Meant for me, p.1
Meant for Me, page 1
also by tay marley
The QB Bad Boy and Me
The Summer of ’98
Contents
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen
chapter fifteen
chapter sixteen
chapter seventeen
chapter eighteen
chapter nineteen
chapter twenty
chapter twenty-one
chapter twenty-two
chapter twenty-three
chapter twenty-four
chapter twenty-five
chapter twenty-six
chapter twenty-seven
epilogue
author’s note
acknowledgments
about the author
Discussion Questions
To the readers and dreamers
chapter one
August
When my big sister, Margo, was fourteen, she caught our father having an affair with my mother. She told me how shocking it was: even if our father was a good-looking Italian man who had women walking through his restaurant doors in droves, the question of his faithfulness would never have been called into question.
That was until Margo, who had never even held hands with a boy, walked into the storeroom to collect a can of pizza sauce and saw her father’s pants around his ankles and a woman’s legs around his waist.
My father brought great shame on the Bianchi name and, as I was told, was given an earful from my Nonna, who was appalled at his actions. She never accepted my mother, who, while of Italian descent, had been born and raised in America. My mother didn’t like to cook; she was career-focused; she didn’t want a lot of children. That didn’t sit right with Nonna; as if the fact that she was a mistress wasn’t bad enough, she didn’t equate to a good Italian housewife either. But she was beautiful, elegant, dazzling in diamonds and wealth. And she had a good heart; she was kind and welcoming.
Dad left Sicily with my mom, both heading back to her home in California. Six months later, Margo was sent to live with them as her own mother had fallen deep into drugs and alcohol. A year and a half later, I was born. As I grew older, I asked Margo how she wasn’t angry with my mother for tearing her family apart. All she ever said was that her father was happier in America, with my mom, than he had ever been before, and that there were probably things that went on that she didn’t understand because of her age. The universe brought people together in mysterious ways, who was Margo to argue?
Margo was like that. She tended not to dwell on circumstantial matters. She couldn’t change the relationship that her dad had with my mom. So she embraced it—and she embraced me.
As I watched the expansive land from the bus window, the Colorado river winding through miles of pasture and hills, I tried to hear what Margo would tell me about this situation. What advice would she have for me now? She was practical, so the first thing she would tell me was that traveling on a bus from Beverly Hills, California, to Austin, Texas, was impulsive and stupid, and I needed to go home and deal with reality regardless of what I felt.
There was no chance I could go home. It didn’t matter what I’d left behind; our event planning business, May We?, didn’t matter, nor did the clothes and shoes, the condo, the friends and clients. None of it mattered. I couldn’t be sure what had pushed me into choosing Austin as the final stop. I’m not sure I chose it at all. But I started going east, and I just kept going in the hopes that the oozing heart-sized hole in my chest would heal the further I got from home.
Of course, I couldn’t see that happening.
My head fell onto the warm windowpane, and I watched the road whirring past, fast. So fast that the lines separating the lanes were a blur. The road signs were a blur. My fingertips touched the bottom of my eyes just to be sure that I wasn’t sobbing in public again and that the blur wasn’t gathered tears refusing to spill. Nope, not a tear so far. I’d thought keeping it together would have been a lot harder, but I had a feeling the hollow pit in my chest was a black hole, draining the emotion and pain before I knew what to do with it.
• • •
Stepping off the bus, I was reminded that August in Austin is peak heat. I could feel the relentless sun piercing my skin the moment I hit the pavement, where dozens of bodies shuffling past made it even hotter. For a moment, all I could do was stand still and watch the world move around me.
The colors, the beautiful sundresses and wide-brimmed hats. Flip-flops and sandals. Smiles that said all was well in the world. It never ceased to amaze me how one tragic event, one event that felt so enormous that it should have had the entire population reeling and falling to its knees, was in fact not earth-shattering at all. It existed only to me and a handful of people back in California.
It made me wonder how much darker life would be if grief was physical. If we could walk past someone and see exactly what it was they felt. If we could see their heart tearing right down the middle, if we could see the never-ending slow bleed of their mind turning into a dismal mess. I suppose there was a good reason it wasn’t like that. It would be too much. Humans are empathetic. Having to experience everyone else’s grief would be a quick descent into madness.
I hoisted my backpack on over my black T-shirt dress, and I began walking. Black was the right color. Not just because it represented how I felt but because the sweat would be less obvious. And I did sweat as I started walking with no destination in mind. I’d always loved to walk, to watch the world around me shift as I sorted through thoughts and feelings. I’d walk on the beach, sand between my toes, though today I headed out in my worn sneakers down unfamiliar streets.
The Colorado River running right through the heart of Austin was beautiful on a day like today. The sun hit the rippling surface, appearing as if it were glittering with diamonds. I stood on the Pennybacker Bridge and looked across the river, its expanse stretching hundreds of feet. Rolling hills flanked either side, with trees and grass and water for miles. For a moment, I inhaled the clean air, searching for peace or a flicker of appreciation for the scene. The fact that I felt hollow—less than hollow; I felt nothing—scared me. I knew the view was beautiful, and yet any emotion refused to stir.
Night began to fall after some hours of aimless wandering. The sky turned dusted orange, the sliver of blue became an almost purple shade, and the clouds looked like cotton candy. There was an obvious ache in the sole of my feet, and it traveled right up into the core of my thighs. I hadn’t eaten, and I hadn’t had anything to drink. I hadn’t healed one fucking bit, and that was the point. To move and think until the pain subsided. Just a little bit. That was all I asked.
When it was dark and there were crickets chirping, stars overhead, and headlights illuminating the road in front of me, I wondered if I should have booked a room for the night. Especially because as I peered around, I realized how far from town I now was. There were no storefronts, no people, no homes. Just the occasional gravel driveway that was so long I couldn’t see the end of it, trees, and fields.
The night didn’t bring much in the way of relief from the heat. It was still humid, and I felt drenched. I came to a standstill. What should I do? What would Margo do? Well, she’d never have spent an entire day walking across Austin in the first place. She’d have caught a cab, rented a room, carefully allocated her hours into set activities so that she could make the most of her adventure.
I knew her so well. I knew what she would do, and still, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d never have done it as well as her. There was no point in attempting to be half of who she was.
Bullshit, Addie. You’re an event planner. Organization is what you do!
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
I startled and turned around to the harsh glare of the bright lights behind me. A shadow stood there, a woman, her figure thin. My breath caught.
“Margo?”
“Uh . . . ma’am, are you all right? It’s not too safe walking around these parts alone. A lot of traffic passes through, and I—”
Her words became static, and the world started to topple as I lost my balance. The woman rushed for me as I went down, cold, hard asphalt hitting my aching legs and arms.
“It’ll be okay,” she said. I knew it was a promise as her hand cradled my head and darkness seeped in.
chapter two
Two years ago
The last thing I wanted to be doing on a Saturday evening was making a brief appearance at some swanky event on Rodeo Drive where there’d be more celebrities than the Met Gala. That might have sounded a bit backward. Don’t all women in their early twenties want to be rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous at designer store openings?
Well, no, not all women. I was required to be here, though. Even if just for a few minutes. I had put the whole thing together, after all. It was customary to go and make sure things were in order. The smell of rich fabrics and wine lingered in the air. Music rattled the clothes hangers on their steel racks, and I winced at stilettos piercing the brand-new wooden floor.
&nbs
I’d been hoping to slip out before the client caught me. However, at the sound of her harsh, nicotine-damaged voice calling me, I turned and found Klarise Klauden approaching. She glittered with diamonds and stunk of four-hundred-dollar champagne. Still, I let her give me one of her awkward half hugs that made it quite clear she also preferred her personal space.
“This is perfect.” Her frosted fingertips wiggled as she waved around the room. “You’ve made an impression too. There have been whispers circulating. You could make a lot of connections here. People want to hire the Addison and Margo May. This’ll do wonders for the business, sweetheart.”
“It’s just Addie.” I gave her a polite nod and watched her touch the piercing on her thin nose. “You have our card, Klarise. So, whoever’s interested, just pass the information along.”
Her brows pinched, like she’d heard a bad joke and was contemplating how to react. “Yes, well, I think that’s your job, sweetheart. You have all of this potential. Don’t leave it to someone else to give you a break.”
She wasn’t wrong. But she also wasn’t desperate to get home, wrap up in a dressing gown, and finish the most delectable romance I’d read to date. I’d just reached the pivotal moment when the hero does something stupid and has to get on his knees and grovel. It didn’t matter that it was July in Beverly Hills. I wanted bed. I wanted books.
Our business, May We?, was well known in California. Margo and I had inherited the company from our parents and rebranded it—and ourselves—in order to make it our own. Our workload had tripled since we’d taken over. We weren’t lacking in clients, but the more that we had, the better, and Margo would be furious if I didn’t at least attempt to expand our client base. She usually came to the events. I preferred the office work. But I’d granted her the night off so she could go on a date. It better have been worth it.
I turned on the best “fake it until you make it” smile and proceeded to take a few laps around the store. In the dark, the walls were glowing from neon lights that were fixed behind the boards. It was cute and enchanting. Posters of models wearing the brand’s items were hung, and mannequins were dressed in their new outfits.
And then, as I was about to make a graceful exit, I saw him. My sister’s lowlife ex-husband, a coward, a pathetic excuse for a person.
I considered slipping out, but somehow I found myself standing in front of him with a glass of champagne and a brutal bitch glare in place. Ignoring the couple he was having a conversation with, I cleared my throat and smiled at him. The smile was laced with disgust. Which I think he received when he finally looked at me.
“Addie.” His brows shot up in surprise, but his nerves weren’t slow to seep in, and I watched that familiar red rash crawl across his throat. He might have been a heartless bastard, but he didn’t have an ounce of confidence either. Not the sort that was needed to survive in this world. It was no wonder he lived behind a desk.
He swallowed, and his nervous laugh showered saliva. I recoiled with a scowl as he waved his hand at the man and woman behind me. “Addie, this is Cecilia and her brother, Charles. Cecilia is . . . well, we’re engaged.”
Oh.
When I’d first approached, I hadn’t paid any mind to the couple. But now I turned and looked at the woman. Her elegance was striking. Her beauty wasn’t blatant. It was subtle, and it took a moment of staring to appreciate her regal features. A strong nose, prominent cheekbones, and a soft gaze that all seemed to work rather well together. Though the part of her I was most interested in was her protruding stomach.
He’d left Margo and filed for divorce less than two years ago, and here he was with a new fiancé and a child on the way. It wasn’t that surprising when I thought about it. Pete had never been one to deliberate on his choices. He’d proposed to Margo within six months of meeting her. I’d argued it was too fast, but Margo, the romantic she was, didn’t see it that way.
I supposed when he’d met this Cecilia woman, he was quick to deduce where their futures sat and started immediately on building his family.
“You don’t waste time,” I said, already thinking about Margo and how heartbroken she’d been when her marriage fell apart. Anger bubbled, causing me to clench the stem of my glass so hard I thought it might shatter.
Pete’s nervous laugh was grating as he looked at his soon-to-be wife and then back at me. “Uh, what? What do you mean?”
“Use those analytical powers of deduction and figure it out, Pete.”
“Look, Margo and I . . . that’s over. What am I meant to do? Never move on?”
“You should move on all you like,” I said, watching him become flustered over the fact that we weren’t alone. I didn’t care. In fact, I looked at his fiancé and attempted to smile because none of this was her fault, but why shouldn’t she know what he’d done to the last woman he’d claimed to love? “It’s just the fact that you left my sister because she couldn’t carry a pregnancy. As if that wasn’t hard enough.”
He ran his hand across his thick beard. Admittedly, Pete wasn’t unattractive; what he had done made him hideous to me, but superficially, he was good-looking. Not a lot taller than me or Margo, but that was fine because we were both small. He had a nice build and big eyes and a thick head of hair. But he was still a piece of shit, and that was all that I could ever see after what he had done.
“I just knew it wasn’t going to work. It had nothing to do with the miscarriages. It wasn’t a malicious breakup . . . it was just doing what was best for me.”
I had the strongest urge to stab him with my heel. “Really? Nothing to do with the miscarriages? How convenient you left after she suggested spending money on a surrogate, then.”
He lowered his gaze, and I let out a harsh laugh, casting a glance to poor Cecilia, who was cradling her bump and staring at the floor. I wasn’t sure what she knew of Pete’s failed marriage, but with the look her brother was giving Pete, I had to assume it wasn’t the whole truth.
“Coward,” I spat and threw the champagne at his face, grinning when he gasped, blinking the alcohol from his lashes.
He could justify himself until he was blue in the face, and I still wouldn’t forgive him for hurting the one person I loved more than anything in this world. She deserved better, and I hated that he was getting what he wanted while she was still going on dates with losers in the hopes that she would find her Mr. Right.
• • •
The condo I shared with Margo was on the second floor. We had a cute awning covered in lustrous green vines over the front gate, a digital code for access, and gorgeous potted flowers along the short footpath that led to the front door of the building. As soon as I walked inside the condo, the sound of Whitney Houston blasted through the small two-bedroom home, and I rounded the foyer wall to find Margo standing in the middle of the living room, belting the chorus out at the top of her lungs.
“And I-i-i-i-i-e-i-i-i will always loooooooooove youuuuuu-ooooo—”
“What is happening in here?”
She paused her solo and fixed me with a grin I knew well. Pride. I’d seen it a lot over the course of my life, considering she had been raising me from the time I was thirteen and she was twenty-nine. The privilege of telling me how proud she was at the achievement of my milestones had fallen to her. She’d never let me down. I couldn’t have asked for a better caregiver. While I was now twenty-two, she was still the parent I needed.
My high-heeled shoes fell to the hardwood floor with a thud as she skipped forward, held up her phone, and pressed Start on a video. The music faded as the video began, and the surround sound was soon filled with the chattering and laughter of the party I had just been at. To my shock, there I was on the screen, flinging a glass of champagne at Pete’s face.
“How—”
“It’s not viral. Irie was there,” Margo explained, locking her phone and tossing it onto the sofa. I did remember seeing her supermodel best friend, but I had done a good job of avoiding talking to her. Irie was fine and all, just a bit overwhelming at times. “She told me she saw you storming over to Pete and hoped something would go down. She had her phone ready just in case.”
