After flying overseas to enroll in a prestigious boarding school, Blake Graham assumes that she can finally catch a break.
Instead, she encounters the boy who she fought with almost every day as a child.
After moving back to England, then over to...
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"Welcome home Miss Graham."
"Great to be back." I huffed out, climbing out of the Limousine. After almost a month of solitude and somewhat peace in Switzerland, I was back. Well, only for five days. But five days was long enough to stir up some shit. The Upper East Side was where drama reigned, and I wasn't ready to be thrown into yet another stressful situation.
The streets were bustling with yellow taxis, cars, and limos. The sidewalks were in a constant rush of different people, ranging from businessmen to tourists. The air smelled of smoke, nothing like the clean air of Cambridge. I was back.
The glass doors to the apartment building was immediately opened for me by the doorman, who gave me another welcome back.
The concierge gave me a welcome back.
The Van Acker family who lives on the tenth floor welcomed me back.
The only person who has yet to welcome me back? I mean, not even a simple text? We get it, he has a whole company to run, but by dragging me back here and clearing his schedule to make me miserable you would think my father has time to give me a call. Maybe even to just check and see if his second favorite jet didn't fall into the Atlantic during the ten hour flight.
Once the elevator was empty, I entered the password on the control board of the elevator and put my finger onto the fingerprint reader. Immediately the option to go to the sixteenth floor lit up, and the lift made its way towards the sky. Private elevators do have its perks, I can't lie.
The elevator made its stop into the familiar apartment. My own personal refuge in the concrete jungle. And yes, I had lived on my own before leaving.
Before it being only me, Margot had lived with me. After moving in, we gave the once minimalistic house some personal touches. Splashes of colors, fresh flowers, and artwork made the apartment a home. And yes, it was a little much for me to live on my own in a multimillion dollar penthouse. But my excuse was, my father was unbearable.
Walking into the penthouse, the smell of lavender greeted me. I was always big on essential oils so during the summer and spring months I'd always have some lavender being diffused into the air. The large glass wall gave me a view of the city, the Empire State Building in my peripheral. Outside the glass wall was my balcony and pool, which I did use quite often.
My suitcases had already been delivered into my room, courtesy of the staff elevator. So, like always when I was tired and jet lagged, I stumbled towards the closest bed.
My room was left completely the same. I really should have cleaned it out honestly, because so much had changed. A purple John-Richard painting was hung above my dresser, and sitting atop the dresser was picture frames.
These frames ranged from my childhood to the end of the school year before shit hit the fan. There were photos of me and my sister, me and my mother, some family pictures (once upon a time my father had a soul), school pictures, and a lot of pictures of him. I wanted to get rid of those pictures, I needed to. But whenever I would take the cardboard backing off the pictures, I just had to put them back. Well that was in the summer. It was now fall, and I had to be strong.
