’ve watched me and kept to yourself, dedicating your life to someone else’s instead of living your own. So tell me what that really says about you?”
“I fought for our country and now devote my life to protecting others. Doesn’t mean I haven’t lived. I’m certain I’ve seen more in my thirty-seven years than you’ll see in a lifetime.”
“Sorry I’m not a thirty-seven-year-old man with a stick up my ass. If I were, maybe then you’d see me as something more than an heirloom princess who’s never had a bad day in her life,” I mock his words, then stand and walk away.
The past two days are the most Tristan and I have ever spoken to one another and maybe it’s best if we don’t talk. He only sees the superficial parts of my life, but it’s like he doesn’t care to learn more. He’s already decided what kind of person I am.
An hour passes before I hear footsteps and Tristan enters without knocking.
“You stormed off before I could give you this.” He holds out a phone and I sit up. “It’s a burner phone, nothing special. You won’t be able to download apps or access the internet, but you can call or text your family.”
My shoulders slump, but at least I can speak to my sister, so I take it. “Thanks.”
“You can go outside on the small patio that’s fenced in, but that’s it. I’ll be making sure you don’t go outside of the perimeter.”
“Jesus, you act like I’m a murderer or something.”
“Unless you want to get murdered, you’ll do as I say,” he retorts before leaving.
I roll my eyes when he’s no longer in view, then turn on the phone. It’s already programmed with Kendall’s and my parents’ cell phone numbers.
If these restrictions don't make me feel like a damn child, I don’t know what will.
Instead of pouting, I head outside to chat with Kendall since I know she’s the most worried about me.
“Pipes?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Am I interrupting wedding sex?” I ask, leaning back on a chair.
“Don’t worry, we’ve already banged three times since last night. Ryan’s probably grateful for the break.” She snickers.