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I’m missing her number.
Gabriella Carmichael.
And with that thought consuming me, I know I have to do whatever I can to get it.
Even if it means being the biggest pain in her beautiful arse.
Eight
Gabriella
The familiar brown-uniformed driver pulls up to the curb first thing on Monday morning.
James, as he introduced himself last week, has got his job down to a T. A quick stop, then run to the back of his truck where he sorts out the packages until he pulls out a large box with both his hands and begins to walk toward me.
“Hey, Gabriella,” he greets, juggling the box until he places it on the porch directly by my feet.
“Hi, James.” My eyes wander toward the large box, wondering what on earth could be inside. Nicholas is relentless in showering me with gifts. “It’s a big one today.”
James chuckles beneath his cap, handing me his device to sign my name. “A dime for every time I’ve heard that.” He winks, walking away with a slight skip in his step as I thank him, unable to hide the smile from my embarrassing comment.
Curiosity gets the better of me. Tearing off the tape, I pull out the flaps, and inside the box sits a large giraffe. Struggling to remove it, I finally pull it all out and place it in front of me.
The stuffed giraffe sits over three feet tall, reaching the top of my chest. At the rate he’s going with stuffed animals, I will soon be able to open an imaginary zoo.
My eyes hazily wander to the envelope, removing the card to read what it says.
How about our honeymoon in Africa?
Love, Prince Charming.
I let out a sigh. A smile wavering as the internal conflict of the whole situation rests heavily on my shoulders. As if the weight is bearing me down, I take a seat on the old wicker chair, staring blankly at the giraffe and trying to acknowledge the word ‘honeymoon.’
Nicholas is trying his best. I must give him that.
It was a joke. One day over dinner, a friend of his was talking about Africa, and I mentioned how much I loved giraffes but have never seen one.
A honeymoon.
My chest begins to cave in while a sense of overwhelming thoughts floods my brain within seconds. Time is ticking by slowly, and in just a few weeks, I’ll be back home. According to my mother, the caterers were booked out for the date my father insisted the wedding take place. So, they agreed to a wedding date a week later. Still with enough time before the next election. All it did was buy me another week here.
There is just so much to think about.
Where will we live?
Nicholas’ family owns a ranch not too far from us. He has his own quarters, but the thought of living with the Kings is enough to make me run away and change my identity for good. They are nasty and ruthless, and I have overheard on more than one occasion that his father is part of some underground mob.
“Planning a trip to Africa?” The familiar voice startles me, my hand instinctively covering my chest to calm my racing heart. Oliver is leaning over the fence curiously watching me. I’m not immune to his shirtless body glistening in the sunlight and his muscles protruding, making it impossible to ignore him. He has one of those rich golden tans with very little hair on his sculpted chest.
Stop gawking, moron.
I quickly place the card back in the envelope. “No… I wish.”
“Interesting gift,” he comments while removing his AirPods.
“It’s from Nicholas,” I mumble as Oliver stares at me, rubbing his chin with a confused expression. “You know, Prince Charming? He kind of sends me stuff, I guess in an attempt to lure me back.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
