Chapter 1: The Truth Hurts

Angela looked up at the popcorn ceiling of her apartment and sighed heavily, sinking deeper into her couch. She uncrossed her arms and shifted to her side, catching a glimpse of her dining room table out of the corner of her eye. Her manuscript was sitting on the table and she could practically hear it calling to her, beckoning, “Angela, come finish me. You know you want to.”

She hugged her sweater tighter around her and ran a hand through her mahogany locks that reached past her shoulder blades.

It had been a week since Soren left L.A.—after a short, but eventful, 5-day visit—and she had done nothing productive in that time.

The day after he left, Dalia dragged her out to celebrate New Year’s Eve somewhere and she couldn’t even remember the name of the place. On New Year’s Day, she watched the Rose Parade on television with her parents—both the live broadcast and one of the replays—and couldn't recall a single float. The day after New Year’s, Therese took her on a new hike—complete with a waterfall—and it was as though time skipped between closing her car door to start the hike and opening her car door when it was over. Had she even seen the waterfall?

The one bright spot—in her otherwise glum days—were her frequent phone conversations with Soren.

Soren Lund—the brooding Dane with the stormy-blue eyes who’d gone from long dreamt of fantasy to heart-stopping reality during an unexpected reunion in London almost six months ago—was now her boyfriend.

Boyfriend. The word still felt new to her, it had been years since she had used it.

Since London, they’d expressed their long pent-up passion across three borders and four cities, leaving a string of orgasms in their wake like breadcrumbs for their hearts to follow.

She looked forward to their phone calls like meals; filling herself up until the jailer of long-distance relationships fed her again.

If Soren hadn’t initiated her into the practice, who knew how long their relationship would have lasted. They had always been better at expressing themselves with their bodies than with words, although in the case of phone sex the words substituted for their bodies.

She blushed thinking about their call last night. It was amazing what Soren could do to her body just with words. Her nipples got hard just thinking about it.

First, I’d take you from behind and watch that gorgeous ass of yours as I pound you hard. I love watching you throw your head back, and the way your hair cascades over your skin. I’d grab your hair and pull back, thrusting into you deeper. Then I’d turn you over, put your calves over my shoulders, and bounce you up and down as I thumb your clit so I can watch your face as you orgasm.

She fluttered her eyes and scissored her bare legs together as the memory sent a swirl of desire through her.

She didn’t know why his vivid descriptions of sex still made her blush. It wasn’t as though she was a stranger to the actions themselves, but Soren was so much more frank about sexual matters than she was.

She chalked it up to his Danish upbringing. “The human body is beautiful and natural” and all that. Whereas Angela came from a family where the only sex-ed talk she was ever given lasted approximately twenty-three minutes—the duration of the car ride from her house to her high school in morning traffic—and concluded with “don’t get pregnant.”

She sighed heavily as she pushed herself off the sofa and walked to her dining table-cum-writing-desk. She straightened her merino wool house sweater and opened her manuscript to page one. Sitting down, she grabbed her red pen and changed the wording on the second sentence. It seemed impossible for her to read her book and not want to edit something: change a word, crop a photo, delete a phrase. It was a job that would probably never be “done.” She would have to learn to be satisfied with it when she sent it to the printer.

She took a deep breath and tucked into the job, forcing herself to get into the zone. She had forgotten how good it felt to make progress after a week of lethargy.

A little after 4pm she closed her book, having completed the edit. Her stomach rumbled. She looked at her watch, surprised at how the past few hours had flown by. She eyed her phone warily.

By “him” she meant Kieran O’Connell, the mysterious and impossibly good-looking, motorcycle-riding bookstore owner who had become her mentor and friend over the last few months. He was a big part of why Soren’s recent visit was so eventful, and she hadn’t spoken to him since the day he apologized—for the drama he helped create—a little over a week ago.

But now that she had completed her most recent edit, she could no longer put off calling him; truthfully, she was looking forward to it. Kieran and she shared many mutual interests including literature, entrepreneurship, and food. Their conversations were always lively and instructive.

She got up and grabbed an apple from her fruit basket. Taking a big bite, she walked out to her balcony, and dialed Kieran’s number.

“Hey Angela. Happy New Year! Has it been a good one so far?” he sounded genuinely happy to hear from her.

Even though things between them were tense last they spoke, Angela just wasn’t programmed to hold a grudge. Besides, it was impossible to stay mad at Kieran since he was her book’s biggest cheerleader.

“The new year has been fine,” she answered noncommittally. Kieran was the last person she wanted to talk to about how much she missed Soren. It was important to keep their relationship as professional as possible.

Talking about Soren was the sort of conversation she would have with her close girlfriends: Dalia, a fellow Latina from her MBA program; Therese, her roommate from college; or Charlene, a fellow exchange student she met in Barcelona.

Charlene! They hadn’t spoken since Christmas Day. She would have to call her next and tell her about everything that happened during Soren’s visit.

“Anyway, I’m calling to tell you that I love what the graphic designer has done, but I still see a ton of edits and tweaks that need to be made,” Angela said, as she walked back to her dining table and sat in a leather and wood dining chair that her parents handed down to her. She made a mental note to purchase a good writing chair with her first royalty check.

“Yup that’s the process. The designer can make any changes you want. I know it’s repetitive stuff, but it’s good to give it at as many passes as you can stand before we give it to a professional editor. You will get faster at editing as you gain more experience. Have you started working on the Los Leones book? You might want to give yourself a break on The Festival.”

Angela sat up at his words. Kieran was referring to the book set on the beach where she grew up camping. “Right, you mentioned that before. That’s a great idea. I'm going to do that. I'll let you know when I plan on coming by the store next.” She paused, wondering if there was anything else she needed to say to him. There wasn’t. “Thanks Kieran! Bye.”

Her heart panged at the disappointed sound in his voice, but she was trying to keep the boundaries between them clear; besides, she needed to talk to Charlene. She was the only friend of Angela’s who knew Soren, which was why they needed to talk.

A few years older, married, and an executive at a top medical devices company, Charlene Nelson was like the elder sister Angela wished she had.

Angela had met Charlene eighteen months ago, on her first day at the Barcelona Instituto de Negocios—BIN for short. Like Angela, Charlene had also been a second-year MBA exchange student, although she was visiting from a school in the Midwest. Angela remembered being instantly captivated by Charlene’s gorgeous, full lips; long, intricate braids; and wisecracking sense of humor. The two women had been inseparable during their time there.

Angela dialed her friend and proceeded to tell her about Soren's time in L.A., the good and the bad. She never pulled any punches with Charlene, always offering her full disclosure.

“And then he told me that not only did he want us to move in together, but that he would support me financially,” Angela concluded.

Charlene let out a long, low whistle. “No me digas! That’s heavy. What did you tell him?”

She sighed. “My gut doesn’t want to leave L.A. The more I travel, the more I realize how much this city means to me. Besides, my family, friends, and business contacts are here too.” She paused before adding, “Don't get me wrong, I love traveling here and there, or even spending a few months somewhere, but moving permanently? I don't know...and London doesn’t call to me. The idea of being in the same city as Soren is exciting, but is that enough reason to move?”

Clearly Charlene had her opinions, but whatever they were, she wasn’t sharing them.

“Charlene, I love him so much. I've been missing him like crazy ever since he left, but move in with him? I know everyone moves in together nowadays, but I don’t think it’s for me...”

“Okay Ms-Socratic-Method...” Angela said dryly. Charlene laughed. Angela continued, “This might sound ridiculous, but I’ve never lived with anyone before because I've always felt I should save something for marriage.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “I know, it sounds lame, right? I mean, it’s not like I’ve saved anything else,” she said with a dramatic wave of her arm. “But I've always felt like relationships are hard enough without throwing a lease into the mix. But it’s been easy to follow that rule since most of the guys I've dated have lived in the same city as me. The two that didn’t were not serious enough for me to even consider moving.”

“You and your rules. Tell me this girlfriend. If Soren lived in L.A., would you move in with him?”

“Wow, Angela. Do you hear the certainty that you just answered that question with?” Charlene clucked her tongue for emphasis.

“Besides, don’t you think you would have said ‘yes’ right away if you thought it was the right thing to do?” Charlene asked.

Angela slumped forward, her forehead falling into her hand. “Yes,” she said half-heartedly.

“Well, I’m flattered of course. I mean, that would make it financially feasible for me to go...”

Angela sighed. “But it makes me uncomfortable...okay? There, I said it. I would feel beholden to him.” She sighed heavily. “Why is that? Why can't I just take his incredibly generous offer and not attach any fucked up meaning to it?”

Angela lifted her head up, a torrent of words flying from her mouth. “I just don’t like feeling as though I’m not my own person. I don’t want to ask him for money to fly back to L.A. or to buy underwear.” Angela tugged at the front of her black yoga pants as she realized just how suffocating it would be for Soren to pay for everything. A chill ran through her as she remembered her ex, Peter. They didn’t even live together and she had still felt beholden to him to an uncomfortable degree.

A long pause descended over the two women. Finally, Charlene broke into Angela's thoughts. “Tell me about Kieran.”

“Yeah. I'm curious about this guy. It sounds like you spend a lot of time with him. Tell me more about him.”

Angela exhaled. “Well, first I need to state the obvious. Charlene...he is really good looking...”

“You don’t understand. Soren and I...we are attractive, but I place us in the 98% of the population that is ‘normal’ where exercise, grooming, and confidence makes all the difference in terms of physical attractiveness. You, me, Soren, Marco...we are all in that 98%, but Kieran’s in that weird, alien 1% of the population that is just absurdly attractive. Even here in L.A.—land of the pretty people—he stands out.”

“That’s only 99%...who make up the other 1%?” Charlene asked with amusement.

Angela cleared her throat. “Let’s just say the other 1% are the people for whom their looks are never an asset. I don’t believe in the ‘u’ word...but you know, people who have many wonderful qualities but visual appeal is just not one of them. I dated a guy once that I would put firmly in this category. He looked like the cartoon character, Ichabod Crane.”

“From the headless horseman story? The guy who looks like a bean pole crossed with a flamingo?”

Angela laughed. “Yes exactly. His body and face were just all out of typical human proportions. But despite that, I found him to be very attractive because he was really funny, talented, and confident. He was a wonderful guy...just not visually appealing per se.”

“Uh-huh...okay. Interesting theory. So Kieran is crazy good-looking. Got it. What else?”

“When I first met him I referred to him as ‘Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous.’ He drives a motorcycle and dresses like he’s James Dean. His eyes are always smoldering. He's got one of those gazes that probably make panties explode. If I wasn’t with Soren I could confirm that for you, but for now I'm just hypothesizing.” Angela laughed lightly.

Angela furrowed her brow, uncertain what Charlene was digging for. “Well...he's really into my book concepts. It's been awesome to have someone who is so enthusiastic about my ideas mentor me through this process, because I really don't know what I am doing. And his bookstore is amazing. It’s just the type of business I would want to have. Oh yeah, did I mention he's from L.A.? He's also a mix like me, he’s Irish and Peruvian. So we have that in common as well.”

Charlene cleared her throat delicately. “Honey, is it possible that some of your reservations about leaving L.A. have to do with Kieran?”

Angela searched her heart and although she hadn't considered it consciously, it seemed subconsciously Kieran had been a part of the equation all along. While she had been telling herself that she didn't know how to start over in London with her book business that was just code for “I don't know how to do my books without Kieran.” It would be impossible to replace Kieran professionally.

Charlene sighed. “It’s easy to ignore the things we don't want to see. I know you love Soren, Angela, and you know I think he's a great guy. But moving to London and moving in with him is a huge step.

“I also love that you are keeping the milestone of living with someone for marriage. I think that’s great. You and Soren should just keep dating long distance for a while, and since he said he would pay for any plane ticket that took you to him, you can fly there whenever you want to. Don’t rush into anything honey. You should only move because you want to, not because you feel that you have to.”

Angela stood up and stretched. She had been so caught up in the conversation that she didn’t realize how long she’d been sitting in one position. She walked over to the dining room window and gazed out to the courtyard. “I have to go. I need to do some thinking.”

Angela grabbed her sketchbook/journal and a pen. She sat back on the couch and opened to a blank page.

So. London. Wow. How can I turn down an amazing opportunity like that, but just because it’s an amazing opportunity, doesn’t mean it’s for me. I mean, I’ve never wanted to move to London. That might be someone’s dream, but it’s not mine.

Then there are my friends and family to think about. Why would I want to leave them behind to go to a city that doesn’t call to me?

But London is where Soren is, and that’s enticing. But us moving in together is absolutely ridiculous at this point.

Besides, what I need to focus on right now is my business. I didn’t put myself through business school so I could be a kept woman, and my business is here. Not just my business, but my business mentor. It’s not as if it’s easy to find someone who believes in your work and has the experience and connections to help you make it happen. Soren can’t offer me that. London might be good for Soren’s career, but it wouldn’t be good for mine.

Anyway, what’s the rush? Why can’t I just visit Soren in London and see if I fall in love with it there. THEN there will be a real reason for me to move. At the very least, I should stay in L.A. until my first book is published. That’s the smart thing to do, and I might be a lot of things, but dumb is not one of them.

Angela re-read her thoughts and released a relaxed breath. She felt better now that she knew where she stood.