Before I start, I want to post a partial chapter 2 of Lost. To catch up on the story, here is Chapter 1.
*Please note that this has not been edited but is a story I wanted to share with my readers. Also, this is under the copyright law and I will hunt that person down if I see that it has been stolen. I will release a chapter per week. Please leave your questions or comments below. I would love to hear from you. Enjoy the story*
“I hate him, Jacinda. I truly hate the man.” Elisabet rubbed her temples while sitting on the leather couch in her living room with her best friend, Jacinda Watson.
“He was an asshat in college and he’s an asshat now. I don’t know why you stay there?” Jacinda twisted her pale blond hair around her finger.
Elisabet reached for her white wine that sat on her coffee table, sat back, and tucked her legs underneath her. “I don’t know.” Elisabet shrugged. “I love the people there. Well, except for Bianca.” She pursed her full lips.
Jacinda rolled her eyes. “What is with those two? She must give amazing blowjobs.”
Elisabet cringed at the comment. Apparently, Bianca had. Elisabet had the pleasure of walking in on them during Ethan’s six-year old birthday party. The horrid disgusting image had been burned into Elisabet’s brain. The betrayal sat thick inside her heart for years.
Elisabet finished her wine, letting it wash away the repulsive memory of Bianca on her knees in front of Isaac. “What I do know is that I need to leave. I may commit homicide soon if I don’t.” She smirked.
“You know, I heard Marshall Gallery is looking for a new curator.” Jacinda wagged her brows.
Elisabet shook her head. “No, I want to open my own gallery—”
Before she could finish her reply, Jacinda slapped her arm.“Oh! Guess who’s coming to visit from Spain?”
Elisabet rubbed the stinging skin. “Ouch! Who?”
He had been in Europe for the past seven years, living a playboy lifestyle, and leaving broken hearts from Italy to Switzerland. Elisabet had a crush on him years ago but he was ten years her senior and completely unattainable.
Elisabet smiled at the thought of Nicholas Weston’s arrival. “When does Mr. Running-With-The-Bulls arrive?”
“Two weeks. I’m so excited. Hopefully, he’s coming to announce his engagement or something. He’s forty-three for god’s sake.” Jacinda threw her hands up.
“Leave him be. Why aren't you married yet? You aren't a spring chicken you know, Jacinda?”
“I’m still young. Thirty is the new twenty and who says spring chicken anymore? Oh, I know. Old people.” Jacinda giggled.
Elisabet leaned from over from her side of the couch to shove Jacinda. “I’m only three years older than you, so bite your tongue.”
Jacinda pinched Elisabet’s calf. “That’s what you need, someone to bite your tongue.”
The man with the devastating blue eyes flashed in her mind. She bit down on her bottom lip at the thought of him biting her tongue. She could feel her skin heating. Jacinda cocked a brow but said nothing more. The sound of bare feet padded into the room. A yawning Ethan with plaid pajamas and wet hair stood before them.
“I’m ready for bed. Can Aunt Jacinda tell me one of her stories?” Ethan flashed them a toothy-grin.
Elisabet could never say no that request. “Absolutely, honey.”
Jacinda and Ethan retreated upstairs. Elisabet stood and picked up Jacinda’s wine glass. She walked into her kitchen and placed the empty glasses into the dishwasher. She was still in her work clothes, standard black slacks and silk blouse. Her desire to shed her clothes grew by the minute. The day had drained her dry.
She looked down and stared at her distorted reflection in the sink basin. Elisabet needed a change. The redundancy of her life had worn on her and Ethan deserved a mother who was alive and happy. Remaining at Pritchard Gallery had sucked the life from her. Elisabet knew tomorrow would change everything for her. She would walk in and tell Isaac where to go and where he could shove Bianca.
Her stomach rolled as the palms of her hands became clammy but her consciousness slapped her and reminded Elisabet of the hell Isaac had put her through over the past decade. There it was again, the scene of Bianca, her sable hair swaying while on her knees in front on Isaac, in their home, while their son was being entertained by an idiotic magician, who ate half the cake.
It was never theirs, it was Isaac’s. Isaac’s house, Isaac’s gallery, and Isaac’s artists. The one person she wanted Isaac to consider his, was Ethan. He was his son when it benefited him, when it was convenient for him. Elisabet’s nostril’s flared and her eyes hardened. Tomorrow, I will tell Isaac to go to hell.