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“Yes, of course! Where was I?” he says before planting about a million small and rapid kisses on the side of my neck.
“Alright, you two! Get a room already!” Jo’s voice comes from somewhere behind.
Evan and I break apart and I can see her walking down the tarmac toward us. Behind her, the black, sleek limousine that she just exited from shines in the sunlight. A man dressed in a black suit and dark sunglasses is carrying her luggage for her.
“Shall I take your luggage to the plane as well, ma’am?” he asks me.
I look toward Jo, not knowing what to say.
Fully used to her role as a billionaire’s wife, she simply waves her hand and the man takes my luggage and disappears inside the private plane.
“Wow, you’re really getting the hang of this, aren’t you?” I tell her.
“It’s been a few years now. Wealth is something you get used to very quickly, don’t you know?” she says sarcastically.
“Yes, I can imagine.” Both Evan and I laugh.
“Anyway, we need to go. The pilot texted to tell me we need to be airborne in a few minutes.”
“The pilot texted her. Did you hear that, Evan?” I turn to my husband and joke.
“Stop making fun of me. It’s nice!” Jo laughs.
I kiss Evan one last time and climb the stairs following Jo.
“Have fun, you two!” he yells out.
The ride is smooth and surprisingly short. We reach LAX Airport before we know it, chatting and laughing, feeling like we’re the same old friends once more. Yet another black limousine is waiting for us once more on the tarmac.
“Goodness, how many limos does your husband have?” I ask Jo, only half joking.
“I haven’t asked him. But I will if you truly wanna know,” she says.
“I’m good, thanks.”
But if I thought I was impressed with the cars and the private plane provided by Jo, it’s nothing compared to what waits for us when we reach Larisa’s house.
Buried deep within the Hollywood Hills, the house is unreal—a palace made of glass and steel, three levels high, and more rooms than I can even count. A gigantic pool overlooks the Hollywood Hills themselves, wrapping around the house, Italian statues at its edge, and an island with tall palm trees in the middle.
“You’re here! You’re here! I’ve been waiting all day for you!” Larisa greets us happily, wearing a yellow sundress and no shoes. She is beyond tanned now, gorgeous, and enthralling as ever.
“Look at you! You look incredible! Los Angeles suits you! Much more than Boston, I might add!”
We hug, elated to be together once more.
“Come on, let’s get you out of this sun and out of those shoes!” she says before leading the way inside the house.
We walk through the main sitting area. On one of the walls to the right, I can see a collection of all of Gianluca’s awards, stacked neatly on shelves, gold lights shining on them, even though it’s the middle of the day. Next to them, a large, white piano sits.
“When did you learn how to play the piano?” I ask her.
“Oh, we don’t play it. It came with the house. We bought it from John Legend and Chrissy Teigen and they included it in the price. What were we going to do, say no? I mean, it’s John Legend’s piano.”
“That he left here when he sold his house,” Jo says sarcastically.
“Yeah, I know. Gianluca said that it might be worth something someday. You know, at some auction,” she explains.
We make our way into the backyard where we’re greeted by the stunning view of the hills and the island in the middle of the pool with its two palm trees swaying in the breeze.
