#Lease yachts

[foxtrology]

don't worry baby (8)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 18.k

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader, fluff, angst, emotional trauma, past interfamilial abuse and neglect, references to disordered eating, verbal harassment. not beta read, all mistakes are mine. didn’t reread, just needed to get it out.

It had been almost three months since Florence. Since the yacht. Since the article. Since Livia’s venom and the silent splash of a phone being tossed into dark water like penance.

It's the end of May now, almost June.

Sticky New York heat pressing against windows that refused to close all the way. Frances McDormand, the dark cat sprawled in front of a rotating fan like she paid rent. And Harry—Harry Castillo, once a name associated with corporate blood sport and too many $10,000 suits—now woke up in soft cotton shirts and made her coffee before speaking a word.

They lived in a loft now.

His penthouse had become unusable—paparazzi parked like permanent fixtures out front, cameras hidden in planters, strangers calling her name like it belonged to them. The final straw had come after a man—angry, middle-aged, face red with thirty years of grievance—broke into her and Maya’s apartment two days after they returned from Italy. He'd shouted about restitution, called her father a thief, and said she should pay the price.

He didn’t make it past the hallway. Danny handled the fallout. But that was it. She packed up everything that night. Maya too. The two of them sitting on the floor with takeout containers and three half-full boxes, looking at each other like the girls they’d been in that apartment didn’t exist anymore.

Now, Maya lived in a sunlit walkup with a balcony that faced a mural of Aretha Franklin and a bodega that sold homemade plantain chips in brown bags. Danny had found it. Helped her sign the lease. Pretended he didn’t care when she called him sweetheart and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

And her? She moved in with Harry. Into the loft. His loft. Exposed brick. Massive windows. Low leather furniture. A kitchen that smelled like citrus and wood and had knives sharper than her oldest fears. It was peaceful. In a way that felt rebellious. And more than that—more than safe, more than new—it felt private. There were no paparazzi. No late-night interviews. No articles. Just the creak of hardwood beneath bare feet and the click of Frances jumping onto the couch like she owned it.

The first morning, she woke up to the sound of birds outside the window and Harry brushing his teeth beside her. They shared the mirror now. She used the left side. He used the right.

She stood on her tiptoes to spit. He always offered her the water glass first. Sometimes they bumped elbows. Sometimes he kissed her cheek, mint on his breath, hand resting on the curve of her hip like it had always belonged there.

She wore his shirts to bed now. The soft ones. The ones with faint holes near the collar or sleeves stretched out from years of being rolled up. She didn’t wear shorts unless she had to. Just the shirts and her underwear and the faint scent of cedar that lingered in his drawer.

Harry Castillo, in his fifties, spent most mornings with one sock on, his glasses sliding down his nose, and a soft frown as he tried to navigate a French press while she sat on the kitchen counter eating a peach. Not just any peach. A perfect one. Heavy with juice. Skinned slightly from the pressure of her thumb.

“Don’t drip on the floor,” he’d mutter without looking.

She’d smirk. And let it run down her wrist.

“You’re a menace,” he said one morning.

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it.”

“You worship it.”

That got him to glance up. His salt-and-pepper hair was messy, his shirt half-buttoned, his expression one of a man who had fought empires and now couldn’t stop watching juice trail down the soft inside of her wrist.

He walked over. Took the peach from her. Bit it. Then kissed her sticky mouth. Frances meowed like an old woman disgusted by affection. They both ignored her.

Some days were slow. Painfully, beautifully slow. They’d read on opposite sides of the couch, legs tangled, her feet resting on his thigh while he absentmindedly ran a hand over her ankle. Frances slept on the back cushion behind their heads, occasionally shifting just to prove she still hated sharing attention.

She burned toast almost every morning. And he let her. She insisted on folding laundry while watching old ‘70s thrillers with subtitles she didn't speak the language of. And he let her.

They bickered about dishes but never raised their voices. Harry always said she stacked the cups wrong. She told him he was old and picky. He kissed her anyway. On the temple. On the shoulder. On the mouth if she let him catch her.

He still got up before her most mornings. Still made coffee before she asked. Still whispered baby when he thought she was still asleep. Sometimes she wasn’t. Sometimes she just wanted to hear it.

One night in late May, they hosted Maya and Danny for dinner. Well—hosted was a generous term. Harry grilled on their rooftop garden that hadn't had any safety measures since the 70s. She made a salad that was mostly just leaves with balsamic and too much cheese. Maya brought wine. Danny brought flowers and pretended they weren’t for Maya until she rolled her eyes and kissed his cheek.

It was hot that night. The windows were open. Harry had sweat at his temple and she wore a sundress with tiny buttons that kept slipping open near the chest. He noticed. Of course he did.

“You do that on purpose,” he muttered when they were alone in the kitchen.

“Do what?”

“Wear that thing and pretend it’s an accident when the buttons pop.”

She turned. Leaned against the counter. “You’re the one who keeps buying me these.”

He stepped closer. Slid a finger beneath the strap. “You wear them too well.”

She didn’t respond. Just tipped her chin up and let him kiss her again. Soft. Slow. Like there was nowhere else in the world to be. Frances stared from the counter like she was about to report them to the building manager.

At night, they lay tangled. Fan humming. Sheets kicked halfway down the bed. She slept in his arms most of the time. Leg over his hip. Fingers tracing the line of hair at the center of his chest like it meant something. It did. He never said it, but it did.

Sometimes she read in bed while he answered emails. Sometimes he fell asleep before her and she just stared at him. At the lines in his face. At the way his hair curled behind his ear. At the scar on his nose he never explained.

He’d said “I love you” a dozen times since Florence.

Once during breakfast when she spilled coffee on his lap and apologized like it mattered. Once after a fight that wasn’t really a fight—just silence that lasted too long and ended with him saying, “I’m not mad. I just don’t know how to be soft sometimes. But I’m trying. Because I love you.” And once at 2AM, in the dark, after a nightmare left her shaking so hard she cracked a glass trying to get water. He’d pulled her to his chest and whispered it again and again until she stopped flinching.

She said it back every time. But it didn’t have to be said. Not really. Not when he rubbed her back absentmindedly while she watched a documentary about octopuses. Not when he kept a bottle of her shampoo next to his own even though he used bar soap. Not when he cleaned Frances’s litter box without being asked. Not when he looked at her like she was sunrise and sanctuary and the first thing in decades he hadn’t already planned for.

She woke up one morning to the sound of Harry swearing under his breath.

“Shit.”

She blinked awake, groggy. “What?”

He was at the bathroom sink, glasses askew, toothbrush in hand.

“Cut myself shaving,” he muttered.

She padded over barefoot, hair messy, shirt hanging off one shoulder.

“Let me see.”

He turned, jaw tilted slightly. There was a nick under his chin. She dabbed it gently with a tissue. Then kissed it. Then stepped back and said, “You look like an expensive history professor who flirts with married women.”

He squinted at her. “You’re unwell.”

“You’re hot.”

He rolled his eyes. But he smiled. And when she leaned up on her toes to brush beside him, shoulder to shoulder, foam in her mouth and their arms bumping, Harry Castillo—king of quiet rage, legend of business and ruin—looked down at the girl beside him and thought, This. This is the whole damn point. Harry didn’t say it out loud. Didn’t need to.

Just watched her as she brushed beside him, their reflections overlapping in the fogging mirror, toothpaste smudged at the corner of her mouth like war paint. She was humming something—off-key, tuneless, maybe not even a song. Just sound. A sound that only existed here, in this room, in the morning, with his old toothbrush vibrating quietly between his molars and her pink one clutched like a dagger.

She spit. So did he. She rinsed, wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, and kissed his shoulder before walking barefoot back into the bedroom. Her shirt was slipping again. He let it.

He rinsed last. Adjusted his glasses. Then reached for the tiny towel she always insisted on hanging on the hook he never used before she moved in. He wiped down the sink. It was a recent development. A routine, of sorts.

He didn’t used to wipe the sink. Now he did. Because she noticed when he didn’t. Because she kissed him on the cheek when he did. Because somehow, the wipe of a towel and the scent of her mint toothpaste and the sound of her humming nothing in particular had become the holiest part of his day.

The morning rolled on. There was no work meeting. No call. No reason to check his email but he did anyway—just out of muscle memory. He grunted at something on the screen. Said Jesus Christ at another. Then closed the laptop and tossed it onto the couch like it had personally offended him.

She was curled up in the armchair across the room with a bowl of cereal and a spoon too large for the bowl, watching a rerun of a British cooking show where every contestant cried when their meringue collapsed.

Harry walked over, grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the chair, and tucked it around her legs without asking. She didn’t say anything. Just looked up and smiled. Then fed him a bite of her cereal.

He made a face. “Is that...almond milk?”

She nodded. “We ran out of your kind.”

“Jesus Christ.”

She grinned. “You’ll live.”

At noon, she left to pick up flowers. It wasn’t for anything in particular. Just because she’d seen some wild peonies at the corner bodega and thought they’d look good next to the coffee machine. She came home with two bundles—pink and blood orange—and a package of sticky notes she didn’t need.

Harry was sitting on the floor when she got back, rearranging the books on the bottom shelf of the built-in like it was a life-or-death situation. He had his glasses on and a pen tucked behind his ear, even though he wasn’t writing anything.

“What are you doing?” she asked, amused.

“Someone moved Letters from a Stoic next to Norwegian Wood.”

“So?”

“It’s thematically violent.”

She snorted.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Those flowers for me?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

“Partial truth.”

She set them in water while he made another espresso he didn’t need, and they stood in the kitchen for a while—not talking, just drinking, just existing. She looked over at him—socks, shirt half-tucked, a faint smear of pen on his hand from writing something earlier in his notebook—and thought, You’re so much softer than you know.

It was later—way later, when he was in the shower and Frances was curled up on his pillow like she’d claimed it—that she saw it. She was scrolling. Aimlessly. One of those early evening doomscrolls where the light was changing and the room smelled like lavender and Harry had just shouted something about how the shampoo was empty even though it was not. And there it was.

“Castillo Turns 55: A Look Back at the Billionaire’s Rise, Fall, and Silence.” —The New Yorker.

She blinked. Paused. Scrolled back up to the article. She didn’t click. She didn’t need to. The photo was recent. Harry in a dark coat. Expression unreadable. Hands in his pockets like always.

Her stomach fluttered. Fifty-five. He hadn’t said anything. Not once. And it was this week.

She glanced toward the bathroom. Steam fogged the crack beneath the door. His voice—low, raspy—was humming something old and terrible. Probably Elvis.

He hadn’t said a damn thing. Of course he hadn’t. Because Harry didn’t like attention. Didn’t like celebrations or singing or surprise parties or anything that made people look at him longer than they had to.

Which meant…she was absolutely planning something. The next morning, she started a list. She didn’t tell him.

Just opened a fresh page in her notes app and titled it: Operation: Old Man’s Birthday (Do Not Let Him See This)

Under it, she typed

Invite: Francesca, Luca (maybe), Maya, Danny

Location: Home (safe, intimate)

Cake? (He says he hates sweets but eats mine)

Gift?

Music?

Do I invite his sister?

She stared at that last line for a long time. Then added a space beneath it.

Pros:

She might be the only blood family he has

He’s mentioned her exactly three times, which is more than Lucy

Maybe he’d want her there, even if he doesn’t know it

Cons:

He hasn’t spoken to her in years

He might actually kill me

Might ruin the mood

Might make him shut down

Might make him remember something he doesn’t want to

She sighed. Backspaced the whole thing. Then re-typed it again.mShe didn’t delete the list. She didn’t move it. She just left it open in the background like a quiet question.

Over the next few days, she got sneaky. Not lying—not really. Just careful. She asked him things like “what kind of cake do you hate the least” while pretending to talk about a TV show. She bought candles but hid them in a drawer under her spare socks. She asked Maya to help distract him on the day-of, to make sure he didn’t randomly decide to cancel and go for a six-hour walk in Central Park like he did on bad press days.

Maya agreed with exactly three smiley faces and one grandpa emoji. Danny offered to buy a dozen chairs. She told him there would be six people total. He replied, Fine. I’ll still wear a suit.

That Thursday, Harry asked her why she kept rearranging the fridge magnets.

She blinked. “Just bored.”

“You spelled spleen.”

“I like the word.”

“You spelled it twice.”

She shrugged. “One for each of yours.”

He squinted. “Are you okay?”

“I’m excellent.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Then leaned in, kissed her forehead, and mumbled, “You’re a weirdo.”

She googled his sister that night. Didn’t tell anyone. Just lay in bed beside Harry—his arm around her waist, his breathing deep and even—and searched her name in the dark.

Isidora Castillo. Married. Two kids. Lived upstate. Social media set to private. One blurry photo from a fundraiser five years ago. Nothing else.

She stared at the screen for a long time. Harry had only mentioned a few times. He hadn’t spoken her name. But he had smiled. And then stopped. And then changed the subject. She closed the screen. Stared at the ceiling. Didn’t sleep much that night.

The next day, he brought her coffee in bed. She was already half-awake, cheek pressed to his pillow, dreaming of something too warm to remember. He set the mug on the nightstand. Sat down beside her. Ran a hand down her back in slow, sleepy strokes.

“Baby,” he whispered.

She cracked one eye open. He was shirtless. Hair wild. A smear of toothpaste near his temple like battle paint. She laughed. He leaned down. Kissed her shoulder.

“You were twitching,” he murmured. “Thought you were dying.”

She groaned. “Just fighting my enemies in REM.”

He smiled. Then pulled her closer. And just like that—everything settled again.

She still hadn’t decided about Isidora. The party was only a few days away. The cake was ordered. The drinks planned. The music soft and curated and free of anything too happy. Francesca had offered to make a toast. Luca swore he wouldn’t. Maya said she’d bring flowers, and Danny promised to behave. But still—his sister. A name that lived in silence. A woman he hadn’t seen in over a decade.

That night, as they sat on the couch—her feet in his lap, Frances purring like judgment behind them—she asked quietly, “Do you think people can change without reaching out to the ones they hurt?”

Harry looked up from his book. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Just thinking.”

He stared at her for a moment. Then said, softly, “Sometimes reaching out feels like opening a wound you spent years trying to stitch shut.”

She nodded.

“Sometimes the people you hurt…don’t want to hear from you.”

She swallowed. He set the book down. Touched her ankle.

“I haven’t spoken to my sister in fifteen years.”

She looked at him. He wasn’t angry. Just tired.

“She didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “She just...didn’t understand. And I didn’t want to explain.”

She reached for his hand. Held it. Harry leaned in. Kissed her wrist. And whispered, “I should’ve told her I missed her.”

Her heart cracked. Not loudly. But deep. That night, she typed one final addition to the list: Invite Isidora? She didn’t decide. Not yet. But the fact that she was even asking? That was a beginning. And Harry—who held her closer that night, who whispered you twitch in your sleep like you’re fighting for us—

Well. He didn’t know it yet. But he was about to have a birthday. And for once in his life—

He wouldn’t have to fake the smile. Not this year. Not with her. Not with the days falling into each other like warm laundry, one after the next, quiet and domestic and full of small, glittering moments that didn’t make headlines but meant everything.

It was two days before his birthday. He didn’t know it. Of course he didn’t. He knew the date, technically. Knew it in the way Harry knew all things—gruffly, quietly, with a sigh. He didn’t care for birthdays. Didn’t want gifts. Didn’t want fuss. He said he’d already had too many. Said he’d rather ignore the number and drink his coffee in peace.

So she let him. Pretended right along with him. And secretly, she planned the whole thing anyway. The morning started the same as most. Frances yowled like a Victorian ghost outside the bedroom door because Harry forgot to feed her on time.

“I have to breathe before I serve you,” he muttered, half-asleep, dragging himself out of bed in boxer briefs and one sock.

She stayed curled beneath the covers, watching him shuffle down the hallway like a man twice his age and three times as dramatic. She heard the rustle of the treat drawer. The clang of her metal bowl. Harry’s voice, exasperated, already talking to the cat like she paid rent.

“You eat better than I do. You live better than I do. You’re not even grateful.”

Frances meowed in agreement.

He shuffled back five minutes later, hair sticking up, glasses crooked, coffee already in hand. She sat up, smiling.

“Your fanbase grows stronger every day.”

“I’m held hostage in my own home.”

“By a ten-pound feline.”

“She's fifteen pounds and fully demonic.”

She leaned over and kissed his temple.

“You like her.”

He didn’t respond. But he scratched behind Frances’s ear later when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Later that afternoon, she did it. Sent the email. An email she stole from Harry's list of contacts. Just a few short lines. Nothing fancy. No emojis. Just enough to say I'm planning something for Harry. I think he'd want you there, even if he doesn't know it yet.

To: isidora.castillo@email.com

Subject: Harry

Hi. I know this might be unexpected. I’m planning something for Harry's birthday. He doesn’t know. I thought maybe...if you were able to come. Quietly. No pressure. Just thought you should know.

She sat with it for a moment. Hovered. Then hit send. Then closed the laptop before she could regret it.

She didn’t tell Harry. Instead, she made pasta. The simple kind. Garlic. Olive oil. Too much chili flake. Harry walked in from the laundry room, where he was grumbling about mismatched socks like it was a moral failing, and stopped short at the smell.

“Are you seducing me with carbs?”

“Would it work?”

He paused. Then walked over. Looped his arms around her waist from behind. “I’d sell state secrets for a good penne.”

She smiled. He kissed her shoulder. And that was that.

The day after, she bought string lights. Also a lemon tree in a pot too big to carry by herself. She had to bribe the delivery guy with a twenty to lug it up to the rooftop. She texted Maya a photo of it from the stairs,

You: This might kill me but it’s cute

Maya: If you die under a lemon tree for this man I’m telling everyone it was on purpose

That afternoon, Harry spent three hours reorganizing his bookshelf because he was tired of seeing all the spines like a lineup of failures. She watched from the couch, flipping through a magazine, as he sat cross-legged on the rug muttering things like, “This belongs in this section,” and “Why do we have three copies of The Unbearable Lightness of Being?”

“You bought them.”

“Then I clearly have problems.”

She slid off the couch and crawled across the floor to him. Wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. “You’re turning into a weird old man.”

He leaned back into her.

“I’m already there.”

That night, she got an email back. From Isidora. It was short. Tentative. But warm.

I’d like to come. If you’re sure he’d want that. I can be in the city Saturday afternoon. I’ll stay nearby. I don’t want to intrude.

She stared at it for a long time. Then whispered with a smile, “Fuck.”

Harry looked up from the couch, where he was frowning at a puzzle she didn’t know he’d started.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You said something.”

“Talking to Frances.”

Frances, on the windowsill, flicked her tail in betrayal. Harry narrowed his eyes. “You’re scheming.”

She crawled over, kissed him once, and said, “I’m always scheming.”

He grunted. But let it go.

Saturday morning came with soft rain. It drizzled over the windows in thin, quiet streaks. Harry was still in bed, shirtless, arm flung across her waist, one leg tangled between hers like gravity had a personal stake in her staying put. She checked the time. 7:48. Checked her phone.

Maya: I’m on snack duty right? I’m bringing the lemon chips.

Danny: Frances is banned from the cheese board. I will not be taking notes.

Francesca: Do we dress up or pretend it’s casual? Because you know me.

She smiled, tucked the phone away, and went back to pretending to be asleep. Harry shifted behind her. Grumbled, “Stop moving.”

She stayed still. By noon, the rain had passed. Harry was in his office, door open, on the phone with someone he referred to only as a vampire in Zurich. His voice was low, tight, full of clipped sarcasm and verbal knives.

She watched him from the hallway for a moment—glasses perched low, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in that don’t test me way that made most men wilt. He noticed her. Mouthed, Come here. She walked over. He pulled her down onto his lap, still on the call, and let his hand rest on her thigh while he said something about international compliance laws. She leaned her head against his.

And whispered, “You’re very sexy when you’re threatening people legally.”

He squeezed her knee. Didn’t miss a beat on the call. That evening, Harry went to the corner store for wine and oranges because he ate the fruit like it was going out of style.She used the time to sneak up to the rooftop.

The lemon tree was already there, still in its comically large pot, looking smug. She brought the string lights up next, one long loop at a time. Hung them from the rusted metal trellis with zip ties and silent prayers. The breeze smelled like fresh concrete and whatever plant was blooming down on the sidewalk.

She stood in the middle of the rooftop for a moment. Hands on hips. The sky was a soft purple now. The city buzzing beneath. She thought of Harry. Of the way he rubbed his eyes when he read for too long. The way he touched the small of her back when they crossed streets. The way he leaned into her hand when she brushed his hair back. Like a cat. Like a man who hadn’t let himself be held in years.

She thought of the cake downstairs in the fridge. Of the candles hidden in the sock drawer. Of Isidora, arriving tonight. Of how much Harry had changed—and hadn’t. Of how he loved her. Quietly. Deeply. In every wordless way.

She pressed her fingers to her lips. And whispered, “Happy almost birthday, old man.”

Then got to work. She finished stringing the last loop of lights just as the sky dipped fully into that soft, summery dusk—blue bleeding into lavender, the kind of light that forgave everything. Their rooftop garden had never looked better. The lemon tree sat proudly in the corner like it had always belonged, the string lights casting a honey glow over the mismatched chairs and the long wooden table she and Maya had thrifted last month.

There were little details everywhere. A bowl of clementines. Tiny gold place cards she wrote out in her best almost-cursive. Cloth napkins folded like someone who’d once watched a YouTube tutorial and mostly remembered it. The cake was downstairs in the fridge. Lemon again.

Because Harry had once said, in passing, “I'm a citrus man.”

It was almost seven when she heard Danny’s feet on the stairs.

Maya trailed behind him, both of them slightly breathless, carrying a case of wine, two bouquets, and a tiny tin of anchovies because Harry’s a freak and likes them on crackers. There's things that remind her that the man she's with is really decades older than her. 

“Go!” she hissed from the rooftop entrance, waving them up. “He’s in his office. He doesn’t suspect anything.”

Danny grinned. “I’m honestly shocked. He usually suspects everything.”

“Because usually you act suspicious.”

“Rude.”

Maya stepped forward and kissed her cheek. “You look like a someone about to propose.”

She laughed. “I feel like one.”

“Where is he?”

“In his office. Still thinks it’s just dinner for the two of us.”

Danny was already uncorking a bottle. “You are not emotionally prepared for how smug he’ll be when he finds out you pulled this off.”

“Shut up and light the candles.”

About an hour later downstairs, Harry was finishing up an email with his glasses perched on the end of his nose and his mouth doing that thing it did when he was technically not grumpy, but close.

She leaned against the doorway. “Come upstairs. Five minutes.”

“Can't.”

“I'm finishing up an ema—”

“It’s warm out. The sky’s nice. Come on.”

He grunted. But got up anyway. Muttered something about “damn good weather and you not taking no for an answer” while following her up the stairs in socked feet and a soft navy button-down she’d ironed that morning.

“You look nice,” she said, glancing back.

He adjusted his glasses. “You ironed my shirt. I feel like I’m going to prom.”

“You kind of are.”

“Prom didn’t have wine.”

“Depends where you went.”

He stepped onto the roof. And stopped.

Danny was lighting the last of the tealights, Maya holding the lighter steady while balancing a glass of wine in her other hand. The table was glowing, the light pooling in soft circles, and the people waiting all looked up at once. Francesca, barefoot in a white linen dress, raised her glass. Luca smiled, already slightly flushed from wine. James—Harry’s driver—stood near the lemon tree, arm slung around his wife’s waist.

And at the far end of the table stood Isidora. She looked older than the last time he’d seen her. But only a little. Still the same eyes. Still the same posture. Still his sister.

Harry didn’t say anything. Just stood there. Silent. The kind of silence that sat heavy in the chest.

Then she stepped forward. Just two paces. Enough.

“Happy birthday, big brother.”

His jaw moved like he was going to say something sharp. But it never came. He walked over in three strides. And hugged her. One arm. Then both. Tight. The kind of hug you don’t realize you’ve been needing until your knees feel soft. He buried his face in her shoulder for a second.

She whispered something only he could hear. He nodded. Whispered something back. And the world, for a moment, shrank to just that.

Dinner was slow. Perfectly slow. Warm plates passed hand to hand. Cheese and anchovies and roasted vegetables. Pasta with lemon zest and basil. Slices of bread too crunchy and a little burnt because she got distracted talking to James’s wife about hummingbirds.

Luca told a story about someone falling off a boat in California. Francesca corrected every detail and still managed to make it funnier. Danny made a toast about Harry being “halfway to death and somehow still only at the start of being tolerable.” Harry flipped him off without looking. Everyone laughed.

Isidora slid her card across the table near the end of the meal. Didn’t make a big deal of it. Just a plain envelope. Harry opened it lazily. Then paused. Read it again. It just said,

YOU ARE STILL THE BEST THING I EVER SHARED A ROOF WITH. He folded it back up carefully. Slipped it into his breast pocket. Didn’t say anything. But she saw his eyes. Saw the way they shone.

Later, after dessert but before people started drifting to the edge of goodbye, Harry stood behind her while she refilled a pitcher of water. His hand slipped to the back of her waist.

He said it softly. “You did this?”

She smiled without turning. “I had help.”

“I don’t mean the candles and the food.”

She looked back at him. He was watching her the way he did sometimes—quietly, like it hurt.

“I mean the part where I forgot to hate my birthday.”

She reached for his hand. Laced their fingers. “You’re allowed to be loved.”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned down. Kissed her hair. And stood there with her a while longer.

Isidora found her a little later, down by the lemon tree, folding napkins that didn’t need folding.

“She really would’ve liked you,” Isidora said, unprompted.

“Who?”

“Our mom.”

She blinked. “You think?”

“I know.”

They stood in silence for a minute. Isidora handed her a piece of folded napkin that she’d somehow made worse. “I’ve missed him,” she said. “For years.”

She didn’t reply. Just set the napkin down and looked up at the sky. The stars were out. A few. Not enough. But more than none.

By the end of the night, Harry was barefoot from slipping off his socks and giving it to the girl beside him.  Glass of something golden in hand. Frances asleep in a patch of moonlight. Maya and Danny curled on one of the couches in an argument about tax loopholes and types of toast. Luca singing something under his breath. Francesca singing with him, laughing.

Harry leaned against the railing, one hand braced, watching his people. Watching her. She walked over. Tucked her arm under his. He didn’t look at her. Just murmured, “Fifty-five isn’t so bad.”

She smiled. “Not when you look like this.”

He grunted. Then looked at her.

“You’re the best part.”

“What?”

“Of all of it.”

She pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “You’re drunk.”

“Maybe.”

“Say it again in the morning.”

“I will.”

And he did.

The morning after his birthday began the same way most mornings did now—soft light spilling through the loft’s massive windows, the ceiling fan creaking faintly overhead, and the weight of Harry’s arm draped over her waist like it had been there forever.

He smelled like linen and something faintly sweet—probably wine and citrus from the cake, or maybe just him. She stirred first. Only barely. Shifted enough to nudge her nose against his shoulder, already half-tangled in the sheets. One of his feet had kicked out during the night and was now hanging halfway off the bed like gravity didn’t apply to men over fifty.

She smiled. Didn’t open her eyes yet. Harry grumbled something unintelligible against her temple. Then, “M’not fifty-five.”

She laughed softly, eyes still closed. “Yes, you are.”

“Not until the cake’s gone.”

“That’s not how birthdays work.”

“Legal loophole.”

“You made that up.”

Harry groaned dramatically, then pulled her closer. His mouth found her shoulder. Kissed it once. “So when does the government come for me?”

“Probably today.”

“Bastards.”

She rolled over slowly. Faced him. He looked wrecked in the best way—hair flattened on one side, pillow creases on his cheek, stubble more salt than pepper this morning. His glasses were on the nightstand, next to the folded note from Isidora he hadn’t stopped rereading.

She brushed her thumb across his jaw. “How do you feel?”

Harry blinked, slow and thoughtful. “Full.”

“Of wine or emotion?”

“Both. But mostly you.”

She smiled. Leaned in. Kissed the corner of his mouth. They didn’t get out of bed until almost ten. Mostly because he refused to move. And partly because she let him bury his face between her shoulder blades and mumble things like you’re the reason I believe in retirement and if I die here it’ll be your fault and I’m okay with that.

When they did get up, she wore his boxers and the tee she’d slept in—black, worn thin, with the collar stretched just enough to show her collarbone. Harry padded into the kitchen shirtless, glasses on now, hair wild. He made coffee the way he always did, slow, methodical, complaining the whole time.

“You should throw out the beans when they’re this old,” he muttered.

“You bought them.”

“Didn't bring my glasses when I went to the store so got the wrong beans.”

He scooped two spoons of sugar into her mug without asking. Added cream. Stirred it with the butter knife because the spoons were in the dishwasher and he wasn’t unloading that damn thing today.

She perched on the counter. Watched him move around like the kitchen owed him money. He poured her coffee. Passed it over without a word. She smiled at him. He scowled at the butter knife. There was still lemon cake in the fridge. She took it out wordlessly. Set it on the table in its original cardboard box. Harry looked at it like it held secrets.

“We didn’t even do candles.”

“Didn't feel like doing candles.”

“I would’ve for you.”

She blinked. Heart stuttering a little.

“You kissed me instead,” she said.

He nodded. “Better wish.”

She cut two slices. Big ones. Put one in front of him. One for herself. Harry took a bite and let out the biggest sigh ever.

“You really did all that.”

She glanced up. “What?”

“The dinner. The lights. The lemon tree.”

She shrugged.

“Isidora,” he said quietly.

She looked at him now. Harry was staring at his plate. Then, slowly, he set his fork down. Sat back. “I hadn’t seen her in over a decade.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t know I needed to.”

She didn’t speak. Harry leaned forward again, elbows on the table, hands wrapped around his mug. He looked older today. Not in a bad way. Just in that very real, very human way that came after seeing someone who knew you when you were still becoming.

He looked at her. Really looked. “Thank you,” he said.

She nodded once. And because it was him—and because she knew—she didn’t say you’re welcome.Just reached across the table and brushed a crumb from the corner of his mouth. Harry caught her hand. Kissed her knuckles. Held them there for a second too long. They finished the cake in silence.

Listened to Frances thump her way down the hallway and leap onto the windowsill like she’d done it ten thousand times and would do it ten thousand more. The loft felt full. Not loud. Just full. Like home. She was halfway through her second cup of coffee when she remembered.

Paused. Set the mug down slowly. Harry noticed immediately “What?”

She blinked.

“Lucy’s wedding.”

Harry’s face didn’t change. But something behind his eyes shifted. She saw it. She always saw it.

“It's very soon,” she added. “We forgot.”

He took a breath. Leaned back. Ran a hand over his mouth. Then said, flatly, “I didn’t.”

She tilted her head.

“I ignored it,” he clarified. “That’s different.”

She nodded. Neither of them spoke for a beat. She stared down at the cake box. He looked out the window. She was the first to break.

“I only found out because Lorenzo mentioned it in Florence.”

Harry’s jaw ticked. “I know.”

“Wasn’t even subtle. Said he assumed we were going. That our names were on the list.”

Harry snorted. “We never RSVP’d.”

“Still invited us though.”

His eyes cut to hers. Sharp. Protective. “Of course she did.”

“She probably didn’t think we'd come.”

“She probably hoped you would.”

She paused. Sipped her coffee. Let the taste ground her. Harry was still staring at her. Still unreadable. Still too still. She said it quietly.

“I think we should go.”

He blinked. Then, slowly, “Why?”

She looked up. Met his eyes. And said, simply, “Because I want her to see I’m real. Not just a quote she gave.”

His expression didn’t change. But something broke open anyway, “You don’t owe her anything.”

“I know.”

“She doesn’t deserve to know you.”

“I know.”

Harry set his fork down. Hard. “She’s not kind,” he said. “She’s not even curious. She just wants to catalog you. Reduce you. Turn you into a moment she can outgrow.”

Her lips parted. But she didn’t interrupt.

“And I can’t—” he shook his head once, jaw tight, “—I can’t stomach the idea of you in a room full of people who look at you and only see me.”

His voice cracked a little. Just at the edges. “She doesn’t get to do that.”

“I know.”

She reached for him. Slow. Took his hand. He let her. She squeezed once.

“I just want to go,” she said, “because what we have won’t be erased.”

He looked at her. Breathed through his nose.And said, low and tired and still full of love, “You are the only real thing I’ve got.”

She leaned forward. Kissed his hand. Then his cheek. Then sat beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. They sat there like that for a long time. Letting the morning settle. Letting the idea of it take root. Letting the tension dissolve into the quiet.

Later, he folded laundry while she organized the kitchen drawer he kept calling “the Bermuda Triangle of expired coupons and batteries that don’t work.”

She found a receipt from 2020. They argued over whether or not to keep a set of napkin rings shaped like tiny gold monkeys. He made her tea without asking. She massaged his shoulder when it started to cramp.

He laid down for a ten-minute nap that turned into forty-five. She tucked a pillow under his head. Frances laid on his chest like a judgmental paperweight. When he woke up, she was watching a documentary about a tree that had survived four natural disasters.

He sat beside her. Didn’t say anything. Just took her hand. Held it. Pressed a kiss to her wrist. They didn’t talk about the wedding again that day. But it lived in the background—like a suitcase by the door. Not packed yet. Not opened. Just there. Waiting.

Harry kissed her twice before bed. Once on the mouth, like always. And once, more softly, on the scar behind her ear. She didn’t ask how he knew it was there. He didn’t offer. But he pulled her into his chest that night tighter than usual. Held her longer. Breathed slower.

And when she murmured, “We don’t have to go,” he just said, quietly,

“I’ll go anywhere with you.”

And he meant it. Which is why, two mornings later, Harry stood in the doorway of their bedroom with his reading glasses perched low on his nose, holding up a pair of his own socks like they had personally betrayed him.

“Tell me again why we’re flying commercial.”

She was cross-legged on the bed, hair still damp from the shower, folding her underwear with a kind of chaotic focus that could only come from mild packing stress. Frances sat beside her, very much in the way, laying directly on top of one of Harry’s folded sweaters like she paid taxes.

“Because,” she said, without looking up, “it’s an adventure.”

“I have a jet.”

“I know.”

“It’s not an ego thing.”

She looked up. “I didn’t say it was.”

“It’s for convenience. Comfort. Logistics.”

“You mean silent boarding, your own espresso machine, and no middle seat panic attacks?”

Harry narrowed his eyes, then tossed the socks dramatically into the suitcase, not answering. She grinned. He scowled. Frances yawned and stretched across his dress shirt like she, too, was choosing chaos.

Danny found out two hours later. Harry had him on speakerphone in the office, the call mostly about a trade negotiation that had gone south until Harry muttered something like “we’ll circle back after I’m back from the Cape.”

The pause was long enough to echo. Danny’s voice cracked through the speaker like it was personally offended.

“Back from where?”

Harry sighed. “Cape Cod.”

Danny’s voice shot up an octave. “You’re going?”

“Yes.”

“To Lucy's wedding?”

“Apparently.”

“You told me you were ignoring it.”

“She changed my mind.”

“Who?”

Harry tilted his head toward the bedroom where she was currently trying to Tetris three kinds of travel sized serums and a jade roller into a toiletry bag like it was a survival kit.

“My girlfriend,” he said dryly.

Danny groaned. “Oh my God, Harry. You’re going to be on the cover of People magazine before the weekend ends. They’ll call it ‘Revenge Romance’ or something equally disgusting.”

Harry didn’t flinch. She, however, popped her head into the office, holding up two dresses. “Which one?”

Harry pointed at the darker one without hesitation.

Danny kept talking. “Lucy's going to lose her mind when she sees you two together.”

“She’ll survive.”

“You’re underestimating her.”

Harry turned the speaker off with one tap. Not out of rudeness. Just out of peace. Then looked up at her. “I like the neckline on that one.”

She smiled. “Then it’s going in.”

Packing took longer than expected. Mostly because she kept second-guessing everything she pulled from her closet.

“This looks too…serious.”

“That’s a black turtleneck.”

“Exactly. I look like I’m coming to audit the vows.”

Harry was stretched out on the bed by this point, one arm behind his head, watching her in the same quiet way he read long articles about economic policy—with slow, deliberate attention and the occasional smirk.

“Just wear something you feel good in.”

She pulled another hanger out. “I don’t feel good in anything. Or look good in anything.”

“That’s not true.”

She paused. Looked at him. He was staring at her in that way he always did when she wasn’t looking.

“You always look good in my shirts,” he said.

She smiled. “Not wearing your shirt to the wedding.”

He stood. Crossed the room. Stopped behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder. “You’d look better than every bride in history.”

She scoffed. “Okay, now you’re just lying.”

Harry kissed the back of her neck. “You’re the only truth I’ve got.”

She rolled her eyes. But the blush gave her away. He took her shopping the next afternoon.

She hadn’t planned on it—had told him not to worry, that she’d figure something out—but Harry, in his infinite stubbornness, had watched her spiral for two straight nights and finally said, “Get dressed. You need air and options.”

So they went. Not to anywhere flashy. Just a boutique a few blocks away, one she’d only ever walked past, the kind of place that didn’t have mannequins, just racks of linen and silk and things that looked better in candlelight.

Harry held the door for her. Didn’t hover. Just sat in the corner with his reading glasses on, answering emails with a phone in one hand and holding her tea in the other, occasionally looking up just to see how she moved in something.

“Too tight?” he asked once.

She twisted in the mirror. “Too Catholic school.”

“Too short?”

“Too prom.”

He looked up from his phone, slid the glasses off, and said, “Show me.”

She stepped out from behind the curtain in a dark green slip dress, simple and soft with a low back and thin straps. Harry blinked. Slowly set his phone down. Didn’t speak.

“Too much?” she asked, fingers brushing the fabric.

He stood. Walked over. Circled her once. Ran a hand lightly over her waist.

Then whispered, “Too perfect.”

She blushed so hard the dressing room mirror fogged.

Harry chose an old suit. He told her this over toast.

“I’m not buying anything new.”

“You sure?”

“I’m not giving that woman another dollar’s worth of silk.”

She laughed. Harry didn’t.

“I wore this suit when I negotiated my first billion-dollar deal,” he said.

She raised a brow. “That supposed to impress me?”

“It was.”

She shook her head, smiling into her coffee. The night before the flight, Harry did a full “old man prep sweep” of the apartment. Locked every window. Checked the oven three times. Told Frances he loved her like she was about to join the Marines. Then folded their passports and tucked them in a leather envelope she didn’t even know he owned.

“You’ve done this before,” she said, watching him zip her suitcase with more care than he gave quarterly earnings.

Harry looked up. “Many times.”

She blinked.

“Which means I do it right.”

“You think I’m going to forget my ID or something?”

“I think if someone tries to mess with you at security, I’m going to flip a table.”

She laughed. “Harry—”

“I’m serious. I know you said it’s supposed to be an adventure, but if some twelve-year-old TSA agent pulls you aside for a random check, I will make headlines.”

She crossed the room. Wrapped her arms around his waist. Looked up. “You’re going to be fine.”

“I’m not worried about me.”

“I know.”

She kissed him. Slow. Soft. He kissed her back like it was the only thing he’d packed. Their flight left the next morning.

Frances was left in the care of Maya, who came by at 6am with two bags full of bagels and two books Harry had recommended a month ago.

“Take care of her,” Harry said, petting the cat like he was going off to war.

Maya rolled her eyes. “She’s not dying.”

“She’s sensitive.”

“I'll take good care of her.”

“Good luck.”

Then he hugged Maya—quickly, like he still wasn’t quite sure how to handle being fond of people under thirty. They took a car to the airport. It was quiet.

Harry kept one hand on her thigh the entire time. Not possessive. Just present. At the gate, he watched people board like they were enemies. Thank god this flight was less than two hours.

She nudged him gently. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The people-hating thing.”

“I’m observing.”

“You’re scowling.”

He didn’t deny it. She slipped her hand into his.

“Just think,” she said. “In two hours, we’ll be in Cape Cod, probably eating something we can’t pronounce.”

Harry smiled. Then kissed her temple.

“God, I love you.”

She smiled too. “Good.”

They boarded together. Found their first-class seats. Harry adjusted her blanket before his own. She fell asleep on his shoulder before the plane even left the runway. Stating she needs to rest her eyes.

He stayed awake. Not because he was nervous anymore. But because he wanted to be the first thing she saw when she woke up. And when she did—about twenty minutes into the flight, eyes bleary, smile soft—he handed her a warm towel from the tray and said,

“Adventure’s going well so far.”

She laughed. Pressed a kiss to his jaw. And settled in again. Still flying. Still with him. Still in love. Frances would’ve been horrified. But they didn’t care. The plane landed just after noon. A short flight. Barely long enough for a second nap. Still, Harry stood first, shielding her with one arm and retrieving her bag with the other like turbulence had personally offended him.

“You didn’t even sleep,” she said, watching him shove his own carry-on down from the overhead bin.

Harry shrugged. “Didn’t need to.”

“You just stared at me the whole flight?”

“I stare at you all the time.”

“You’re such a creep.”

He handed her the bag with one hand and kissed the side of her head with the other. “You like it.”

She did. Of course she did. He grabbed everything. Obviously. Her tote, his own bag, the two rolling suitcases. The air outside the plane was crisp. Clean. Different from Manhattan’s density. Cape Cod smelled like salt, pine, and money that had been washed a few times to look like old summer charm.

The airport was small—tiny, really. More like a lobby with a landing strip. No crowd, no paparazzi, just a few other travelers and one girl standing near the restroom sign, jaw halfway to the floor.

She didn’t notice the girl staring right away. Too distracted by the way Harry adjusted her tote on his shoulder, muttering something about the straps being cheap as hell and you need a new one, I’ll get it. But when she did glance up—only for a second—she clocked the girl staring. Wide-eyed. Frozen.

And for a brief moment, she wondered if it was a Harry Castillo thing. It happened sometimes. Especially in Manhattan. Especially when he wore those jeans that sat a little too well on his hips. Once, a woman in Whole Foods dropped an entire rotisserie chicken when Harry bent over to grab organic lentils. So she just smiled politely. Turned away. Let it go.

She didn’t know that the girl was one of Lucy’s bridesmaids. Didn’t know that she’d just recognized him—the man Lucy used to cry about after wine, the one she said ruined her for love, the one they never thought would actually show. And she definitely didn’t know that as they walked toward the exit, Harry’s suit bag trailing behind him and her hand casually resting at the base of his back, the girl raised her phone.

Snapped a photo. And sent it. To Lucy.

Lucy was in a robe. Feet in warm water.

One hand holding a mimosa. The other extended for a manicure. Her bridesmaids were buzzing around the spa suite—some taking selfies, others coordinating the evening's rehearsal schedule.

She hadn’t looked at her phone in twenty minutes. Then it buzzed. One photo. One message.

He’s here. With her.

Lucy stared at the screen. Didn’t blink. Didn’t speak.

Her nail tech paused, mid-polish. “Everything okay?”

Lucy forced a smile. “Yeah. Just…a surprise.”

Back at the airport, her and Harry were standing on the curb, waiting for the car James had sent.

Harry had his sunglasses on. The soft, rounded pair he only wore on vacations. She had tucked herself into his side like a vine curling around a stone column.

She reached into her bag. “I have gum.”

Harry raised a brow. “You think I want gum?”

“You keep grinding your teeth.”

Harry didn’t flinch. “So do most billionaires.”

“Not like you.”

He plucked the gum from her hand. “Still taking it.”

“Uh huh.”

The breeze picked up. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Harry did the other side for her, knuckles brushing her cheek.

“You cold?” he asked.

“No.”

“You will be.”

“I’m not—”

He slipped off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders anyway. It was soft. Black. Worn to hell. It smelled like him. She rolled her eyes but didn’t protest.

Harry leaned close. “Always cold when you travel.”

“Not true.”

“Your hands were freezing on the plane.”

“Oh were they?”

“Exactly.”

He smirked. Then leaned in. Kissed her temple once. Soft. Solid. Like he wasn’t thinking about anyone else. And he wasn’t. The car arrived ten minutes later. It wasn’t James—just a driver he’d trained, sent out from New York two days earlier. The man greeted them with a nervous smile, took Harry’s bag with shaking hands, and said, “It’s an honor, sir. Big fan of your—um—your…”

“Don’t,” Harry said, sliding into the backseat with her already curled beside him.

“Right,” the driver nodded, closing the door carefully. “Just driving. Got it.”

Harry didn’t talk on the ride. Didn’t look at his phone. Just stared out the window, one hand resting on her thigh, thumb brushing absent-minded circles. She watched the coastline pass. Noticed the clapboard houses. The white fences. The kids on bikes. It was all too calm. Too perfect. Harry noticed it too.

“This place is fake,” he muttered.

She laughed. “It’s summer money, Harry. It’s supposed to look like a magazine ad.”

He scoffed. “I see a single distressed wooden sign that says ‘live laugh love’ and I’m burning it down.”

Their rental was a cottage on a quiet street, chosen by her and Harry. They found it scrolling late one night. 

“You have taste,” Harry admitted as he walked through the door, setting the bags down and immediately checking the locks.

“I know.”

“Where do you think the wine is?”

“Fridge. Hopefully .”

“Your taste just improved.”

She wandered toward the kitchen while Harry made a full perimeter sweep, checking windows and blinds and muttering under his breath about open-concept homes being unsafe.

She poured him a glass. He accepted it with a kiss to her temple. They didn’t unpack. Just left everything where it was, kicked off their shoes, and collapsed onto the too-soft couch in the living room with her legs thrown over his lap and Frances’s absence suddenly very noticeable.

“I miss her,” she said, scrolling through the photo Maya had sent earlier of the cat watching Jeopardy like she understood it.

“She doesn’t miss us.”

“She misses me.”

“She’s probably napping on my shirts.”

“You left one out for her on purpose.”

Harry didn’t reply. Just sipped his wine. Pulled her closer. They didn’t mention Lucy. Not yet. Not on the first night. Not when the air smelled like sea salt and the windows were open and Harry’s hand stayed on her hip like a reassurance.

He kissed her shoulder when she brushed her teeth. Folded her pajamas before she wore them. Let her fall asleep first. Then laid there for a long time. Staring at the ceiling. Thinking. But not about Lucy. About her. And how much he hated the thought of anyone like Lucy looking at someone like her with even a fraction of judgment.

The wedding was tomorrow. But for now—

She was in his arms. The air was clean. And he was still hers. Disgustingly, completely, hers. Even in Cape Cod. Even in enemy territory. And he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

They woke slowly the next day. The kind of morning where time didn’t press. Where the sunlight came in gentle and golden through gauzy curtains, brushing across the hardwood like a whisper. The breeze smelled like sea salt. Somewhere outside, a bird was having a very loud opinion. Harry’s arm was draped across her waist, his face still tucked into the curve of her neck, breath warm and steady. She shifted slightly.

And without opening his eyes, he said, “Stay.”

She smiled. “I have to pee.”

“Pee fast. Come back.”

She slid out from beneath the covers, padded barefoot to the bathroom. When she returned, Harry was lying on his back now, eyes open, hair a complete mess. One arm behind his head. The other reaching for her without looking.

She climbed back in, curled beside him. They laid there like that for a while. Neither of them speaking.

Until—

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, voice still low and raspy with sleep.

“That’s always dangerous.”

He ignored her. His thumb was tracing a slow, idle line along the inside of her forearm.

“If I asked you to marry me,” he murmured, “would you say yes?”

She turned her head. Blinking. Heart doing a small, ridiculous stutter. He wasn’t even looking at her. Just watching the ceiling like it might hold the answer for him.

“Harry.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re asking me that on the morning we’re going to your ex’s wedding?”

“Timing’s terrible, yeah.”

“But?”

“But I need to know.”

She stared at him. Tried to read whatever storm was happening behind his eyes. He was always like this—softest when he was trying not to be. Asking the hardest questions like they were offhand comments. She reached for his hand. Laced their fingers. Squeezed once.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’d say yes.”

Harry turned his head. Looked at her. Not surprised. Just…relieved. And stupidly, disgustingly in love. He leaned in. Kissed her once, just barely.

“I wouldn’t make you wear white,” he murmured. “Unless you wanted to.”

She laughed. “You think I’d let you have a say in what I wear?”

He grunted. “True.”

She laid her head on his chest. “Maybe I’ll wear red,” she said.

“Whatever you wear, I’ll fucking pass out.”

“Oh you're into it.”

“I’m into you.” That earned a grin. And then—

The shower. Which, to be clear, had not been intended to be that kind of shower. But Harry was a menace. He turned on the water first. Made sure it wasn’t scalding. Set her towel on the warmer like a man who had been raised to expect nothing and now gave everything. When she stepped in—already flushed from the warmth and still a little dazed from what he’d asked in bed—he pulled her close under the spray, arms sliding around her waist.

“I’m nervous,” she whispered.

Harry kissed her temple. “I know.”

“I don’t want to see her.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I will.”

Harry didn’t reply. Just reached for the shampoo and started massaging it into her hair like it was the most natural thing in the world. She relaxed under his touch.

“You’ll stay with me the whole time?”

His fingers moved down the back of her neck. “I’ll be glued to your hip.”

“I mean it, Harry.”

“So do I.”

They washed slowly. Towels traded. Water beading down his back. Her fingers brushing the scar on his nose, the one he still refused to explain. She sat on the bathroom counter in a robe while he shaved.

He grumbled when he nicked himself. Again. She offered a Hello Kitty bandaid from her travel pouch. He said no. She stuck it on him anyway.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s a scratch.”

“It’s dignity loss.”

Harry glared. But he didn’t take it off.

She got dressed first. Dark green silk. Simple. Clean. Slit at the side that hit just high enough to feel daring, low enough to stay elegant. Thin straps. Slightly open back. Harry just stared when she stepped out of the bedroom. Didn’t say anything at first. Just let his eyes move over her like prayer. Then—

“You’re not real.”

She adjusted one of the straps. “It’s just a dress.”

“It’s a crime.”

“You’ve seen it before.”

“Not like this.”

She turned.

“Zipper?”

He stepped forward. Pulled it up slowly. Then leaned down. Kissed the back of her neck.

“You sure about this?” he murmured.

She met his eyes in the mirror.

“As long as you’re next to me.”

Harry changed next. Black suit. Old. Worn in the elbows. A little snug across the shoulders now. He buttoned it slowly. Pulled on the white silk tie she’d picked out. She watched from the armchair, chin on her hand.

“You look handsome.”

“I look like a man going to an ex’s wedding.”

“You look like a man with the best girl in the room.”

That got a twitch at his mouth. He checked his watch. “Car should be here soon.”

She stood. Smoothed the front of his jacket. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“You’re enough.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re being sappy.”

“I’m allowed to be.”

“Since when?”

“Since you said yes.”

She didn’t reply. Just pressed her forehead to his chest. And for a minute, they stayed like that. No wedding. No Lucy. No noise. Just them. And the quiet. At exactly 3:55, the car pulled up. Harry held the door open for her. She slipped in. Then he followed. Settled beside her. Took her hand. Laced their fingers. Neither of them spoke.

But in that silence— In that breathless, careful quiet— There was everything. Even the parts they hadn’t said yet. Even the storm that might wait ahead. Because it didn’t matter. They were already here. Together. And nothing—absolutely nothing—was going to take that away. Not even today.

The car rolled to a stop at the edge of a manicured gravel drive. It was a backyard venue—tasteful, coastal, charming in that I have generational wealth kind of way. Harry stepped out first. Buttoned his old dark coat. Reached back in for her hand.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said. “But let’s go.”

He held her hand tightly. And together, they stepped into enemy territory. The first thing she noticed was the breeze. Soft. Warm. Salt-laced. It danced along the hem of her dark green dress and tugged at the edges of Harry’s collar.

The second thing she noticed was how quiet it got the second they walked in. Conversation dulled. Laughter paused. Like someone had pressed mute.Harry didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even glance at the people who were suddenly pretending not to stare. He simply tucked her hand tighter into the crook of his arm and walked like he owned the place. She matched his stride. Head high. Shoulders back. Even if her stomach was buzzing like a hornet’s nest.

The rows of white folding chairs were slowly filling. There was an open bar tucked under a pergola and floral arrangements shaped like they cost someone’s salary. A small quartet played something indistinct and romantic in the distance.

Her heels sank slightly into the grass as they crossed toward the seating area, passing a man who looked like he recognized Harry but wasn’t sure whether to say it out loud.

Then—

“Holy shit,” someone whispered.

She didn’t look. Harry did. Just once. Just enough for whoever said it to shrink back into their seat. They settled into the third row. Close enough to make a point. Far enough to keep some distance. Harry sat beside her like a bodyguard in a suit that didn’t quite fit anymore, jaw tight, sunglasses still on.

“Do I need to start punching groomsmen?” he murmured.

She shook her head. Then leaned in and whispered, “This might’ve been a mistake.”

Harry turned. Brushed a thumb against her wrist. “It wasn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’d rather be here—with you—than wondering what would’ve happened if we’d stayed home.”

She stared at him. Let the words settle. Then nodded once. Still unsure. But less alone.

Then— She saw her. Livia. Hair too shiny. Dress too pink. Expression flickering from smug to what the actual fuck the second her eyes landed on them. She nudged Paolo. Paolo blinked like he’d seen a ghost.

Harry’s hand slid across her lap. Rested firmly on her thigh.

“Ignore them,” he said.

“They’re annoying.”

“They’re pathetic.”

She smiled faintly. Noticed Livia turning sharply away when Harry finally glanced in her direction like a man debating whether to call in an airstrike. They looked absurd. The kind of rich people who got caught cheating and just threw more parties to distract from it. Paolo looked like he’d aged five years. Livia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. Good.

“Harry?”

A familiar voice. She turned. Francesca. In a light blue dress, hair piled up messily, holding a program and blinking like she couldn’t believe it. Beside her, Luca looked equally stunned.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Francesca whispered.

Harry stood. Kissed her cheek. “Changed my mind.”

Francesca glanced at her. Then at Harry. Then back again. Her face softened.

“You both look incredible,” Francesca said.

She smiled. “We’re trying to survive.”

Luca snorted. “Welcome to the party.”

They all took their seats together. Four in a row.

Harry kept his hand on her leg the entire time. Not possessively. Just…there. Like a grounding wire. Then—

Lucy’s father walked past. Tall. Lean. Hair slicked back. He gave Harry a long, pointed glare. She caught it. So did Harry. But he didn’t blink. Didn’t rise. Didn’t acknowledge him. Just stared back until the man looked away. Lucy’s mother followed seconds later. And—surprisingly—smiled.

“Harry,” she said softly, stopping beside their row. “I didn’t think we’d see you.”

“You have,” Harry said flatly.

She waited. Braced. But Lucy’s mother turned to her. Offered a hand.

“You must be her.”

She blinked.

“Welcome.”

Then she leaned in slightly, her voice low. “You’ve given him softness. I can see it from here.”

Then she walked away. Harry blinked once.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I need a drink,” he muttered.

The ceremony was starting. People quieted. The quartet shifted to something sweet and slow. A woman stepped up to the front with a microphone.

“Please rise.”

Everyone stood. She adjusted her dress. Held her breath. The groomsmen started to file out. One by one. She watched with vague interest until—

Her heart stopped. The groom. Tall. Dark hair. Blue eyes. A jaw she hadn’t seen in almost ten years. And she knew him. Every part. It was John. Her John. Not hers, obviously. Not now. Not ever.

But—

The same John who used to carry trays at her father's charity events. The same John who slipped cupcakes into her room after dinner when her mother said she was “getting pudgy.” The same John who once found her crying in the garden after a party and told her that “some people survive by being cruel—and some survive by hiding.”

The same John who had looked at her like she was breakable. Now— He was walking down the aisle. Looking confident. Looking happy. Looking like he’d been reborn. She didn’t breathe. Harry leaned down.

“You okay?”

She nodded too fast. Too tight. “Yeah.”

She didn’t say anything else. Didn’t say I know the groom. Didn’t say he used to know every version of me I’ve tried to forget. Because she didn’t know what it meant yet. Didn’t know what it changed. But her hands were shaking.

And Harry noticed. Of course he did. He reached for them. Covered hers with both of his. Held them. Didn’t ask again. Then came the bridesmaids. Tall. Polished. Looking like Instagram filters. She recognized one. Maybe from the airport. Didn’t matter.

Then— Lucy. On her father’s arm. In a dress that looked like it had a publicist. Chin high. Smile soft. Confident. Like she knew what she was walking toward. Like this was the ending she’d always wanted.

The guests all turned. Photos snapped. The moment paused. Lucy’s eyes swept the rows. And landed on Harry. And her.

Lucy faltered. Just slightly. One step. But it was enough. She caught it. So did Harry next to her. His grip on her hand tightened. She squeezed back.

Lucy recovered. Kept walking. They all sat. The officiant cleared their throat. And the ceremony began.

But she— She couldn’t stop staring at John. Couldn’t stop remembering. Couldn’t stop thinking—

This is the man who saw me before I had to become someone else. And he’s marrying Lucy. And I am sitting here beside Harry fucking Castillo. And none of this feels real.

She didn’t say anything during the ceremony. Didn’t speak. Didn’t whisper. Just sat still. Silent. Thinking. And Harry didn’t press. He just kept holding her hand. Steady. Warm. Like a vow.

And when she leaned into him slightly— When she let her head rest on his shoulder for just a moment— He pressed a kiss to her temple. Didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. He didn’t know the whole story. Not yet. But he could feel it. Something had shifted.

And whatever it was— He would protect her from it. Even if he had to do it without knowing the name. Because she was his. And that was the only thing that mattered. Even here. Even now. Even at his ex’s wedding. With the past walking down the aisle. And still— He wouldn’t have traded it. Not for anything.

The officiant cleared his throat with the kind of authority that suggested he’d been officiating weddings for thirty years and had a story about every one of them.

“Dearly beloved,” he began, the sun catching on his glasses as the wind shifted just slightly, rustling the linen of Lucy’s dress and the program in everyone's laps. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of two souls.”

She exhaled slowly through her nose. Harry still had one hand over both of hers. Thumb brushing the side of her palm absentmindedly, like he wasn’t really thinking about it. Like it was just… instinct now. Natural.

She didn’t dare look at Lucy yet. She was still reeling from John. From the wave of old memory that had crashed like a slap across the front of her brain.

John. The man who used to pass her cookies wrapped in napkins when she wasn’t allowed dessert. The man who once lent her a sweater when her mother made her wear a dress two sizes too small. The man who had seen her at her loneliest, at her skinniest, at her most afraid—and never once judged her for it.

And now— He was holding Lucy’s hands. She tried to focus on the priest.

“In love, we find not perfection,” the man was saying, “but acceptance. Grace. Patience. A partner not to complete us—but to recognize what is already complete.”

Harry shifted beside her. Not uncomfortably. Not restlessly. Just enough to slide his arm across the back of her chair. His thumb brushed the bare skin of her shoulder. He didn’t look at Lucy. Not once.

But Lucy…

Lucy kept looking at him. It wasn’t obvious. Not overt. But she saw it.

The way Lucy's eyes flicked past the guests while the priest talked. The way her fingers tightened around John’s just slightly, like she’d remembered something. Like Lucy remembered him.

It made her stomach coil. Not with jealousy. Not even with anger. Just that old, sinking ache of being seen—but not seen back. Like Lucy still didn’t quite register that Harry wasn’t hers anymore. That he hadn’t been for a long time. That even when he had been, he’d never been hers like this.

Because now—he was sitting beside someone who knew what kind of coffee he liked when he was stressed. Who knew he rubbed his temples when he was thinking about old memories. Who knew he talked in his sleep when he was dreaming about his mother.

Lucy had known a version of Harry. The polished one. The corporate myth. The one with cufflinks and PR statements and a tongue sharp enough to bankrupt cities.

But her? The woman sitting next to him knew the one who forgot his towel after a shower. The one who sang along to Sinatra when he thought no one was listening. The one who made her lemon toast at midnight and read novels over her shoulder just to be close.

The priest continued. “Now, Lucy and John have chosen to write their own vows,” he said. “Lucy?”

Lucy smiled. A soft, composed smile. Took the mic from him with a little thank you and turned to face John. She braced. Lucy began.

“I don’t know if I believe in soulmates,” she said, voice clear, echoing faintly beneath the pergola strung with white roses. “I don’t know if I believe in fate. But I do believe in timing. In second chances. In the way people can walk into your life twice—and the second time, you’re ready.”

Lucy paused. Smiled again. She felt Harry’s hand twitch slightly. Not much. Just… enough.

“I’ve known a lot of versions of myself,” Lucy continued. “Some I loved. Some I didn’t. But you, John… you saw all of them. And you didn’t flinch. You waited for me. You held space. You didn’t rush me toward who you wanted me to be. You just let me arrive.”

She blinked slowly. She felt it before she saw it. That glance. Quick. Surgical. Right in their direction. Lucy didn’t say Harry’s name. Of course not. But her eyes found him. Mid-sentence. And stayed there for a second too long.

“I used to think love was a game of leverage,” Lucy said, still looking straight through the crowd. “Power. Strategy. But it’s not. It’s knowing that even when someone sees your ugliest, they’ll stay.”

John squeezed her hand. Lucy looked back at him. And she didn’t miss the way John followed Lucy's gaze. How his brow furrowed. Just barely. How his eyes flicked—quick, sharp—to the third row. Where Harry sat like a statue, expression unreadable, lips pressed into a single line.

Harry hadn’t looked at Lucy once. John noticed. She could see him noticing.

Lucy finished her vows with a smile, her voice gentler now. “You make me feel like I don’t have to perform anymore. And that’s the greatest gift I’ve ever received.”

Polite applause followed. A few sniffles. The priest smiled.

Then—“John?”

He took the mic with a nod. Looked at Lucy. And for a second—Just a second—She saw it. The calculation. The question.

Like John was still replaying that glance she’d made. Like he was realizing that maybe—just maybe—his bride was still haunted and not his. He recovered quickly.

“Lucy,” he said. “You are—chaos.”

The crowd laughed. Lucy rolled her eyes. But John smiled warmly.

“You are also order. You are too many thoughts at once. You are late-night texts about documentaries. You are Sunday walks that last six hours. You are questions no one else asks, and the woman who taught me that love isn’t about feeling safe—it’s about choosing to stay.”

She exhaled. Because this was real. John loved her. You could tell. Even if Lucy hadn’t looked at him the whole time. Even if Lucy still hadn’t quite let go.

The girl next to Harry turned slightly. Looked at him. And there he was. Watching her. Not the vows. Not the bride. Just—her. His eyes met hers. And she smiled. Tired. Amused. Something darker beneath it.

Harry leaned down. Brushed his lips over her ear.

“She could be marrying God,” he whispered, “and I’d still want you.”

Her chest stuttered. She turned to him.

“Harry—”

“No,” he said. “I mean it. There’s no version of this where I look back.”

She swallowed. Then nodded. And faced forward again.

Just in time for the rings. The rest of the ceremony passed in soft waves. The officiant blessed the union. The wind picked up. A bridesmaid’s dress blew sideways and someone’s baby started crying. But the couple didn’t notice.

They kissed. Everyone clapped. And the music started. But she—she didn’t feel relieved. She felt like a door had just opened somewhere behind her.  And whatever was waiting on the other side? Was walking toward her now. Quiet. Patient. Familiar. And wearing a tux. The moment the music began, the spell broke.

Chairs scraped against the deck. Shoes shifted. People stood, stretched, whispered. The sky overhead was soft and gold, the kind of sunset only coastal towns could pull off, and yet no one seemed to notice it.

They were too busy watching them. Too busy pretending not to watch them. Harry and the girl he came with. The woman who wasn’t Lucy.

Francesca leaned over as she rose, adjusting the straps of her pale green dress and whispering, “Well, that was subtle.”

She blinked. “What?”

Francesca nodded in Lucy’s direction. “The longing gazes. The not-so-covert micromanaging of your proximity to her ex. Classic wedding pettiness.”

She sighed softly.

Luca, straightening his suit jacket on Francesca's other side, added, “At least you got a front-row seat to the performance of the year. She almost had me with the ‘I don’t believe in soulmates’ bit.”

Harry didn’t comment. He stood up slowly, buttoned his suit jacket, and then—without looking at Lucy—offered his hand to his girl. She took it without hesitation.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, low and quiet, for her ears only.

She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s.”

Francesca and Luca exchanged glances, already reading the room, “We’ll see you at the reception?” Francesca asked, her tone laced with something knowing, something gentle.

Harry gave a single, quiet nod. “Of course.”

They parted ways at the edge of the deck, Harry guiding her toward the small gravel lot where their sleek black car waited—a rental, but decent. The driver, ever thoughtful, had made sure the air conditioning was already on.

Harry opened the door for her first. As always. She slid in quietly. Waited until he joined her and closed the door before letting herself breathe. The car pulled away slowly. Soft jazz played through the speakers.

She stared at her lap. Harry watched her for a second. Then said, “You were quiet back there.”

She nodded once. Still didn’t look at him. His hand found hers. Thumb brushing the top of it. Steady. Warm. Present.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, voice quiet. Patient.

She nodded again. Then—finally—turned to him.

“I know John.”

Harry didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Just kept holding her hand.

“I mean—” she continued, voice soft, a little hoarse, “I knew him. When I was a kid. He used to work the events at our house. Before everything... before my dad got caught. Before the headlines. The bankruptcy. Teddy—”

She stopped. Swallowed. Harry shifted toward her slightly, his body angled, eyes locked on hers. She exhaled, steadying herself.

“I was, like, fifteen? Sixteen? My mom… she didn’t let me eat. Not really. Not carbs. Not sugar. Not anything that would make me ‘pudgy.’ She was obsessed with how I looked, how we looked as a family. And John—he worked the kitchen during these fundraisers. He’d sneak me food. Muffins. Sandwiches. Once, a piece of birthday cake.

Harry said nothing. But his hand tightened around hers. She didn’t cry. She didn’t need to. She’d done all her crying years ago.

“He was kind,” she whispered. “I didn’t think about him for years. Not until I saw him. In that tux. Walking down the aisle. Holding Lucy’s hand like he’d never done anything else.”

Harry was still watching her. Unmoving. So she continued.

“I didn’t want to tell you before,” she said, “because it didn’t feel important. But now... I don’t know. I think maybe it is. Not because I feel anything for him. I don’t. But because it felt... full circle, in a way. Like I’d walked into someone else’s story by accident.”

Harry reached for her other hand. Held both now. His gaze was steady.

“Can I tell you something?” he said, his voice low and slow in the dim car light.

She nodded. Harry took a breath. “I love you.”

She blinked.

“I know that’s not an answer,” he said. “But it’s the root of every one I could give you. I love you. Not in the convenient way. Not in the performative way. I love you in the you-could-set-this-car-on-fire-and-I’d-still-crawl-through-glass-to-get-to-you way.”

Her chest stuttered.

“I don’t care who he is,” Harry said. “I don’t care what he did for you back then. I’m grateful someone was kind to you when you needed it. But that’s all it is. That’s all it’ll ever be. A footnote.”

She swallowed. “You’re not mad?”

His brows lifted. “Why the fuck would I be mad? Because the man marrying my ex was decent to the woman I love when she was a child?”

Her lips curved, just slightly. “I don’t know. You get a little murdery sometimes.”

Harry smirked.

“That’s true.”

He leaned forward. Kissed the top of her hand.

Then added, “But not this time.”

She looked at him. Really looked.

He was in an old suit. The one he wore when they first met, she realized. The one with the faint thread pulled near the seam and the button that was slightly chipped. He hadn’t bought anything new. He wouldn’t have—not for this. Not for Lucy. But somehow, the suit looked better now. Softer. Lived-in. He looked better now. Because he was hers.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“For listening.”

Harry brushed his thumb across the inside of her wrist. “For always.”

They drove in silence after that. Not heavy silence. Just the kind that lingered gently between people who understood each other without needing to fill the air with more than presence.

When they reached the venue—an ocean-side estate with gauze-draped tents and a horizon that looked painted—they sat in the car for another moment before getting out.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. Then opened the door. And stepped out into the kind of dusk that felt biblical. Harry followed. Buttoned his jacket. Then looked at her.

“You’re the only good thing in my life” he said softly.

She smiled. Took his hand. And together, they walked up the steps toward the reception. Ready. Unshaken. Untouchable. Even here. Especially here.

The reception was tucked behind the main house—string lights draped between trees, linen-covered tables arranged in soft curves around a makeshift dance floor that had clearly been installed just for the event. The ocean was just visible over the ridge, the breeze warm and salt-sweet, the kind of night someone might dream up just to pretend their life had always been beautiful.

Francesca and Luca were already there, Francesca barefoot with her heels hanging from two fingers, her curls pinned back but barely, sipping something white and cold. Luca stood beside her in a linen suit that looked like it had been stolen off the set of The Talented Mr. Ripley, sunglasses still tucked into the neck of his shirt like it was midday.

When they spotted her and Harry, Francesca lit up and waved them over like she’d been waiting for this moment all night.

“There you are,” she said, looping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek. “You survived. You both survived. I’m honestly impressed.”

Harry offered Luca a nod and the two did the customary handshake-hug combo, the kind men used when they liked each other more than they admitted.

“Drinks?” Luca asked.

Harry nodded once. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

He touched her hip briefly, murmured, “Be right back,” before following Luca toward the bar. He didn’t look back, but his hand lingered on her waist just a second longer than necessary before he let go. He didn't want to let go.

Francesca sighed, looping her arm through her's as they made their way to their assigned table near the center, not too far from the dance floor but tucked enough to keep a little distance.

“Everyone’s talking about you,” Francesca said breezily, not cruelly, just as fact. “But only because you look better than anyone else here.”

She snorted softly. “They’re talking because I’m here with him.”

“Well,” Francesca said, settling into her chair and crossing her legs with a dramatic flourish, “that too. But honestly? They should be so lucky.”

She looked around subtly. And sure enough—eyes. Not a lot. Not direct. But there. Women in pastel. Men with thinning hair and sharp shoes. Bridesmaids whispering like they hadn’t been caught red-handed giving side-eyes during the ceremony.

Francesca sipped her drink. “You’re making them all spiral. You know that, right?”

“I don’t want to make anyone spiral.”

“Of course you don’t. But that’s why it’s working.”

Before she could respond, Luca and Harry returned, each with two glasses balanced between their fingers like it was a routine. Harry handed her one without a word. Cold. Pale. Sparkling. Probably something expensive he already clocked on the menu.

He sat beside her, suit jacket already open, tie a little looser than earlier. “Sauvignon Blanc. You’ll like it.”

She took a sip. He was right. Francesca and Luca fell into a quiet conversation on the other side of the table, their chairs angled toward each other in that familiar, unhurried way of people who’ve known each other through too many different lives.

Harry leaned close. “You good?”

She nodded. “You?”

His eyes flicked over her face, cataloging.

“I will be,” he said, then added softly, “as long as you’re here.”

It didn’t matter that people were watching. It didn’t matter that they were at the wedding of his ex. He only looked at her.

The party truly began when Lucy and John made their official entrance. The music shifted. The lights dimmed just slightly. People stood. Glasses raised. And through the wide garden doors, Lucy appeared again—no longer in her formal wedding gown, but now in a slinkier, champagne-colored dress that shimmered as she walked. Her hair had been let down. Her shoes were different too—lower, simpler, probably because her feet were blistered. John followed behind her, suit jacket off, shirt open at the collar, hand casually resting on her lower back.

She felt Harry’s body go subtly still beside her. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t tense. But he watched her. Only her. Barley glanced at Lucy. And Lucy? Well, Lucy had clearly been waiting for the moment to see who was watching her walk in as someone’s wife. Her gaze swept the room. Too casually. And then it landed on Harry. And it stuck.

Long enough that Francesca muttered under her breath, “Jesus Christ, this is gonna be messy.”

But her? She didn’t flinch. Because Harry—her Harry, only hers—wasn’t looking back. Not the way Lucy wanted. He saw her. Of course he did. But his hand stayed on her thigh, thumb rubbing slow, grounding circles through the silk of her dress. And when Lucy’s stare lingered too long, he turned slightly—to her, only to her—and asked, low and dry,

“You want the steak or the sea bass?”

She smiled. “Bass.”

“Good,” he said. “I’m not letting you eat beef at a wedding where she’s in charge of the menu.”

Lucy and John made their rounds. Toasts were offered. Champagne was refilled. The DJ—clearly someone’s cousin—announced the first dance and couples began to drift toward the open floor.

She stayed in her seat, eyes following the soft blur of movement and fabric. Harry didn’t press her to dance. He never would unless she asked. He just sat close, hand on her leg, his other curled around his glass, leaning slightly so no one else could see him looking at her.

“You know,” he murmured, lips barely brushing the edge of her ear, “if I didn’t love you already, I’d fall in love with you just for surviving this.”

She laughed softly. “And if I wasn’t already obsessed with you, I’d be falling in love with you for bringing me to your ex’s wedding and still managing to make me feel like I’m the only one here.”

“You are the only one here.”

“You say that like you mean it.”

“I do.”

He tilted her chin gently, just enough so she had to look him in the eye.

“You have no idea,” he said, “how much I mean it.”

And maybe it was the wine. Or the ocean breeze. Or the way his voice dropped an octave when he got sincere. But something in her heart did a little flutter. A quiet, private flutter no one else could see. Because even now—even here—he made her feel untouched. Untouchable.

Luca nudged them a few minutes later, grinning. “Dance with us. Come on. Francesca says she refuses to be the only woman out there with a man who steps on her feet.” Francesca shot him a glare but offered her hand anyway.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You want to?”

She looked at him. Then nodded. “Only if you don’t step on mine.”

“I’m old, not uncoordinated.”

He stood and helped her up, hand firm in hers, his other settling instinctively at the small of her back like it always did. They moved together easily. Naturally. Even without music, she’d follow him anywhere. Especially here. And Harry? Harry held her close on that dance floor, surrounded by whispers and stares and the ghosts of relationships that never made it. Because in the end, none of it mattered. She was in his arms. And the rest of the world could burn.

The reception had bled into its second hour like it had somewhere better to be. The string lights overhead twinkled in warm gold as dusk finally gave up and slipped into night. The air was thick with salt and champagne, every table crowded with plates half-finished and stories half-true. Someone's cousin had already kicked off her heels and was dancing barefoot near the bar, and the playlist had shifted from jazz to something that sounded suspiciously like early-2000s pop.

She was seated again with Harry at the far end of the garden reception, their table nestled into a curve of candles and wildflowers. Francesca and Luca were next to them, Luca now with his jacket off, sleeves rolled up, talking animatedly with Harry about the logistics of moving a vineyard from Italy to upstate New York.

Francesca was on her second glass of white and already giving her looks that said “are you good?” every time someone at another table shot them a glance too long.

Because they were being watched. Of course they were. Soft, covert glances. Half-turns. Murmured questions behind manicured hands. Not loud enough to call attention, but clear enough to send a chill up her spine. Harry noticed too. He always did.

So he shifted slightly in his seat, his arm sliding along the back of her chair until his fingers hooked over her shoulder, thumb rubbing slow circles at the edge of her collarbone. A quiet kind of claim.

“You good, baby?” he murmured, head angled just enough so only she could hear it.

She nodded once, giving him a smile. “Yeah. Just thinking I should've worn something more intimidating.”

Harry leaned in, brushing his lips to the side of her head. “You’re terrifying as is.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah?”

“I’ve got billionaires afraid of me, but you—” He smirked faintly. “You’re what keeps me up at night.”

Francesca, pretending not to eavesdrop, muttered, “Jesus, you two need a chaperone.”

“Then don’t sit next to us,” Harry said dryly, sipping his scotch.

Luca snorted into his drink. “He’s a romantic, but he hides it behind insults.”

“I don’t hide shit,” Harry said, glancing at her. “She knows.”

And she did. Because even when he was sitting at his ex’s wedding reception surrounded by people who’d once tried to bury him in PR hell, Harry only looked at her. Only leaned in when she whispered. Only refilled her wine glass before she noticed it was empty.

He didn’t smile at anyone else. Didn’t even pretend. Which made the next moment all the more unfortunate. Because she had to pee.

“Be right back,” she whispered, touching his knee beneath the table.

Harry looked up immediately. “Want me to come with you?”

“To the bathroom?” She arched a brow. “You trying to babysit me or make a scene?”

He smirked, leaned over, kissed the inside of her wrist. “Call if you need me.”

“I’m not gonna get jumped between here and the Porta Potties, Castillo.”

But he didn’t laugh. He just watched her walk away like he always did. Like she was gravity and orbit and every soft thing he thought he’d lost.

The bathroom was set up along the edge of the venue, tucked behind hedges and a string of fairy lights, near the catering trucks and a makeshift hand-washing station someone had tried to dress up with eucalyptus.

She moved quick. In and out. Washed her hands. Smoothed her dress. And when she stepped back out, she nearly ran straight into him. John. Standing just outside. Waiting. In his suit. His tie loosened. A look on his face she recognized immediately. Contrition.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

She froze. Of course. Of fucking course.

“Hi.”

John exhaled slowly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d let me say anything.”

“I didn’t expect to see you again at all.”

He looked down. “Yeah.” A beat. “I didn’t know—when I saw you were here, I didn’t believe it.”

She tilted her head slightly. “And now?”

John met her eyes. “I still can’t believe it.”

She crossed her arms. The silk of her dress whispered with the movement. “You waited outside the bathroom to talk to me?”

“You were gonna disappear again.”

“I didn’t disappear, John. I left.”

He swallowed. “I remember.”

Of course he did. He was there. He saw it.

The chaos. The headlines. The funeral. The trial. The nights she sat curled on the kitchen floor of that too-big house with nothing but canned peaches and a grief she didn’t know how to name.

“You were a kid,” he said quietly. “And they put the world on your shoulders.”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t know how.

John took a step closer. “I never forgot what your dad did. What he let happen. I thought about reaching out when I saw your name again, but…”

“But you didn’t.”

He nodded. “Didn’t know if you’d want to hear from anyone who knew the before.”

She breathed in through her nose. Held it. Then let it go. “I didn’t need rescuing. I needed people to believe me when I said I wasn’t my father.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

He looked at her for a long moment. “You’re not him.”

The words landed. Quiet.

She nodded once. “You’re married now.”

“Yeah.” He glanced back toward the venue. “She’s a good person.”

“Oh I’m sure.”

Another beat.

Then, “You look happy.”

She didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. Because just then—

A figure appeared near the hedges. Black suit. Rolled sleeves. Silver at the temples.

Harry. Eyes locked on her like a sniper.

Her breath caught. John noticed.

“Is that—”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

John blinked. “Holy shit.”

Harry didn’t say anything when he reached them. Just stepped between them slightly, hand finding the small of her back, anchoring her.

John cleared his throat. “You’re—Harry Castillo.”

“Mm.”

“I’ve followed your career for years—”

Harry cut him off with a slow blink. “And now you marry women you used to serve shrimp to.”

John’s face paled.

She touched Harry’s arm. “Harry.”

He tilted his head. “Just saying.”

John took a step back. “Right. I should—yeah.”

He turned. Walked off. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. Just firm.

She looked up at Harry. “You were eavesdropping?”

“I was waiting outside like a husband.”

“You’re not my husband.”

“Yet.”

She snorted.

Harry’s thumb brushed the bare skin of her back, right at the base of her spine. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He tilted his head. Studied her. “Want me to get you out of here?”

She smiled faintly. “Not yet. Francesca still needs to send me a link to a lingerie set.”

Harry’s eyes darkened slightly.

“Oh. Okay.”

She leaned in. Kissed the underside of his jaw. “For you. Of course..”

“You're a menace,” he murmured. 

She laughed.

He kissed her temple. “Come on. Let’s go finish this. Then I’m taking you home. Or the goddamn moon. Anywhere you want.”

“Your bed in New York has better pillows.”

“Then we’re going home.”

Hand in hand, they walked back toward the party. Not looking back. Not needing to. Because some ghosts didn’t need confrontation. They just needed to see you thriving. And Harry Castillo made damn sure she would. The grass was damp beneath her heels when they stepped back into the light. The reception had shifted again—music pulsing a little louder now, bodies dancing with the looser grace of people full of wine and relieved of ceremony. Tables sparkled under strings of warm light, their surfaces littered with plates scraped clean and wineglasses clinked a little too often. Francesca caught her eye from across the garden, waving a hand with the flourish of someone halfway through her third drink.

“There she is,” Francesca said as she approached. “The woman of the fucking hour.”

She smirked, tucking herself into the chair beside her again, Harry’s coat still resting lightly across her shoulders. “Don’t think I’m that important.”

“You walked into this party like it owed you an apology. You’re a legend.”

Harry sat down beside her again, brushing the edge of her shoulder with his hand before settling. Luca rejoined them moments later with a small plate of olives and cheese.

Francesca didn’t even wait. She leaned close, voice low. “So. You going to tell me what happened?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Saw the groom follow you.”

She paused. Then sighed. “I used to know him. When I was a teenager. He worked for my family. He was... kind. At a time when I didn’t really know what that meant.”

Francesca’s gaze softened. “And now he’s married to Lucy.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Full circle. Or something.”

Francesca touched her hand. “You doing okay?”

She smiled faintly. “Now I am.”

Harry was watching them. Eyes soft. Hands steady. He didn’t speak. Didn’t interrupt. Just existed in a bubble of silent attention around her, like if he looked away for even a moment, the world might try to take her.

Francesca clocked it too. Leaning in closer, she smirked. “God, he’s disgusting when he looks at you.”

She turned slightly. “Who?”

“That man. Your man. The one who’s staring like you’re his religion.”

Harry, without missing a beat, said, “I’m right here.”

Francesca sipped her wine. “We know. You’re always right there.”

The two women shared a look. Something old and female and funny.

“I’m gonna need another,” Francesca said, lifting her empty glass. “You?”

She raised hers. Empty. Francesca grinned and then pointed at their respective men. “Alright, gentlemen. Fetch and return.”

Harry arched a brow. “Are we dogs now?”

“Yes,” Francesca said, already rising. “But expensive ones. Go.”

Harry stood, eyes flicking over to her with a smirk. “You good?”

She nodded. “I’m fine. Go.”

He leaned down. Kissed the top of her head. “Stay in the light.”

She laughed. “What am I, Frodo?”

But he lingered. Brushed her cheek once with the back of his hand before turning. She watched them go—Harry and Luca disappearing toward the bar—and then turned back to Francesca, who had sat back down and was now untying her shoes.

“So,” Francesca said. “Having a good time?”

She hesitated. Then said softly, “I think this is what having a good time looks like.”

Francesca looked over. “You in love?”

Her smile curled slowly. “Worse.”

Francesca raised her brow. “How worse?”

“He’s in love with me. And it’s... it’s not performative. Or casual. It’s like he loves me with his whole life. Like I’m the first quiet he’s ever known.”

Francesca stared at her. “That’s not worse. Thats luck.”

They laughed. The soft, shared laugh of women who knew too much and still leaned into it anyway.

“I’ve never had anything like this,” she said, voice lower now. “Not with someone who listens. Not with someone who doesn’t want to own me.”

Francesca tapped her glass gently. “Then keep it. At all costs.”

She nodded. “I plan to.”

But the cost, it turned out, was about to show up. Because just then—

A voice cut through the music. Sharp. Feminine. Familiar in the way rot is familiar once you’ve known it long enough.

“Well,” the woman said. “I guess if you stick around long enough, the trash takes itself out of hiding.”

She turned. Standing just behind her, drink sloshing, dress too tight around the arms, was one of Lucy’s cousins. Tall. Blonde. The kind of cruel that came with too much money and too little self-awareness.

She straightened. “Excuse me?”

The woman took a slow sip. “You heard me.”

Francesca turned too, already rising slightly in her seat. But the woman wasn’t looking at Francesca. Just at her.

“Everyone here is pretending like this is normal,” the cousin sneered. “Like it makes sense that you’d show up here, parade around in that fucking dress, and pretend you belong. But you don’t. You never did.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry—”

“No, you’re not.” The woman stepped closer, voice low and hot with something old. “You’re not sorry for seducing someone old enough to be your father. You’re not sorry for ruining a perfectly good man. You’re not sorry for making Lucy cry for months.”

Francesca stood. “Alright. That’s enough.”

But she didn’t stop.

“You think this makes you powerful?” she hissed. “Being the woman who dragged Harry Castillo out of hiding? You’re a phase. A fucking consolation prize for a man who got burned by a real woman.”

Her throat closed.

“I’ve seen girls like you,” the cousin spat. “Choke on your own ambition. Hide behind soft eyes and soft hands and then cry when someone calls you what you really are. You’re not real. You’re not permanent. You’re a fucking intermission.”

Francesca was already stepping between them. “Say one more word—”

But it was too late. Harry was back. And he had heard everything. He stepped forward. No hesitation. Voice like thunder on glass.

“Shut. The fuck. Up.”

The cousin blinked. Turned. And froze. Harry Castillo, furious in a black suit and tie loose around his collar, stood like a man who had made his fortune destroying people who spoke out of turn. And now he was looking at her like she wasn’t even worth the breath it would take to really dismantle her.

“You don’t speak to her,” Harry said, voice low. Lethal. “You don’t look at her. You don’t think about her. She’s worth more than everything on this property combined.”

The cousin flushed red. “You think just because you’re—”

“Back off,” Harry said, stepping closer. “Now.”

But then—

Another man stepped in. Older. Broader. Her husband, probably.

“Hey,” he said, stepping between them. “Back off. You don’t talk to my wife like that.”

Harry turned his gaze slowly. And smiled. It wasn’t kind. It was the smile he used to wear in boardrooms before ruin.

“I just did,” Harry said. “Want to make it a conversation?”

“Harry—” she said softly, touching his arm.

He didn’t look at her. Not yet.

The cousin’s husband stepped closer. “You think you’re untouchable?”

Harry stepped right into his space.

“I know I am.”

“Harry,” she said again, firmer.

This time, he looked at her. And just as quickly—softened. Because she looked shaken. Small. And he hated that.

He touched her cheek. “Did she hurt you?”

“I’m okay.”

“Did she hurt you?”

She shook her head. “Just words.”

Harry looked back at the woman. “Then be grateful they were only words. Because if she’d touched you—”

But he didn’t finish it. Because Lucy had arrived. And John, trailing behind her, wide-eyed and unsure. Lucy’s heels clicked against the stone. Her dress shimmered. Her expression already lined with practiced grace.

“Harry,” she said, exasperated. “What the hell is going on?”

He didn’t move. Just kept one hand on her waist. The other clenched at his side.

“This woman insulted her.”

Lucy glanced at her cousin. Then at Harry. Then at her. And instead of apology—

She snapped.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

Her breath caught.

Lucy stepped forward. “You shouldn’t have brought her here. You knew it would cause a scene.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “She didn’t cause anything.”

“You brought a child to my wedding.”

She froze. The words were sharp. And Harry? Harry looked like he could kill.

“She’s not a child,” he said. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Lucy scoffed. “Oh please. Don’t turn this into some noble love story.”

Harry straightened. “She is my girlfriend.”

Even though it hurt Lucy to hear that, it was true. Lucy’s lips curled. “She’s twenty years younger than you.”

“Exactly,” Harry said, without missing a beat. “Which means she knows how to grow. Something you’ve never learned.”

Lucy flinched. The air went cold.

John stepped up, hand on Lucy’s arm. “Let’s calm down—”

“Don’t,” Harry said. “Don’t try to smooth this over. She started it.”

“She didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what she meant,” Harry snapped. “She insulted her. And I don’t care if it’s your fucking wedding, you let anyone talk to her like that again and I’ll make sure they never get invited anywhere again.”

Silence. Thick. Sharp. Awful. And then—

The cousin muttered something. But Harry didn’t react. Because she touched his hand. And that—that was what grounded him. He looked at her. Really looked. Eyes soft. Wrath dissolving. She was pale. Shaken. But still standing.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Francesca was already packing up her purse. Luca was watching everything like a man taking notes on who to blacklist next. Harry didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t wait. Just wrapped his coat around her shoulders, held her close, and walked away.

The cousin said something again. Harry didn’t hear it. Didn’t need to. Because she had his hand. And Harry Castillo would rather burn the world down than let her think for one more second that she was anything less than holy.

And as their driver drove away—his hand in hers, his jaw tight, her head resting against the seat—he finally spoke. Voice low. Rough.

“I'm so sorry.”

She looked up. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I let them hurt you.”

She shook her head. “No. You were right there.”

He looked at her. Eyes burning. “I love you,” he said. “So much it makes me ugly.”

She leaned over. Kissed his knuckles.

“You’re not ugly.”

He pulled her close. Held her to his chest. Whispered into her hair “You’re the only thing I’ve ever done right.”

And outside the car window, Cape Cod disappeared. But inside—

Inside there was only the sound of her breathing. And the feeling of being held. And the sharp, tender truth that no matter how cruel the world got—

Harry Castillo would always stand in front of it. If it meant protecting her.

TAGLIST @foxfollowedmehome @glitterspark @sukivenue @hhallefuckinglujahh @wholesomeloneliness @bebop36 @maryfanson @aysilee2018 @msjarvis @snoopyreadstoday @woodxtock @lasocia69 @jakecockley @just-a-harmless-patato @romancherry @southernbe @canyoufallinlove @aomi-recs @ivoryandflame @peelieblue @mstubbs21 @eleganthottubfun @justgonewild @awqwhat @xoprettiestkat @prose-before-hoes @indiegirlunited @catnip987 @thottiewinemom @rainbowsock4 @weareonlygettingolderbabe @hotforpedro @petertingless @lemon-world1 @jasminedragoon @algressman16 @la-120 @totallynotshine @joelmillerpascal @inesbethari @peedrow @escapefromrealitylol @mrsbilicablog @lunpycatavenue @ennvsco @vickie5446 @stormseyer

[writting-stuff-sometimes]

Play with fire Pt 3- LN4 X Fem reader

Pairing: Lando x Y/n Fewtrell

Warnings: Angst, Smut, fingering, oral fem reseiving, mutual masturbation. (I've marked where the smutty parts begin and end with ----- in case you don't feel comfortable with those, they don't mention anything too relevant to the story.

Notes: This is a long one, but I wanted to finish it in one part.

Thanks for the love.

Part 1 | Part 2

If only your brother knew he was responsible for this happening.

It was almost New Year, your parents had booked a honeymoon kind of trip to Africa, you had plans with Leah to go to Paris, and your brother was going to Greece with his friends. But it all took a turn when Leah fell in love, and Pablo- her boyfriend- asked her to spend the holidays with him and his family in Spain, so now you were alone. Your brother found out about it and felt guilty you were spending the holidays alone, so he asked you to join them.

“Hell nah, nope, you’re not wearing that” said Max as soon as he saw you walk down the stairs in a white see-trough bikini cover-up and one of the bikinis scandalous enough you only wore around your friends, and since this was a friends trip you didn’t see why you couldn’t wear it.

You turned to look around searching for something.

“Dad, is that you?” You kept looking around as the other guys in the living room laughed.

“Stop laughing you idiots! Baby, some help? Please” He turned to his girlfriend searching for backup.

“I think she looks amazing” said your now favorite sister-in-law, winking at you.

“Oh come on, Ria?”

“I wore the same bikini two days ago, just in a different color”

“Oh, fuck you guys” he stood from the sofa and rushed outside cursing under his breath.

“Thanks” you mouthed to both girls.

The rest of the guys turned to look away, you could almost see them blushing, but there were a pair of eyes glued to you. You looked where your brother had been sitting and caught Lando staring at you with a devilish grin. The way his eyes traveled your body flustered you, making your heart beat faster.

You had always thought of Lando as a platonic crush. At around 15-16, you had lost all hope of something happening when he started mimicking Max's attitude, treating you like a little sister and always protective, but at the same time bullying you in a brotherly way.

But for the last couple of years, he had turned into a good friend, you two taking turns to bully Max, talking and messaging about everything and nothing, him asking about school, you sending him encouraging messages after a good race and even deeper after a bad one. It all seemed like regular, friendly interactions until a few months ago when he had been a little too flirty and protective during your brother's birthday party. His arm once or twice going around your waist, holding you a little too close, talking to your ear when it wasn’t necessary, and bullying away any other boys who dared to flirt with you. You always thought it had been the alcohol, but from the way his eyes were stripping you naked right now, you doubted it was just the extra shots of tequila.

"Let's freaking go!" Your bother yelled from the entrance making everybody inside the villa take their stuff and jump into the van that was taking you to the marina.

________________________________

Everybody else was enjoying the water as you decided to tan before jumping in.

“I think I should’ve supported your brother against that bikini.” Lando sat on the lounger next to yours at the back of the yacht you had leased for the day.

“Why is that” You turned your head looking at him over your sunglasses. His sight traveled from your naked back all the way down to your asscheeks barely covered by the cheeky bikini bottom. “Lan?”

“It is quite distracting”

“I don’t see how that's an issue” when the fuck had you become such a flirt? And with your brother's best friend?

“Well I do, I don’t particularly like how the rest of the guys are staring at you, I’ve held myself back from punching a couple of them” his voice quite husky, making your core ache.

“Never pictured you as the jealous kind”

“I’m protective of what’s mine”

“Yours?” You lifted yourself a little from the lounger, settling on your forearms, your arms barely covering your tits. The moment he caught a small glimpse of one of your nipples his blood rushed from his cheeks down to his dick, causing an uncomfortable boner inside his swimsuit.

He stretched his arm to caress your face. His finger touched your cheek and you could feel your core beating in need. His finger traveled from your cheek to your neck down to your collarbone.

"Y/n" Pietra's voice startled both of you, Lando quickly sat back trying to cover the raging boner inside his shorts. "Max is looking for you, he's video chatting your parents"

"Seriously? He told on me?"

"Haha, no, your mom called him, they just want to say hello"

"Fine, I'll be right there"

"Ok, hurry" She said looking at Lando with a smile, and walked back inside. Lando helped you tie your bikini top, your skin burning at the feeling of his rough fingers.

"This isn't over" said Lando as you walked inside, making your heart rush.

Even if Max hadn't called them to tell on you, he didn't waste the opportunity and teamed up with your dad, claiming the bathing suit was too inappropriate.

"I'm not discussing my fashion choices, ok? It was nice talking to you guys but I want to swim before we go back. Love you Mom, love you Dad" You sent kisses to the screen and went back outside, jumping into the ocean, hoping it would ease the heat inside you.

A couple of hours later you were on your way back to the villa. Everybody was exhausted, it had been quite a day, this was when everybody got their headphones on to enjoy some "alone" time. And here you were, trapped in the back window seat, Lando by your side. His thigh in contact with yours, you could swear the temperature between you two was hotter than the sun. After a few minutes, he placed his hand on your thigh, making you gasp. You turned to look at the front to see if anybody had heard you, but no one seemed to have noticed. You searched for your brother, who thankfully was at the front dead asleep, his head laid over Pietra's, who was also sleeping, leaning against his shoulder.

When you looked over to your side, you found Lando's eyes on you. His cheeks flushed as his chest moved up and down fast.

He started drawing lazy figures on your skin, making your heart beat faster as your skin pebbled from the contact. He moved upwards slowly and you couldn't help but open your legs slightly. A mischievous grin on his face as he noticed your complicity. He took a finger against his lips, signaling you to keep quiet, then returned to your body. You held a gasp when his finger finally reached your bikini bottoms. The touch was light, barely there but he could feel how warm and wet you were, he bit his lips holding a moan himself.

"You ok with this?" He mouthed. You nodded, too scared any noise coming from you could bring attention to the situation at the back of the van.

"Good, let me know if you want me to stop," he whispered in your ear, leaving a wet kiss under it, making you bite your lip. This was going to be harder than you thought.

________________

He increased the pressure against your clothed core, making you shiver from the anticipation. You kept biting on your lip a he drew circles around your clit and moved down to your entrance, the pressure just enough for you to feel it over the fabric.

"Lan, please" you whispered.

A devilish smile on his face as he indulged in the way you were trying to hold your moans and how your hips slowly grinded against his hand.

"Feel what you do to me" he took your hand and led it to his crotch. You pressed against his hard bulge. "Fuck" He moaned in a low growl, both of you turned to the front, but everyone seemed to be oblivious to the unholy situation happening at the back.

You both turned to look at each other and smiled nervously.

He returned his attention between your legs as you started to palm his boner over the fabric. As much as you were scared shitless that anyone could turn around and discover you, you had never felt so horny in your life. You loosened the knot from his swim trunks and sneaked your hand inside, the moment your hand touched his warm leaking tip, Lando pushed his head back biting his lip hard. Your soft touch was even better than he could ever imagine. You smiled at his reaction, you had never thought you would be in this situation with him, your brother's best friend.

You softly stroked him as he turned his head down to look at your small hand jacking him off under the fabric. He turned to look at you, and couldn't help to imagine how heavenly your mouth would feel around his cock. You took your hand out as he frowned from the lack of contact, but his eyes darkened when he saw your precum-stained fingers enter your mouth, your tongue savoring it as if it was the most delicious gelato.

"Fuck" he mouthed.

He couldn't waste more time and pulled your bottoms to the side, sneaking a finger between your soaked folds. His dick twitched at the thought of how amazing it would feel to enter your slick pussy. But it was too dangerous to actually fuck, so a couple of fingers had to be enough. You brought your hand to your mouth when two of his fingers entered you, stretching you just enough to feel a slight burn.

He started fingering you as much as the constricted space allowed him to, and even when it wasn't the ideal setup, you could swear this was exactly what heaven felt like. You moved your hand to release his rock-hard cock from his pants and started jacking him off matching his fingers' pace. You stared at each other in complicity, trying to keep a straight face.

It only took a couple of minutes for you to feel the tightest knot ever inside your stomach, you closed your eyes and pushed your head down trying so hard to hold every little sound that tried to leave your mouth. The sight of you cuming just from his fingers sent Lando over the edge too, with the little consciousness he had left in his mind, he pulled his shirt to cover your hand and his dick, avoiding his cum to fall all over the seat.

As you tried to recover from the amazing orgasm and before the post-orgasm clarity washed over you you took your cum stained hand and licked it clean as he did the same with his soaked fingers.

"Finally," Aarav said as the van parked in front of the Airbnb door. "Dibs on the shower!"

_________________

You and Lando tried fixing yourselves quickly before anyone noticed your flustered appearance.

"Hell no mate, I called dibs on it before we left the yacht" Niiran rushed behind him inside the house.

Before everybody was out of the van you started to feel shame wash over you, what the fuck had you done?

You were the lasts to step out, Lando turned to help you down but you took your stuff and rushed to your room ignoring him, what the fuck had you done?!

You slamed shut the door and threw yourself in your bed, trying to make sense of what had happened, how the fuck did you end up jacking off Lando? The taste of his cum was still in your mouth as you tried to understand the last hours of your life. Your mind switching between a thousand thoughts a second to complete emptiness and panic.

You had lost track of time when a knock on your door startled you.

"Y/n? Are you there?" Ria's voice calmed your racing heart.

"Yes, coming" You stood up and opened the door.

"Hi- wait, you're not coming with us tonight?" Ria said, looking at you still in your bathing suit. You had completely forgotten about the nightclub plan for that night.

"No, sorry"

"Please tell me it's not because of your brother! You should not listen to Mr. I only wear jeans and quadrant merch"

You finally laughed a little.

"No, it's not because of him, today drained me out, that's all"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, totally"

"Ok"

"But you're not here because of that" You said with a faint smile trying to convince her you were fine.

"Nope, but now I feel bad asking"

"Tell me"

"Can I borrow your black Prada bag? I didn't bring anything to match tonight's dress"

"Sure! Come on in" You tried to use Ria as a distraction from the madness inside your head.

"Are you sure you're ok?" She asked before stepping out of the room.

"Yes, Ria, I'm perfect"

"Ok, we will miss you tonight" She hugged you tight.

"Have fun"

Before leaving for the club, your brother stopped by your room to check that you were ok. Ria had told him you were staying and missing a nightclub was a strange thing from you.

"Max, for the hundredth time, I'm fine, I'm just tired, and I want to save energy for the New Year's celebration." You walked to the door to open it and let your brother out of your room.

"Fine, but if anything comes up call me and I'll be right back, ok?"

"Yes"

"Fine, love you, sis"

"Love you." You hugged him and returned to your bed, melting into the anxiety.

When you heard the front door close, and silence filled the house your eyes started watering again. Your head was a mess; images of that afternoon mixing with memories from years ago, you and Lando messing around. Was this over?

Somewhere inside you felt like he should have stopped by and talked to you, asked if you were ok, like Ria and your brother had done. Maybe he regretted the situation too, maybe he hated what had happened, maybe he hated you too. Was it your fault? It couldn't be; it wasn't you who had started it all, was it? He had started with the flirting, and you didn't stop him. Was it your fault your friendship was now ruined? Was the friendship ruined?

A panic attack was approaching, and it seemed like a good time to shower, hoping it would help wash away some of the regret.

The cold water felt like a soothing breeze to your burnt skin and soul. A short break from the pain.

You threw yourself back on your bed, an oversized shirt the only piece that didn't feel asphyxiating. You scrolled through social media for some distraction, but all you got was fashion, F1, and Lando Norris. You couldn't blame the algorithm; you had built it brick by brick. You turned off your phone, wishing to fall asleep soon.

You spent an hour, or was it two?, rolling on your bed, the bed sheets too uncomfortable, and the AC's slight buzz driving you crazy.

"Ugh, fuck it!" You stood up and walked down to the kitchen. Maybe a glass of wine or two would numb you into sleep.

As you struggled with the stubborn cork, the sound of the front door opening froze you. You looked at the oven clock: 1:12 am. It was too early for the guys to be back, and whoever had opened the door was not as loud as a group of 7 would be.

You thought about turning off the light and hiding, but the sound of steps approaching the kitchen told you it was too late. You had seen enough true crime documentaries to know you were screwed. A tennis shoe was barely visible through the corner of the wall leading to the kitchen when the loudest scream left your body.

"It's me!" Lando said as he raised his hands in surrender.

"Fuck, Lando!" You said, on the verge of crying.

"I'm sorry. I didn't expect you to be here so late- Wait..." He pointed at your left hand; you were holding a wine glass towards him. "You were going to toast me to death?"

"Shut up, I was scared." You turned to leave the wine glass on the counter before your shaky hands dropped it.

"Remind me we need to work on your survival skills."

"What are you doing here?" You hid your blushing cheeks by leaning on the counter and looking down at it.

"I... I need to talk to you."

Your heart stopped; his voice had turned serious.

"Y/N?"

"Hmm hmm." You humed.

"Please look at me." You heard him walk towards you and instinctively took two steps away. He stopped, and you could hear him sigh, your eyes still locked in the granite material from the counter.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry" He leaned agains the kitchen island and stared down at his feet. "I fucked up"

His words felt like daggers. You knew he regretted the situation, but hearing him say it broke your heart; for a moment, you thought something could happen between you.

"Lando." Your voice was so low he couldn't hear. You were going to ask him to stop and forget everything, but your voice was gone.

"Y/N, please tell me you forgive me. I don't want to lose you. I know I fucked up, but I couldn't help myself. I've never felt like this about anyone, and I know this isn't ok. How I feel about you is not ok. You're Max's sister; you're almost like my sister, but I can't help it. I couldn't help it, and I'm just a man. Like I don't want you to think that this was just because I was horny, the way you looked today was mega, but I do love you, which I don't think makes this situation better, I mean, if anything it makes it worse, me having such strong feelings towards you is just wrong, How can I explain that I fell in love with my mate's sister? It's just idiotic."

You stood there frozen, your hands holding tight to the counter. For a moment, you tried to focus all your attention on the cold feeling under your hands, worried you were hallucinating. Maybe you had fallen asleep and you were dreaming.

"This is the moment you say something... anything, tell me to fuck off or something, but just say something, please."

You took a couple of deep breaths and turned to finally face him. The way he looked didn't help at all. The half-open white shirt, the baggy jeans, the curls falling over his eyes, the mustache you had mocked so many times, looking so appealing.

Something in his eyes told you he was as lost as you were, your feelings matching perfectly. You started into his eyes. Those green, beautiful eyes, filled with love, backed up everything he had said.

You started walking towards him, your eyes locked with his.

When you reached him, your hand stretched toward his chest, and you firmly pushed him back until he stumbled with one of the kitchen island stools.

"Sit" you whispered. He did, his eyes never leaving yours. You could see he was trying hard to decipher your actions.

Your hands dropped to his knees, pushing them apart, and you placed yourself between them. His breath hitched as his heart raced faster than his F1 car.

You bit your lip, giving one last thought to what you were about to do.

Lando's eyes traveled down to your lips and then back to your eyes.

Your hands moved from his knees up his thighs. You heard him hold his breath as they passed over his hips and up his stomach towards his chest. You kept one hand over his beating heart as the other went further up to caress his cheek.

You smiled at him, and after a second of confusion, he smiled back.

"Fuck this" You whispered and pulled him to join your lips.

His arms instantly went around your body, holding you tight against him; it was as if he feared you would disappear.

The kiss was magical, something both of you had longed for so long.

You broke the kiss in desperate need of air. You smiled, both your lips plumped from the heavy makeout.

"Does this mean you don't hate me?" He whispered.

"Not sure just yet." You joked.

"You're mean" he said pulling you against him, both his hands indulging on the feeling of your covered ass under them.

"The bullying won't stop just because I love you," You said with a cheeky smile.

"You love me?" He asked in a serious tone.

"The jury is still debating on that one."

"They better hurry." He said with a smile as he held your neck and pulled you to kiss again. He had tasted your lips and now desperately needed more.

He pushed you back without breaking the kiss, got off the stool, turned around, and pulled you to sit over the kitchen island. You gasped at the feeling of the cold surface touching your warm, bare thighs. His hands started their journey from your calves, up your thighs, sneaking under the hem of the oversized t-shirt. He grunted at the feeling of your bare skin under the cotton fabric.

He broke the kiss to stare into your eyes, fire consuming both of you.

"I fucking love you so much" He whispered against your lips.

"I love you too," You whispered back. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a hug.

His hands went around your waist as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, your shirt riding up your body, exposing your bottom part. He inhaled your shampoo scent, a mix of coconut and vanilla; it was intoxicating.

He pulled back a little, and his eyes traveled down to where your body had been left exposed.

"You really want this? I love you, and I don't want to do anything you don't want to. I don't want to rush you in any way. But just know, if we keep going, I don't think I will be able to stop. I need you so bad."

"Lando, I want you more than anything I've ever wanted in my life."

You could see those green-loving eyes turning dark. A wicked smile took over the lovely, curly-haired guy's face.

He attacked your mouth again and then traveled down your neck, gently pushing you to lay over the kitchen island. His hands indulged in the warm feeling of your soft thighs as he got your knees apart.

The moment you felt his warm breath hit your hot core, you propped on your elbows.

______________

"I love you," he said, looking into your eyes and slowly approaching your apex, leaving small love bites on your thighs. The first contact of his tongue was mindblowing, and it kept getting better. You tried holding on to something; you needed to ground yourself before you lost your mind, but only his curls were in hand. You pulled on them hard, making him moan, and he increased the pressure of his mouth.

Your first loud moan echoed through the house, making you aware of exactly where you were.

"Lando, wait!" You pulled his head from between your legs, you cursed at yourself a little, you needed him so bad, but you had become aware of how exposed you were.

"What?" His glistening lips caught you off guard. Just when you thought he couldn't look any hotter, there he was, messy hair and his face covered with your juices.

"We eat here."

"What do you think I'm doing?" he answered with a shit eating grin.

"You know what I mean, Norris."

"Ugh, fine, I'll have it for takeout" he rolled his eyes and leaned down to take your legs and pulled you over his shoulder, your shirt riding up, your ass was on full display.

"Lando, wait!" you tried to pull the shirt back but he slapped your ass.

"Shush! I would like to have my dinner in peace, please." He walked to his room and laid you down gently on the mattress. He stopped at the foot of the bed, staring at your figure. Finally, he had you there. He had dreamed about this for so long; he was afraid this was just another one of those dreams.

"Do you really want to do this?" He asked, the playful tone gone. You knew this was as nerve-racking for him as it was for you.

"Yes, I want this. I want you," You answered, matching his tone. To back up your statement, you opened your legs, letting him enjoy the view of your exposed needy core.

"Are you waiting for a written invitation?" You spoke when he remained in the same place.

"So sassy," he said, taking off his clothes. You almost choked when looking at his hard boner. You had seen it before, but now that he was standing up, it seemed even more impressive.

He climbed between your legs, making sure not to lay all his body weight over you.

"I love sassy" He whispered and attacked your lips again.

__________

The way he kissed, bit, and touched your body was out of this world. You couldn't exactly say you had a lot of experience. You have had your fair share of sexual encounters; some had been good, and some others were completely forgettable, but with Lando, it felt different. There was something about knowing him for so long that you could speak without using words. You always dreaded the corny movies where the first time people had sex seemed magical and like a fairytale, but the first time he entered you felt like that, it was a strange feeling. You knew it was impossible, but if you could live like that until your last day, you would; having him inside felt incredibly right. He knew how to read your body and your expressions, when to slow down, and when to go harder. And thank god he knew the difference between harder and faster.

The moment you reached your second climax of the night, you were sure the neighbors were calling the police, there was no way they hadn't heard you scream out of your mind, but then the loud moan Lando let out when he came was equally as loud, probably letting them know you weren't in danger it was just two people having some adult fun.

You had never enjoyed the post-sex cuddling part; all the times you had done, it was at a place where you weren't supposed to be spending the night, a friend's house, some dude's car, or your own house where parents or Max were coming back in the morning, leading to you or your companion to part ways before sunrise. So, being able to experience the first actual night with Lando made things even more special. You tried to stay awake as much as possible, softly caressing his beautiful features, tracing over every single mark on his skin, but after two long, incredible orgasms, you were out and eventually fell asleep.

The feeling of rough but gentle fingers caressing your shoulder and neck woke you up, your back pressed against Lando's bare chest. You knew you eventually had to leave the bed and return to your room before anyone noticed you weren't there, but it felt too good to move. Your pebbling skin let him know you were awake, and like you, he was aware that you had to leave soon, but he was willing to deal with any demon your brother might turn to just to have a couple more minutes with you like that. You turned slowly, looking at him, and without a word pressed your lips against his; the kiss was soft yet hungry.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me, mate" Your brother's voice echoed loudly all over the top floor.

You turned to look straight at the door, scared, but it was still closed. You let out a relaxed sigh, but fuck, you were not in your room what if Max had gone to look for you.

"That was your brother," Lando spoke, too loud for comfort.

"Shhh." You covered his mouth, trying to discover if his voice was coming from your room.

"Nah, mate, how the fuck did that happen, are you kidding me?"

"X-ray vision doesn't run in your family, right?" Lando tried to joke the nerves away.

"Not that I know of."

"Fuck's sake" you heard Max's voice get further and heard him step down to the first floor.

"This is our chance. You leave first, distract him, and I'll get out later." You stood up, picking up your shirt.

"I think you should go first," He said as he stayed in bed

"Not a good time to be a gentleman, Lando"

"Oh, it's not a gentleman thing. It's a... well, a male issue." He looked down at his lap, and you followed. An impressive tent between his legs; you could trace the figure under the white sheet, and it made your core beat in need, but there was no time for that, not when your brother was screaming like that.

"Don't look at me like that. It's all your fault."

"How is that my fault?" you whispered-shout.

"For looking that hot and being so beautiful." You blushed at his words, but a door slaming shut reminded you of the current situation.

You rushed to him on the bed and laid a hurried kiss on his lips.

"Meet you down there."

"Ok, baby." Hearing him calling you baby made your knees buckle.

You rushed to the door and carefully opened it to make sure no one was around. Thankfully, your room was just a couple of steps down the hall from Lando's, so when no one was around, you rushed to it. You got some underwear and pajamas on and walked down to the living room. There, you found your brother on his phone, passing around angrily, Pietra sitting on one of the sofas and Aarav sitting on the one across from her.

"What happened?" You whispered to your sister in law, sitting next to her.

"Someone rear-ended the McLaren."

"What?"

"Yes, and the garage has no idea who did it because of some issue with the cameras."

"Oh, shit" You felt bad. You knew your brother was heartbroken; it wasn't the fact that it was a McLaren; it was the fact that Lando had gifted him that car on his last birthday, and it had been the first McLaren Lando had bought with his F1 money. That car was special.

You sat in silence as your brother kept passing around. A couple of minutes later, Lando walked down. You stared at each other, a knowing smile on both of your faces. He sat next to you, asking in a low voice what had happened. You and Pietra filled him in.

You looked at each other, a silent agreement not to say a word about your situation.

He took his phone and started tapping around.

"Ugh, fuck!" Max hung up the phone and threw it to the closest couch. "Mate, I'm so sorry, someone rear-ended the McLaren"

"How bad is it?"

"The whole back on the right side is messed up." Max sat next to Pietra, the blond girl pulling him into a hug. "I'm sorry, mate."

"Don't worry about it; it wasn't your fault."

"Yeah, mate, but you've had it for years, and it was good, but just a couple of months with me, and I've destroyed it." Hearing your brother so sad made your heart ache.

"It wasn't your fault, and actually I've sent an email to the MTC, they'll fix it, don't worry about it. It will be as good as new."

"You don't have to do that."

"Don't worry about it." You turned to look at Lando; you could just jump onto him and kiss him, but instead, you discretely took his hand laying next to your thigh and gave it a thankful squeeze, and he squeezed it back.

Max had woken everyone up, and since the situation had put everyone on high alert, you decided it was time for breakfast. You and Aarav started cooking. Who would've thought Aarav had turned into such a good chef? After a couple of quadrant cooking videos, he discovered a hidden passion for cooking, and the rest of the team was willing to take advantage of it, making him cook as much as possible.

You all had breakfast, trying to stay as far away as possible from the McLaren topic.

"Can we please skip the beach today and stay by the pool?" Ria begged, laying on the sofa with a Stanley filled with electrolytes.

"I second that." You spoke, sitting on the carpet next to her.

"How do you look worse than us if you skipped last night's club?" Your brother said, walking towards the other end of the living room to the sliding door leading to the backyard, where a fresh pool was calling your name.

"Thanks, brother, I love you too," You bit back quickly, trying to hide the mild heart attack his statement had caused.

"Not nice, love," Pietra scolded your brother.

"I'm just saying, she's younger and had a full night of sleep. She shouldn't look like she was at a rave last night."

"Ok, enough, c'mon, let's all go get our bathing suits. I'm with Ria on this one, too." Pietra took your brother's hand and pulled him up the stairs.

Lando stared at them with an odd look on his face.

"Chop-chop, guys." The blond girl clapped, and everyone walked up to get ready.

"Do you think she knows?" Lando sat on the lounger next to you.

"I don't know," you spoke, keeping your eyes on your book, both of you trying to pretend you were just sitting there, your lips barely moving when you talked.

"Do you think she will tell him?"

"I hope not. This doesn't seem like a good moment to do it"

"I agree." He finally turned to look at you, and you turned to look at him.

God, he looked so good, his curls wet and a couple of drops traveling down his chest.

"You're staring," He said, turning back at the pool to make sure no one was up to you.

"It's your fault for looking that hot and being so beautiful." He rolled his eyes at you copying his phrase from that morning.

"Oi, Lando, 2 vs 2?" Niiran yelled from the pool.

"Sure" he stood up from the lounger and cannonballed inside the pool, splashing you.

"Rude!" you yelled at him without being able to hold back the big smile on your face.

And that's how it ran for the last couple of days. You and Lando sneaking in and out of each other's rooms every night. Touching and kissing whenever you were out of sight. Silent sex had been the hardest with how good Lando made you feel, but you managed to keep everyone in the dark about you.

Finally, New Year's came. You both were looking forward to the celebration but dreaded the date at the same time since it meant there were only two more days left of the vacation, only 2 more days of you two together 24/7.

"I don't think I will be able to keep my hands to myself with you looking like that," Lando said to your ear when he caught you walking out of your room, his hands around your waist as you rested your head on his chest.

"I don't think we can come clean yet," you said, tracing the veins from his forearms with your fingers.

"I know." He sighed, burying his face on your neck, indulging in your perfume's sweet and citric scent.

A door opening made you jump, and you stepped away, pretending you were chatting.

"Hey guys, are you ready?" Steve walked out of his room, trying to roll up his sleeves.

"Sure, let's go" Lando walked past you but sneaked a soft slap to your ass as he walked towards his friend who still struggled with the stuborn material.

You rode to the restaurant for New Year's dinner. Lando sat beside you; you were nervous this would raise suspicions, but everyone seemed so excited for the night that they didn't notice, not even when your cheeks flushed as he sneaked his hand under your dress and started caressing your thigh. You were relieved but also frustrated when his hand remained there for the rest of the dinner. Just his thumb drawing circles every once in a while, sending shivers down your spine.

After dinner, you reached the nightclub; it was one of Mikono's clubs with a private beach. The music and drinks were amazing, and you all were having the time of your life.

"Meet me down at the beach in 5," Lando said to your ear as he gave a soft squeeze to your hip.

"But, count down..." You were going to protest, but when you turned around, he was gone.

You looked at your clock; it was 11:20. Maybe he just wanted to have a quick makeout session before the new year.

"I'm going to the toilet," You yelled to Ria and Pietra.

"Want me to go with you?" Ria offered.

"No, it's ok, I'll be right back." You winked at the girls and walked toward the toilets. When you were out of sight, you changed paths and walked down some stairs that led to the beach.

"Miss Fewtrell?" One of the waiters intercepted you.

"Yes"

"Follow me." He walked you towards a secluded part of the beach. As you approached, there were some candles and tons of white roses.

"That way." The waiter signaled a lighted path where Lando was waiting next to a small table with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

You approached him slowly, not sure of what was happening.

"It's not what you think," He said, holding back a smile.

"You have to admit it does look like it," You answered, breathing deeply to calm your rushing heart. Not that you didn't want to, but marrying Lando was still further down the line.

"I know, but I just wanted to do things properly, and when the club told me they had this available, I took it just to see your reaction."

"You're an idiot," you nervously laughed.

He took your hand and pulled you next to the little table. You nervously turned back to look at the path you had walked in. The music was loud, and you were afraid someone could see you.

"It's ok, nobody can see us here. When I called to arrange this, they told me all sorts of 'activities' were allowed because of the level of privacy". His crooked smile told you exactly what he meant.

"You know we're not doing it here on the floor, right? Plus, in no time, they will be searching for us."

"I know, I know. But it sounded like a great idea."

"You're crazy." You smiled and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

"Don't start something you're not planning to finish, you muppet."

"Ugh, fine."

He smiled against your lips and gave small pecks.

"Baby, listen. We don't have much time, but I want to do things right. I don't want you to think this is just some rushed decision. I love you; I've loved you for as long as I can remember. And after that first 'approach', the heartache I felt by just thinking I had lost you made me realize how much I need you in my life. So, y/n Fewtrell, will you give me the honor of being my girlfriend?"

"Of course." You said between soft sobs trying to hold back tears. You had thought about torturing him for a little bit, but his words had caught you off guard; you didn't expect such beautiful words to come from him. Not that he wasn't nice, but romance had never been his forte.

"12, 11, 10, 9..." the countdown started. Lando took the champagne glasses, handing you one

"Happy New Year!!" You heard everyone shout.

He pulled you in for a kiss. Making this the best New Year's celebration ever.

"Happy New Year, baby," He said, clinking your glasses.

"Happy New Year, love." The word shooting sparks all over his body.

You spend a couple more minutes in that little piece of heaven when your phone buzzed.

Ria Y/n, all good?

"It's Ria. We need to go back."

"Do you thin-"

"Not yet, he just got over the car problem. If we drop this on him now, he might lose his mind."

"You're right." But as soon as we can, we're coming clean about this, ok?"

"Of course." You pulled him in for a kiss, and both walked back to the top part of the club. Right before you stepped back inside, he pulled you hard against him.

"I love you," He said and kissed you hard.

"I love you" you said back and gave one last peck as you took separate paths back to your table.

"Where were you?" Ria asked when you rejoined the group. Lando was already there, drink in hand. "Oh my god, did you make out with someone?" Her voice was loud, thanks to the amount of drinks in her.

"What?!" You and your brother asked at the same time.

"Your lipstick, it's smudged over here." She handed you a napkin, and you cleaned the bottom lip. "Who was it?" the question made your heart rush.

"Nobody, I mean, I don't know him. The guy just surprised me."

"WHO WAS IT? I will teach him a lesson or two about consent." Your brother left his drink on the table and was about to walk away, but you and Pietra held on to him.

"Calm down, avenger." You rolled your eyes at your brother's reaction.

"Yeah, mate. Plus, it looks like she had a good time," Lando said with a shit-eating grin.

"Meh, he seemed desperate, that's why I let him do it," You bit back, a challenging look on your face.

"Was he cute? Where is he?" Ria looked behind you, trying to find the mysterious guy.

"He was ok, nothing extraordinary." You kept your sight on Lando, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Yoooo, who's ready for another round?!" Steve approached the table with a tray filled with shots.

The party ran until the first rays of light started to paint the sea. You all went to a public beach to enjoy the last two bottles of champagne.

You were sitting on the sad, Ria holding your hand while her head lay on your shoulder as you two enjoyed the sunrise. She had become your best friend in the group. Being the only two girls when it all started tied you.

Lando sat by your side, escaping the group of drunk guys playing, or at least trying, to play football on the beach. His body pressed to yours as his hand took your free hand in his. You turned to look at him, a big smile on your face.

"I love you," he mouthed.

"I love you" you mouthed back

You lay your head on his shoulder, confident that if anyone would see you, they would only see a group of drunken friends, enjoying the last couple of moments of the New Year's party.

You went back to the villa and stalled in the kitchen, waiting for everyone to go to their rooms so you could sneak into Lando's room. The perfect ending to a perfect day.

The hangover the next morning was god awful. Everyone was unable to stand the sun or each other's voices, so you all spent the day locked in your rooms. Which worked out perfectly for you and Lando, no hiding, no sneaking, just you two in bed, enjoying each other's company.

The last day was a bitter one. You wanted to say a proper goodbye since he was flying straight to Barcelona for some pre-testing, and you were flying back home with the rest of the group. But it was impossible, all sorts of things were making you late to the airport, and no privacy, only allowing you to say goodbye with a tight hug and a silent promise to come clean so you wouldn't need to hide anymore.

But the moment never seemed to be right, whenever you tried to talk to your brother, something always came up, a problem with Quadrant, a fight with Pietra, some issue with your parents. It felt like life was against you and Lando to finally come out.

Until now. Maybe you had pulled the band too much, and since you weren't willing to understand, life ripped the band-aid off at once.

________________________

You tried to find the words, your brother was stubborn as fuck and it wasn't going to be easy trying to explain this to him.

"Max, listen, we didn't expect this either, like it just happened, I'm not-"

"Sure, it just happened, for... I don't even know how long, how long has this been going?"

You turned to look at Lando.

"How long?" He asked again.

"Since New Year's"

"Since New... you were fucking in greece?! with everyone around?!"

"We're not fucking!" You yelled at him, it really bothered you, he was still talking about hits like just a boothycall.

"Listen, Max" Lando spoke, his voice the only one still in a reasonable volume and tone. "Do you remember our last conversation in Abu Dhabi?"

"What does that have to do with this?"

"How we talked about special people in our lives, how sometimes you can feel like nothing makes sense, like you're going nowhere, but suddenly, someone appears, someone with the right words, the right feel, someone that in a weird, magical way makes everything fall into place?"

You could see your brother's face change; you had to remember this and use it to bully him at a less inappropriate time. You never thought your brother could be so soft and romantic. But it seemed to work. His face softened.

"I told you I had no fucking idea what you meant, and I realized it was because I had it with me already. Y/n has been grounding me and giving me that level of comfort since we met, that's why I had no idea what you meant. I wasn't aware of it until I came close to losing her, and I realized why I didn't understand what you meant about it finding you, she had found me a long time ago, I just didn't know".

Lando turned to look at you and moved to sit next to you. You got nervous when his hand stretched out to touch your face. It seemed like his words had calmed your brother, and you were anxious that his approaching you would ruin everything. The moment his finger touched your skin, you realized you were crying. He cleaned your tears with his finger and held your hand in his. You turned to look at your brother, his expression still uncomfortable, but calmer than the one he had had a couple of minutes ago.

"I'm still not fully ok with this, I think it's still sick. But you will be the one telling our parents about this. You have a week or I will tell them, and I won't be nice about it."

"I will call them tomorrow."

"And if you break her heart or make her cry...again. Your career is done because there will be no more Lando Norris in this world, deal?"

"Deal"

"I need a drink." Your brother walked to Lando's kitchen.

"Do you think that orgasm tears count like crying, because I don't think I will be alive for a long time if those count"? Lando whispered in your ear.

"Too soon for those jokes, Norris."

"I suggest you keep those jokes to yourself," Pietra added. "You're bad at whispering, Lando," the blond girl said, standing up to join her boyfriend in the kitchen.

After a few hours, you were all sitting at the dining table. Peace had been restored, sort of. Your brother sat between you and Lando, pretty immature, but if it made him feel better about it, you would let it pass.

"Oh, come on baby, you can't tell me you never suspected it, it was right there all the time" P looked at your brother amused.

"What do you mean?"

"They were always looking at each other with lovey dovey eyes, the excessive inncesesary touching, Lando was never as careful with any other girls, the twitch streams, it was so evident."

"What? Twitch streams?"

"Who do you think was Bobcat?"

"You were BobCat?" Your brother turned to look at you.

"In the flesh, you're welcome btw, I spend a lot on those streams"

"Why BobCat? That's a terrible name."

"What's Lando's nickname?" Pietra said

"Bob"

"Exactly, BobCat." Your brother stared at his girlfriend, still confused. "Think Puss in Boots"

"Cat, Puss- You're nasty. Our parents didn't raise you like that."

You all laughed and could feel the tension wash away.

"Oh, what was all that about losing her?" Your brother turned to stare at Lando.

"We can talk about that at another time," Lando answered still unsure on how to let him know he had fingered fuck you in a van full of people and that had caused a panic attack on both of you thinking you had screwed your friendship.

"Should I start digging a grave?"

"No, just we'll tell you at another time, ok? Trust me,"You took your brother's hand, and he silently agreed.

Your parent weren't probably going to be as amused with the news, as much as they loved Lando, they always expected you to marry some doctor, lawyer, or in general someone who didn't travel around the world risking his life every weekend. But that was a problem for tomorrow. Now you would just enjoy having your boyfriend and your brother in the same room without having to hide.

___________________________

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

Tag List: @wtrmlnsgr94, @ricsaigaslec, @ironmaiden1313, @formulas-bitch, @f1fantasys, @formulaal, @widow-cevans @aleatorio1234 @stylesmoonlight12

[labuenosairesfrancaise]

Appuldurcombe House

Hi guys!!

I'm sharing Appuldurcombe House (abandoned/in ruins). This is the 20th building for my English Collection.

I decorated most of the house ground floor, for reference.

History of the house: 

Appuldurcombe House  is the shell of a large 18th-century English Baroque country house of the Worsley family. The house is situated near to Wroxall on the Isle of Wight, England. It is now managed by English Heritage and is open to the public. A small part of the 300-acre (1.2 km2; 0.47 sq mi) estate that once surrounded it is still intact, but other features of the estate are still visible in the surrounding farmland and nearby village of Wroxall, including the entrance to the park, the Freemantle Gate, now used only by farm animals and pedestrians.

Appuldurcombe began as a priory in 1100. It became a convent, then the Elizabethan home of the Leigh family. The large Tudor mansion was bequeathed in 1690 to Sir Robert Worsley, 4th Baronet, who began planning a suitable replacement.

The present house was begun in 1702. The architect was John James. Sir Robert never saw the house fully completed. He died on 29 July 1747; in his memory a monument was erected overlooking the house on Stenbury Down.

The house was greatly extended in the 1770s by his great-nephew Sir Richard Worsley, 7th Baronet Worsley of Appuldurcombe.

Worsley had left the estate saddled with heavy debts, but Appuldurcombe passed to his niece, Henrietta Anna Maria Charlotte (daughter of John Bridgeman Simpson). She married the Hon. Charles Anderson-Pelham, later first Earl of Yarborough, in 1806. The founder of the Royal Yacht Squadron at Cowes, he made few changes to the house and was quite happy to retain the property as a convenient base for his sailing activities.

Appuldurcombe House circa 1910

In 1855 the estate was sold. An unsuccessful business venture ran Appuldurcombe as a hotel, but with its failure, the house was then leased as Dr Pound's Academy for young gentlemen.

Advertisement for Appuldurcombe College 1889

Advertisement for Appuldurcombe College in the Times, London, April 19, 1889

The house was inhabited in 1901–1907 by a hundred Benedictine monks who had been exiled from Solesmes Abbey in France and were shortly to settle at Quarr Abbey on the Isle of Wight.

Although the house is now mainly a shell, its front section has been re-roofed and glazed, and a small part of the interior recreated. The house has become well known as one of the supposedly most haunted places on the island.

More history: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Appuldurcombe_House

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This house fits a 64X64  lot, but it coulf fit a 50x50 too.

I only decorated some of the important rooms. All the rest of the house is up to your taste to decor.

Hope you like it.

You will need the usual CC I use:

all Felixandre cc

all The Jim

SYB

Anachrosims

Regal Sims

King Falcon railing

The Golden Sanctuary

Cliffou

Dndr recolors

Harrie cc

Tuds

Lili's palace cc

Please enjoy, comment if you like the house and share pictures of your game!

Follow me on IG: https://www.instagram.com/sims4palaces/

@sims4palaces

Ealry acces: October 20

DOWNLOAD: https://www.patreon.com/posts/appuldurcombe-112466692

[simshousewindsor]

HOW THE QUEEN AND ROYALS TRAVEL IN STYLE: FROM HELICOPTERS TO PRIVATE JETS

By Anderson Crooper | Published by SNN

EASTON, Windenburg (SNN) - - The Windenburg royal household published its financial report for the year 2022-2023, giving a glimpse of how the monarch and the working members of her family get from A to B and how much it all costs.

In total, over the last financial year the royals spent §4.5 million simoleons on travel, including the official tours undertaken by King George, Queen consort Rowena, (then) Princess Katherine, and Prince Louis, as well as some minor working royals.

But how do the Windenburg royals travel, and what methods do they have at their disposal? SNN has the answers.

Helicopters

One of the main methods of domestic travel for the queen and the working members of her family is by helicopter.

The queen currently relies on one main helicopter at her disposal, The Queen's Helicopter Flight (TQHF), which is painted in a deep blue color with royal cyphers on each side. The craft is a model EC155 from Americreek manufacturer LorySims and has been in use by the royals since 2009.

Though helicopters are capable of landing in the gardens of Buckingsim Palace, the main central Easton landing hub for members of the royal family is at Kently Estate in a large field at the northern end of the complex.

The 2022-2023 royal household financial statement revealed that over 179 journeys were made via helicopters by the working royals throughout the year.

As the expense for this is paid from the allocation of funds the queen receives from the government to pay for her official duties, she retains the right to approve each use of her aircraft by family members.

Private Jets

In the same way that the queen has the use of helicopters to help her travel quickly and safely within the U.K. for short haul flights, she also has access to private jets both for her personal use, as well as for the use of working members of her family and government officials.

RAF Voyager

In the 2022-2023 financial year the royals undertook a number of foreign tours. The queen and other members of her family are regularly asked by the Foreign Office to undertake international visits, in promoting Windenburg assets around the globe.

For their journey, the royals travel aboard RAF Voyager, the U.K government's VIP jet. While it maintains a military function as a mid-air refueling craft, it's also used to transport high-ranking government officials and members of the royal family. The Duke and Duchess of Kent used it the most as they undertook the most international visits on behalf of the Crown during the year.

RAF Voyager is maintained and manned by the Royal Air Force, which oversees all of the royals' air travel.

The Royal Train

The Royal Train comprises a dedicated set of claret liveried sleeper, dining and lounge carriages reserved for the use of senior members of the royal family when traveling around Windenburg. There has been a royal train since the reign of Edward I and the current one was presented to King George in 1994, though it has had its interiors updated in the years since.

Total expenditure on the royal train, including operating lease payments, for 2021-2022 was §1 million simoleons.

Royal Yacht

The royal yacht of the Windenburg monarchy, also known as The Royal Yacht Windenburgia, has been in service since 1978. It is the second royal yacht to bear the name, the first being the racing cutter built for the Prince of Brindleton Bay in 1813. The yacht travels more than five-hundred thousand nautical miles around the sims world to more than 120 ports in 16 countries.

Fleet of Motor Vehicles

As well as helicopters, planes and trains, the royals also have a fleet of luxury motor cars that are used for official events such as the State Opening of Parliament, as well as regular engagements around the United Kingdom of Windenburg.

The Rolls Royce State Limousines are official state cars manufactured by Rolls Royce as a gift for the late King George on the occasion of his Silver Jubilee in 2017. The two cars produced, in navy and black, were in service for the King up until his death in 2023. They have most recently been in service for Queen Katherine. The Queen Mother (then Queen consort) used the car while accompanying the King's coffin. Both cars are kept in the Royal Mews.

In 2022-2023, the official expenditure on motor vehicle journeys undertaken by the late king and senior royals was §200,000.

[printedword]

Carney is one of two Massachusetts hospitals targeted for closure Aug. 31 following recent chaotic developments at Steward Health Care. The embattled for-profit hospital chain filed for bankruptcy on May 6 and has been mired in crises involving patients and creditors across several states. The chain is led by a former heart surgeon who collected more than $100 million in compensation and bought a $40 million yacht while employees at Steward hospitals complained about a lack of basic supplies, according to a Senate committee. More than 2,200 employees now expect to be laid off in Massachusetts and Ohio, according to notices filed with state regulators. The company's CEO, who lawmakers say has declined multiple requests to answer questions voluntarily, is expected to appear under subpoena in mid-September before a Senate committee to address "financial mismanagement" at Steward. The case has raised broader issues for lawmakers and analysts about the role of private equity investments in health care. Many people from communities impacted by hospital closures are asking why there aren't built-in protections when a corporation takes over an institution providing essential life-or-death services. [...] After the bankruptcy filing in May, Steward announced plans to close hospitals and lay off thousands of workers, leaving community members who depend on the hospitals worried about where they will get care. The chain's financial flameout captured the attention of the Senate Health, Education, Labor and Pensions Committee, which authorized an investigation into the company's financial dealings. The Senate probe is expected to include questions about Steward Health's deal with private equity investors, its lavish spending, the lease deal and the hospital closures. The committee also issued a subpoena that compels de la Torre to answer questions about his company's struggles. At a July 25 hearing, Sen. Bernie Sanders, I-Vermont, who chairs the committee overseeing the investigation, said de la Torre refused multiple invitations to testify before lawmakers, which prompted the bipartisan vote to order him to testify on Sept. 12. While Steward closed its hospitals, Sanders said, de la Torre was collecting a "$100 million payday that he used to purchase a $40 million yacht." Sanders said the executive also bought a $15 million, custom-made fishing boat and had access to two private jets. De la Torre "epitomizes the type of outrageous corporate greed that is permeating throughout our for-profit health care system," Sanders said at the hearing. "Today we are saying enough is enough. It is time for Dr. de la Torre to get off of his yacht and to explain to Congress the financial chicanery which made him extremely wealthy, while the hospitals he managed went bankrupt."

[xtruss]

Mohamed al-Fayed, Tycoon Whose Son Died With Diana, Is Dead At 94

An Egyptian businessman, he built an empire of trophy properties in London, Paris and elsewhere, but it was all overshadowed by a fatal car crash that stunned the world.

— By Robert D. McFadden | September 1, 2023

Mohamed al-Fayed in 2003 outside the Court of Session in Edinburgh, where a judge was asked to consider whether the car crash that killed Diana, Princess of Wales, and his son Dodi, was caused deliberately. Credit...David Cheskin/Press Association, via Associated Press

Mohamed al-Fayed, the Egyptian business tycoon whose empire of trophy properties and influence in Europe and the Middle East was overshadowed by the 1997 Paris car crash that killed his eldest son, Dodi, and Diana, the Princess of Wales, died on Wednesday. He was 94.

His death was confirmed on Friday in a statement by the Fulham Football Club in Britain, of which Mr. Fayed was a former owner. It did not say where he died.

The patriarch of a family that rose from humble origins to fabled riches, Mr. Fayed controlled far-flung enterprises in oil, shipping, banking and real estate, including the palatial Ritz Hotel in Paris and, for 25 years, the storied London retail emporium Harrods. Forbes estimated his net worth at $2 billion this year, ranking his wealth as 1,516th in the world.

In a sense, Mr. Fayed was a citizen of the world. He had homes in London, Paris, New York, Geneva, St. Tropez and other locales; a fleet of 40 ships based in Genoa, Italy, and in Cairo; and businesses that reached from the Persian Gulf to North Africa, Europe and the Americas. He held Egyptian citizenship but rarely if ever returned to his native land.

Mr. Fayed lived and worked mostly in Britain, where for a half-century he was a quintessential outsider, scorned by the establishment in a society still embedded with old-boy networks. He clashed repeatedly with the government and business rivals over his property acquisitions and attempts to influence members of Parliament. He campaigned noisily for British citizenship, but his applications were repeatedly denied.

“It’s the colonial, imperial fantasy,” Mr. Fayed told The New York Times in 1995. “Anyone who comes from a colony, as Egypt was before, they think he’s nothing. So you prove you’re better than they are. You do things that are the talk of the town. And they think, ‘How can he? He’s only an Egyptian.’”

Mr. Fayed at a party at the venerable London department store Harrods in 1989. His takeover of the store in 1985 struck many Britons as akin to buying Big Ben. Credit...Fairchild Archive/WWD, via Penske Media, via Getty Images

He reveled in the trappings of a British aristocrat. He bought a castle in Scotland and sometimes wore a kilt; snapped up a popular British football club; cultivated Conservative prime ministers and members of Parliament; sponsored the Royal Horse Show at Windsor; and tried unsuccessfully to salvage Punch, the moribund satirical magazine that had lampooned the British establishment for 150 years.

His takeover of the venerable Harrods in 1985 struck many Britons as shameless brass, something akin to buying Big Ben. A year later, as if securing a jewel in the crown of British heritage, Mr. Fayed signed a 50-year lease on the 19th-century villa in Paris that had been the home of the former King Edward VIII of Britain and Wallis Warfield Simpson, the divorced American woman for whom he abdicated his throne in 1936.

But Mr. Fayed’s triumph as an Anglophile was the made-for-tabloids romance between his eldest son, Emad, known as Dodi, and the Princess of Wales, who had recently been divorced from Prince Charles (now King Charles III) and alienated from the royal family. It began in the summer of 1997, when Mr. Fayed invited Diana and her sons to spend some time at his home on the French Riviera and on one of his yachts. Dodi was there too.

The Egyptian-born nephew of the Saudi billionaire arms dealer Adnan Khashoggi, Dodi was a notorious playboy who gave lavish parties, financed films, dated beautiful women and was once briefly married. He and Diana had been acquainted, but by many accounts they fell in love on the Mediterranean sojourn. As their romance bloomed, the British press pounced. Paparazzi hounded the couple everywhere they went.

A cameraman filmed the site of the car accident in Paris that killed Diana, Princess of Wales, and Mr. Fayed’s eldest son, Dodi al-Fayed, in 1997. Mr. Fayed declared that they had been murdered by “people who did not want Diana and Dodi to be together.”Credit...Jacques Demarthon/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

In the early hours of Aug. 31, 1997, a Mercedes-Benz carrying Diana and Dodi and driven by Henri Paul, a Fayed security agent who was drunk and traveling at a high speed trying to elude carloads of pursuing paparazzi, slammed head-on into a concrete pillar in a tunnel in Paris. All three were killed.

Controversy exploded over the cause of the crash and the implications of the affair. Some tabloids suggested that an immigrant had been an unfit suitor for a princess. But friends said that the couple had planned to marry, and that the Fayed family had offered Diana and her sons a warmth that contrasted with the way Britain’s royal family had shunned her after the divorce.

As rumors and conspiracy theories swirled, Mr. Fayed declared that the two had been murdered by “people who did not want Diana and Dodi to be together.” He said they had been engaged to marry and maintained that they had called him an hour before the crash to tell him that she was pregnant. Buckingham Palace and the princess’s family denounced his remarks as malicious fantasy.

The deaths inspired waves of books, articles and investigations of conspiracy theories, as well as a period of soul-searching among Britons, who resented the royal family’s standoffish behavior and were caught up in displays of mass grief. In 2006, the British police ruled the crash an accident.

And in 2008, a British coroner’s jury rejected all conspiracy theories involving the royal family, British intelligence services and others. It attributed the deaths to “gross negligence” by the driver and the pursuing paparazzi. It also said a French pathologist had found that Diana was not pregnant.

Mr. Fayed called the verdict biased, but he and his lawyers did not pursue the matter further. “I’ve had enough,” he told Britain’s ITV News. “I’m leaving this to God to get my revenge.”

Mr Al Fayed, with his wife Heini, at the funeral of Princess Diana in 1997. Diana, Princess of Wales, 36, Dies in a Crash in Paris. August 31, 1997.

Mohamed al-Fayed was born Mohamed Abdel Moneim Fayed in Alexandria, Egypt, on Jan. 27, 1929, one of five children of a primary-school teacher, Aly Aly Fayed. Details about his early life are murky.

His accounts of growing up in a prosperous merchant family were discounted by British investigators. He sold sewing machines and joined his two younger brothers, Ali and Salah, in a shipping business. In the early 1950s, Adnan Khashoggi set the brothers up in a venture that exported Egyptian furniture to Saudi Arabia. It flourished.

In 1954, Mr. Fayed married Mr. Khashoggi’s sister, Samira. Dodi was their only child. They were divorced in 1956. In 1985, he married Heini Wathén, a Finn. They had four children, all born in Britain: Jasmine, Karim, Camilla and Omar.

Information on survivors was not immediately available.

The Fayed shipping interests profited handsomely from an oil boom in the Persian Gulf in the 1960s. Acting as middlemen for British construction companies and gulf rulers, they helped develop the port of Dubai, the Dubai Trade Center and other properties in what is now the United Arab Emirates.

Mohammed Al Fayed stands in front of the east stand of Craven Cottage, home of Fulham. Photograph: Kieran Doherty/Reuters

Mr. Fayed at the Craven Cottage stadium in London in 2012 before an English Premier League soccer match between Fulham and Sunderland. Mr. Fayed was Fulham’s owner and club chairman. Credit...Alastair Grant/Associated Press

Mr. Fayed, who made all his family’s major investment and financial decisions, moved to London in the mid-1960s. He added “al-” to his surname, implying aristocratic origins. After buying the Scottish castle, he expanded its estate to 65,000 acres; after acquiring the Fulham Football Club, he built it into a top team in a nation infatuated with the sport. (He sold the team in 2013 to a Pakistani American businessman.) A heavy contributor to the Conservative Party, he nurtured relationships with members of Parliament and Prime Ministers Margaret Thatcher and John Major.

In 1979, the Fayed brothers bought the fading Ritz Hotel in Paris for under $30 million and, with a 10-year, $250 million renovation, turned it into one of the world’s most luxurious hotels. Princess Diana and Dodi Fayed dined in the Imperial Suite before their fatal crash.

In 1984-85, in their greatest commercial coup in Britain, the Fayeds paid $840 million for the House of Fraser, the parent company of Harrods and scores of other stores, and invested $300 million more to refurbish the chain’s flagship, in London’s exclusive Knightsbridge section.

After the sale of Harrods to Qatar in 2010 Mr Al Fayed stayed on as honorary chairman for six months

Mohamed Al Fayed in the Harrods food halls. Photograph: Mark Richards/Daily Mail/Shutterstock

Prodded by a business rival, the government investigated the Harrods deal and in 1990 concluded that the Fayed brothers had “dishonestly misrepresented” themselves as descendants of an old landowning and shipbuilding family. The government report said the money for Harrods had probably come from the Sultan of Brunei. The sultan denied it, and Mr. Fayed, who was not accused of wrongdoing, called the report a smear.

In investigative reports by the press and the police, Mr. Fayed was accused by many women of unwanted sexual advances, job-related sexual harassment of female employees at Harrods, and even sexual assault involving teenage girls. He denied the allegations and, although he was questioned by the authorities in Britain, he was never prosecuted on such charges.

Mr. Fayed was bitter about being stymied in his quest for British citizenship, although all his children by his second wife held that status. As he noted, he had lived in Britain for decades, paid millions in taxes, employed thousands of people and, through his enterprises, contributed mightily to the economy.

Mohamed Al Fayed leaves the High Court in London, after giving evidence at the inquest into the death of his son, Dodi, and Diana, Princess of Wales. Photograph: Lewis Whyld/PA

“They could not accept that an Egyptian could own Harrods, so they threw mud at me,” he told reporters. He sold Harrods in 2010 to Qatar Holding, the sovereign wealth fund of the Emirate of Qatar, for more than $2 billion, and announced his retirement.

— Robert D. McFadden is a Senior Writer on the Obituaries Desk and the Winner of the 1996 Pulitzer Prize for spot news reporting. He joined The New York Times in May 1961 and is also the Co-Author of Two Books.

[bankingusa]

Fed bars former Santander Consumer executive over high-priced gifts

The Federal Reserve has banned a former Santander Consumer USA executive from the banking industry for improperly accepting high-priced gifts such as Super Bowl tickets and luxury hotel stays.

The former executive, Brent Huisman, “routinely solicited and accepted” gifts from auto auction companies that worked with Santander Consumer, the Fed said in an enforcement action made public Thursday. Huisman consented to the issuance of the order.

Huisman previously reached a settlement over the issue with Santander Consumer, which had sued him for accepting the gifts and for the misuse of confidential information. He had also agreed to pay $275,000 to Santander Consumer, the subprime U.S. auto lending affiliate of the Spanish banking giant Banco Santander.

Huisman accepted more than $1 million in gifts from auto auction companies, including Kentucky Derby tickets, first-class airfare and sponsorships for youth sports teams he coached, Dallas-based Santander Consumer said in its lawsuit.

Santander Consumer also alleged that Huisman and his wife used credit cards from an auction house that worked with Santander Consumer. The two used the cards to pay for sporting goods, airline tickets and a yacht rental in Cancun, the lawsuit said. The company said that it learned of the gifts after Huisman’s departure.

As the company’s senior director of asset remarketing, Huisman worked with auto auction companies to sell repossessed vehicles or cars that came off leasing arrangements.

He left Santander Consumer in June 2019, two months after asking staff to print confidential spreadsheets and presentations that contained company sales data and its fees with several vendors, the lawsuit said. He would later use those documents at an unnamed Santander Consumer competitor, according to the lawsuit.

The lawsuit said that Huisman’s conduct disrupted Santander Consumer’s business and harmed the company’s reputation and relationships with current and potential business partners.

Huisman’s lawyer did not respond to a request for comment. Santander Consumer declined to comment.

The Fed’s enforcement action prohibits Huisman from working for a bank without the central bank’s prior approval. Violations would open him up to further civil or criminal penalties.

[escapecruisers]

Rent Yacht in Dubai Marina: The Pinnacle of Luxury

Dubai Marina, the world's most iconic and dynamic waterfront, is an experience not to be forgotten for residents and visitors alike. Amongst the numerous luxury experiences Dubai is famous for, there is perhaps no experience more exhilarating than to rent yacht in dubai marina. Whether you’re seeking an intimate celebration or a grand social gathering, a yacht rental in this stunning location offers unparalleled views, exceptional service, and the chance to indulge in a world of luxury.

Why Choose Dubai Marina for Your Yacht Rental?

Dubai Marina is a prestigious area known for its lavish lifestyle, stunning architecture, and panoramic views of the Arabian Gulf. The Marina is home to some of the most luxurious yachts in the world, making it a sought-after destination for yacht lovers. Renting a yacht here isn’t just about the boat itself – it’s about the experience of cruising through crystal-clear waters, surrounded by some of Dubai’s most impressive landmarks, such as the Palm Jumeirah, the Burj Al Arab, and the Atlantis hotel.

When you rent a yacht at Dubai Marina, you are not just going for a boat ride – you are experiencing a unique and classy environment that is quintessentially the high life. Whether you are celebrating a milestone or simply treating yourself to the city's unparalled luxury, a yacht rental at the destination means an opulent experience of relaxation and delight.

The Types of Yachts Offered at Dubai Marina

One of the various benefits of leasing a yacht in Dubai Marina is the availability of various options. Ranging from contemporary, fashionable yachts to classic ones, you can find a boat that suits your choice and need. Among the commonly recognized types of yachts for lease are:

Luxury Motor Yachts: Luxury motor yachts are perfect for those who want the ultimate in comfort and style. With spacious lounges, gourmet kitchens, and luxurious bedrooms, motor yachts offer the perfect mix of luxury and performance.

Sailing Yachts: For that old-world charm, sailing yachts are the way to go. These yachts offer a slower pace, allowing you to soak up the breathtaking views and wallow in the serenity of the sea.

Catamarans: Catamarans are stable and roomy. They are ideal for large groups of people or families that desire a smooth and enjoyable cruise.

Super Yachts: For the epitome of luxury, rent a super yacht. With multiple decks, staff, and plenty of high-end amenities, a super yacht is an experience to be had only once in a lifetime.

Best Time to Charter a Yacht in Dubai Marina

Dubai Marina offers very good weather during the year, but the winter season from November to April is the best time to rent a yacht. The warm breeze, clear skies, and pleasant temperature offer the best climate for a yacht tour. You can have a sunset cruise, where the Dubai Marina horizon transforms into a stunning view of twinkling lights and luxury buildings.

But if you are going there during the summer months (May to September), there are air-conditioned cabins offered by most yacht rentals so that you will not get hot but can appreciate the lovely view of the coast.

Things to Consider When Renting a Yacht in Dubai Marina

Yacht rental is an exciting experience, but it's always best to keep a few key things in mind so that your experience can be hassle-free:

Budget: Yacht rentals can be expensive, so it's best to know your budget in advance. Prices vary based on the size of the yacht, the length of the rental, and the services provided.

Crew: Depending on the kind of yacht you choose, you might need the services of a professional crew to operate the yacht. Luxury yachts usually come with a captain and a crew to take care of all the arrangements, ranging from piloting to serving food and drinks.

Duration of the Rental: Yacht rentals typically offer packages that span from hours to an entire day. Choose the duration based on your event or preference. A sunset cruise for a few hours might be enough for a romantic night, but a full-day rental is best for a corporate function or a big family party.

Amenities: Different yachts offer different amenities. Be sure to ask for amenities like catering, water sports equipment, or entertainment facilities to ensure the yacht suits your needs.

Events: Most people rent yachts to host events such as weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, or business events. Be sure the yacht rental company can provide the necessary services, such as catering, music, or even a photographer, to make your event special.

Conclusion

If you planning to rent yacht in dubai marina, it is more than just a luxurious activity – it’s a chance to experience Dubai from a unique perspective. Whether you’re looking for a relaxing escape or a memorable celebration, Dubai Marina offers the perfect backdrop for your yacht rental experience. With stunning views, impeccable service, and a wide range of yacht options, your time spent cruising the waters will undoubtedly be one of the highlights of your Dubai trip.

Escape Cruisers is your guide to building the ultimate yacht rental experience. Whether you want romantic escapes or regal celebrations, our tailored services guarantee that your day on the water is nothing short of extraordinary. Contact us today and book your dream yacht!

[rushikesh-d]

Electric Boat Market Size, Analyzing Trends and Projected Outlook for 2025-2032

Fortune Business Insights released the Global Electric Boat Market Trends Study, a comprehensive analysis of the market that spans more than 150+ pages and describes the product and industry scope as well as the market prognosis and status for 2025-2032. The marketization process is being accelerated by the market study's segmentation by important regions. The market is currently expanding its reach.

The Electric Boat Market is experiencing robust growth driven by the expanding globally. The Electric Boat Market is poised for substantial growth as manufacturers across various industries embrace automation to enhance productivity, quality, and agility in their production processes. Electric Boat Market leverage robotics, machine vision, and advanced control technologies to streamline assembly tasks, reduce labor costs, and minimize errors. With increasing demand for customized products, shorter product lifecycles, and labor shortages, there is a growing need for flexible and scalable automation solutions. As technology advances and automation becomes more accessible, the adoption of automated assembly systems is expected to accelerate, driving market growth and innovation in manufacturing. Electric Boat Market Size, Share & Industry Analysis, By Boat Type (Pure Electric, Hybrid), By Battery Type (Nickel-Based, Lead Acid, Lithium-Ion), By Application Type (Passenger, Cargo, Other) and Regional Forecast 2021-2028

Get Sample PDF Report: https://www.fortunebusinessinsights.com/enquiry/request-sample-pdf/103647

Dominating Region:

North America

Fastest-Growing Region:

Asia-Pacific

Major Electric Boat Market Manufacturers covered in the market report include:

Major players operating in the global electric boat market include Frauscher Sensortechnik GmbH, Canadian electric boats. Co, Ruban Bleu, Echandia, Symphony Boat Company, GardaSolar s.r.l., Duffy Electric Boat Company, aquawatt, NavAlt Boats, Soel Yachts B.V., RAND, Torqeedo GmbH, LTSMARINE, and Lear Baylor, Inc., among others.

The electric boat are not only used for recreational and fishing activities but also for various purposes such as patrolling of seas, monitoring criminal activities like smuggling, and to carry out rescue operations efficiently. Furthermore, the growing tourism activities, increasing trend of boat leasing and boat transportation are also creating demand for electric boats across the globe. All these factors are expected to show a tremendous growth in the electric boat market.

Geographically, the detailed analysis of consumption, revenue, market share, and growth rate of the following regions:

The Middle East and Africa (South Africa, Saudi Arabia, UAE, Israel, Egypt, etc.)

North America (United States, Mexico & Canada)

South America (Brazil, Venezuela, Argentina, Ecuador, Peru, Colombia, etc.)

Europe (Turkey, Spain, Turkey, Netherlands Denmark, Belgium, Switzerland, Germany, Russia UK, Italy, France, etc.)

Asia-Pacific (Taiwan, Hong Kong, Singapore, Vietnam, China, Malaysia, Japan, Philippines, Korea, Thailand, India, Indonesia, and Australia).

Electric Boat Market Research Objectives:

- Focuses on the key manufacturers, to define, pronounce and examine the value, sales volume, market share, market competition landscape, SWOT analysis, and development plans in the next few years.

- To share comprehensive information about the key factors influencing the growth of the market (opportunities, drivers, growth potential, industry-specific challenges and risks).

- To analyze the with respect to individual future prospects, growth trends and their involvement to the total market.

- To analyze reasonable developments such as agreements, expansions new product launches, and acquisitions in the market.

- To deliberately profile the key players and systematically examine their growth strategies.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs):

► What is the current market scenario?

► What was the historical demand scenario, and forecast outlook from 2025 to 2032?

► What are the key market dynamics influencing growth in the Global Electric Boat Market?

► Who are the prominent players in the Global Electric Boat Market?

► What is the consumer perspective in the Global Electric Boat Market?

► What are the key demand-side and supply-side trends in the Global Electric Boat Market?

► What are the largest and the fastest-growing geographies?

► Which segment dominated and which segment is expected to grow fastest?

► What was the COVID-19 impact on the Global Electric Boat Market?

FIVE FORCES & PESTLE ANALYSIS:

In order to better understand market conditions five forces analysis is conducted that includes the Bargaining power of buyers, Bargaining power of suppliers, Threat of new entrants, Threat of substitutes, and Threat of rivalry.

Political (Political policy and stability as well as trade, fiscal, and taxation policies)

Economical (Interest rates, employment or unemployment rates, raw material costs, and foreign exchange rates)

Social (Changing family demographics, education levels, cultural trends, attitude changes, and changes in lifestyles)

Technological (Changes in digital or mobile technology, automation, research, and development)

Legal (Employment legislation, consumer law, health, and safety, international as well as trade regulation and restrictions)

Environmental (Climate, recycling procedures, carbon footprint, waste disposal, and sustainability)

Points Covered in Table of Content of Global Electric Boat Market:

Chapter 01 - Electric Boat Market for Automotive Executive Summary

Chapter 02 - Market Overview

Chapter 03 - Key Success Factors

Chapter 04 - Global Electric Boat Market - Pricing Analysis

Chapter 05 - Global Electric Boat Market Background or History

Chapter 06 - Global Electric Boat Market Segmentation (e.g. Type, Application)

Chapter 07 - Key and Emerging Countries Analysis Worldwide Electric Boat Market.

Chapter 08 - Global Electric Boat Market Structure & worth Analysis

Chapter 09 - Global Electric Boat Market Competitive Analysis & Challenges

Chapter 10 - Assumptions and Acronyms

Chapter 11 - Electric Boat Market Research Methodology

About Us:

Fortune Business Insights™ delivers accurate data and innovative corporate analysis, helping organizations of all sizes make appropriate decisions. We tailor novel solutions for our clients, assisting them to address various challenges distinct to their businesses. Our aim is to empower them with holistic market intelligence, providing a granular overview of the market they are operating in.

Contact Us:

Fortune Business Insights™ Pvt. Ltd.

US:+18339092966

UK: +448085020280

APAC: +91 744 740 1245

[tryan-a-bex]

Oops time to buy another building and set up a lease to own co-op for it, you think.

You didn’t realize at the time, but the button was a test. The first year, you got your own life in order and helped out your family. After that you went nuts wrecking the real estate economy by undercutting all the other landlords. Not only was your rent a tenth of usual (costs of maintaining the building, basically a strata fee), but it was a rent-to-own sitch where the people who paid in could get their “equity” back out of the building when they left.

For you it was fun seeing random strangers thrive instead of struggling. (Also kinda fun seeing predatory landlords cry instead of partying in their yachts.) It wasn’t until ten years later, when society in general was starting to change because of your influence, that the owner of the button showed up again.

“It was a test,” they say.

“Ah,” you say, not completely surprised. “Did I pass?”

“We were impressed with your creativity. Here’s how we score. At 0, you use the money to directly cause harm. At 1, you use the money to benefit yourself and cause only the normal level of harm. At 2, you use the money to benefit yourself and your friends and family. At 3, you use the money for yourself and your loved ones and are also conscious to do so in a way that causes less harm, and you share some with strangers. At 4, you take care of yourself and loved ones and also materially improve the world for many many people in a way that causes as little harm as possible. At 5, you change the world in such a way that people in general start to follow your example and the whole species is improved.”

“Species?” you say faintly.

“Well yes. We were planning to bulldoze your planet to create an intergalactic superhighway. But you managed to improve your species enough that maybe we won’t just rescue the dolphins, we’ll make a little detour around you. See what happens for a few more years.”

“Thank you?” you say weakly.

“Oh yeah, and you get to stay around to see what happens. Catch you later!” The button guy disappears and you are left with your entire worldview shaken (and, apparently, immortality).

Anyway it’s been a quarter century since all that, and you turn to your best friend (who is incidentally from Alpha Centauri and thinks humans are neat), and say, “You wanna design this one? I like your art style and I think you’ve got the housing needs of humans down now.”

“Wahoo!” they say, rubbing their hands gleefully.

On the day of your 18th birthday, you pressed a button that gives you $10,000 for every day left in your life. You just checked your bank account: $1,000,000,043.

[olderjodijournals]

Saturday, September 2, 2006

Today went really well with the racing. It hit 7 out of 15 races, but he didn’t bet any money on them because he’s still testing it. He wants to do 50 test races before he starts shelling out money on it. He said, however, that if he’d bet conservatively, like a couple of bucks a race, it would’ve won $30. Had he bet aggressively at around $6 - $12 a race, it would’ve won $200! We still don’t know if it’s going to make 1, 2 or 3 hundred a day. Naturally, we hope for 3, but 1 would still get us out of the mainstream and into a nice place as that’d be 3 G’s a month. We just may not be able to buy a yacht to live on part-time. I think it will be more like 2 or 3 hundred a day. I hope so! And who knows? There may even be some 5 or 10 grand wins mixed in along the way. After a few years of spending money like crazy to set up house, the money should start coming in faster than we can spend it. That’s when we could maybe get a boat of some kind.

As I told Tom, I don’t want to give 30-day notice cuz I don’t want to have to be available to host any games of Show & Tell. We don’t even have to let them know when we’re gone. We can just leave the keys and go. They’ll find out in a week + 72 hrs.

Tom saw that our old duplex was for rent again when he was paying rent. Apparently, the people after us got a year’s lease and then got the hell out as soon as it was up. Gee, I wonder why?

The truck came and went twice a couple of nights ago. I wonder if they’re moving. I couldn’t see if they hauled anything in, but they left with a bunch of boxes in back. I hope they’re not gearing up for a huge Labor Day party, though Tom could always close his door if they get loud, and I’ll be sleeping through most of it. I hope! Well, it’s just past 10:30 now, so now maybe things will settle down for the night and we can quit with the distractions I can’t drown out with background noise.

I got a new exercise ball since Miss Perfect’s got all stretched out and would slowly leak air. This one’s a pretty shade of pink, rather than the dark blue the other one was.

Monday, September 4, 2006

Tom had a bad racing day yesterday due to a programming error he made. At least he found it and fixed it, so hopefully today will be better.

The memories of my parents, siblings, aunts and uncles still haunt me, but true happiness comes in knowing I never ever have to see them or speak to them again. To me, reuniting with them would be like being friends with the freeloaders that made 7 years of my life pure hell. It’d be like – no way! It seems Philip is the only good one I can remember. Even so, I wish we could delete selected memories as easily as we can delete files on our computers. They’d be the first to go!

Later…

You can tell it was a holiday today. It’s after 10:00 yet I still hear stereos blaring by every few minutes, people screaming, etc.

Until and if they come out with a magic pill that’s legal, I’m just about out of the 120s for good. I may have a few spells where I dip down under 130 once my period starts and this water comes off, but I should gradually climb from there on out on the 1500-2000 calories I’ve been having. I just hope I only gain closer to 20 more pounds and not 50 or even 100!

Today wasn’t a stellar racing day, but not a bad one either. Had he bet small he’d have won about $40. Betting big would’ve won about $90. He still feels it’s ready to bet for real now, and now that he’s going to work an hour later due to the animals returning to school, he may make bets before work each morning and take it from there. If our lives have revolved around other people’s kids as much as it has, imagine how it would’ve been had we had our own. I still have zero regrets about not having any. I’m only sorry, as I’ve said before, that Tom and God had to play with my head for all those years and jerk my emotions around so cruelly. God, I’m sure, knew damn well what He was doing, but I don’t think Tom had any idea of just how hurt, frustrated and angry I was. I don’t think any man or fertile woman could possibly know!

Thursday, September 7, 2006

After using the Hoodia for a while now, I guess I can say they do help a little. They do a better job of filling me up faster than they do of delaying the hunger between meals and snacks.

I’ve been on nights lately and I wish I could stay that way till we move. Nighttime is the only time it’s peaceful. The dog can be drowned out, but there’s no drowning out the ungodly hammering of the bass and drums.

Friday, September 8, 2006

I had a strange thing happen to me. Well, I knew my period would be a couple of days early because of how sore my boobs got. Yet when it started, it stopped completely just a few hours later! It’s never done that before. I’m still all bloated and my boobs are still slightly sore. I’m not going to get any more Hoodia pills in case there’s a connection, and because they don’t help much. Damn them for making Claritin a prescription drug! Oh well. It’s just my time to join my fellow middle-agers in being at least 50 pounds overweight, so I guess I’m forever through with the 120s. It used to be I’d take it easy for a week or so and lose a few pounds, but not anymore! The scale won’t budge. I knew there’d eventually come a time when I’d hit 130 and couldn’t come back down.

We’d be ahead $300 on the 20 test races he’s done with his latest adjustment. Well, he plans to ultimately do 20 races a day, so that’ll be $300 a day if things keep working out! He’s going to start betting aggressively on the 16th.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

The good news is that the handicapping is going really well. He’s now at the point where he could easily make what he makes at work in a week or more and is hopeful of being able to quit his job around the first of the year. It takes time to get to the point where it’s making enough money that it only needs a couple of hours of work a day, and in order to do that he’d need more time. Because he’s been there for over two years now, he’s eligible for two weeks of vacation. He still won’t actually bet aggressively till the 16th, but he’s able to tell without betting seriously just what he would’ve profited if he had. For now, he has to manually input the information on each horse and each track, but eventually, he can download the info and save himself tons of time. This info costs money, though, and so he doesn’t want to pay for it till he starts generating good money.

The bad news is that we may be going from noisy to very noisy just like we did at the duplex when summer hit, along with the fat bitch and her dog. Yeah, had Tom known better when he was paying the rent, he could’ve asked Pam, “So what are you going to send to run us out of this place?”

To back up a bit, Tom and I rode to Fred’s yesterday and ate at Carl’s Jr. before doing our shopping, as we normally do. This was when I informed him I had a couple of disturbing neighborhood reports to fill him in on. First I told him that the house diagonally across from us got a puppy, though amazingly, they do take it indoors. He’s already seen the thing, he said. I knew that yard would get dogged sooner or later, as I told him. I figure that once it’s a little older they’ll start leaving it out all the time. He says he doubts they’d do that before winter. Well, no dog’s been as annoying as the canal dog as of yet, and I sure hope it stays that way since no one will shoot the fucking thing any more than they’ll ban these fucking stereos!

Then I let Tom know that I saw a Century 21 SUV pick Kim up at around 1:00 on Friday and that I was afraid she was moving for real this time. I thought that maybe that’s why she rented such a cheap little dump; so she could save for a house. Or perhaps she won or inherited some money. But then he told me he’s seen that vehicle there nearly every day lately and that he thinks it’s just a friend.

Coming to visit in the middle of the afternoon on a workday? And every day? Hmmm… that’s some friend. Especially when you consider the fact that most folks with jobs don’t like to hang with those who are jobless, no matter what the reason may be.

But then come 2 PM yesterday, what I always figured would happen (I just didn’t think it’d take so long) came to pass. A pickup came and started hauling shit out. It only made two quick trips, but how much stuff can you have to move from a 200-300-square-foot place as opposed to a 1000-square-foot duplex?

When I got up at midnight I was surprised to see her car here. She left for 15 minutes at 2:30. She’s too fat to be a druggie, yet this thing never sleeps! She’s been coming and going at all kinds of hours during both the day and night that I just can’t figure out when she sleeps. Whenever the hell that is, it obviously isn’t for long at a time, unless like with Tina, she’s got a twin living there with her!

Anyway, I guess she’ll be completely moved out by today unless she’s going to take her sweet time until the 1st like Beverly did. If she’s all paid up till then, then she’s got no hurry. I’m sure management already has someone lined up and ready to move in too, by the 1st or sooner, and of course that’s got me wondering if Kim was just a fluke and if the Tom-and-Jodi-must-have-loud-rude-obnoxious-neighbors curse will once again be in effect until we can buy our way out of civilization for what will hopefully be the last time. One good neighbor isn’t enough to convince me the bad neighbor streak that ran from 1992-2005 is off for good. I’d need 2-3 good ones in a row, but hopefully we won’t have to deal with that many turnovers before we can live alone. Alone. Not in someone else’s yard or driveway, or with their dogs, kids, etc. The folks on the other side of us don’t exactly count due to the distance and layout of the place, but yes, they’d be a nightmare at just a few feet away and especially if they were attached to us because there are so many of them. We saw the older couple with the toddler on the deck coming back from shopping yesterday, but if the dog was there, one of the two cars that were present was blocking it from view.

Another thing that’ll suck once the new renter arrives is that they’ll be coming up to the house for their mail unless they too, have a PO Box somewhere.

We’ve got enough money to be able to split as soon as they get too obnoxious for us and they wake me up regularly, so it’s nice to know we won’t have to suffer with them for 4 months like we did with the bitch and her beast. I mean, when you consider the kinds of people that’d be likely to rent a place like that, most of them just ain’t good! okay, so it’s great that they can’t have dogs, can’t have a lot of people living there, can’t have TVs drive us crazy, but they can have stereos and friends with stereos. Even if they don’t have a stereo, all it takes is one visitor that does, and you know everyone has company 3-4 times a week but us. I also know that the person will be on welfare or disability and home way too much of the time.

I wish we could run them out for a change instead of it being the other way around, as I’d really like to stay put till we can get out of state, but I know better so Tom’s going to start getting The Nickel. I just can’t believe we’ll get two tolerable neighbors in a row. If we do, there’s yet another reason never to live without Lucky Bamboos and horseshoes.

Fred had a really good deal on their fragrances; a buy-one-get-one-free deal. I got a Mary Kate and Ashley duo set, plus Island Gardenia that’s absolutely gorgeous.

I also got a 6” Barbie miniature done up as Rapunzel like the regular-sized one I’ve got. The gown is almost an exact duplicate and the hair’s past her feet. It’s so cute.

Been winning DVDs, T-shirts, a large dry-erase board and a coupon for a pie. I just don’t know if they carry this brand in any of the stores around here.

Monday, September 11, 2006

It’s to be in the 70s for the next few days which is amazing for mid-October in a cold climate. It sure saves us money too, since I haven’t had to run the heat during the daytime.

The guy with the wakeboard called and left a message yesterday wondering why he hadn’t received my affidavit yet. Tom called and let him know that in a small town such as this, we had trouble finding a notary, but that it’s on its way. I just checked and it’s out for delivery down in Irvine.

We got a new carrier that seems nice. The other guy switched routes, he told me. He had been on two weeks of vacation himself, so I guess that’s why the mail would be late at times.

Kim surprised me by not having any company yesterday. She’s been home all day and hopefully, she can go another day without it.

Meanwhile, I’m still thinking about how fat, old and ugly I am, and how young, beautiful and straight that gorgeous cashier is.

Just when I was also thinking it a bummer that I only had one win so far this month, I get an email telling me I won a custom book of photo stamps from Fuji.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

I guess Kim isn’t moving, after all, thank God. Damn that bitch for always making me think she is! I guess she was just getting rid of something big. Maybe she got a new bed or couch or something like that.

The cute little cactus plant Tom got me died. I just can’t seem to grow anything! All that’s left are the ponytail palm and the bamboo.

My 4 Barbies came yesterday and are gorgeous.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Kim left with Miss Century 21 in the late afternoon yesterday and didn’t return till 8:00. Century 21 then visited for a half hour or so, then took off. This is one hell of a dedicated friend if that’s what she is, and somehow I doubt it. No friend would ever be that devoted, and neither would any real estate agent trying to sell someone a house. I think she’s either a visitor from elsewhere who’s using her company vehicle or a lover. I haven’t seen the guy who appeared to be her boyfriend for months, and what’s to say she doesn’t swing both ways? She could get women easily looking the way she does. Women love fat frumps. She’s nothing most men would want as easy as most of them are. I hope it isn’t a lover, though, figuring that anyone she knows is going to have a nicer, bigger place. Well, if she’s in tight with this chick, the chick could try to convince her to move in with her, though a real estate agent and a disability seem like an odd match. Anyway, no matter who this person is, I wish she’d stop coming around every day (God knows how her visitors can stand the smell of her place). That’s all the more car doors I have to listen to, and this one parks right outside my bedroom window. Still can’t say for sure whether she’s moving or not, but we have no control over it either way. I just hope we really are out of here no later than June!

Thursday, September 14, 2006

And the rich continue to get richer! Tom found $46 on his way to work, and I got notice that I won the daily $50 cash prize at iSwag. I’m sure it’ll take me forever to receive the check and that I’ll have to play the document game first, though.

It’s only to be 62º today, and there’s a good chance we won’t need the AC anymore this year and that we’ll be firing up the heater real soon.

My mystery package is coming today via UPS, but I don’t know what’s in it. At 1.7 pounds it’s probably just some stupid book or DVD. All I got was a shipping notice and tracking number, nothing else.

When Tom gets out of work in 4 hours, we’re going to treat ourselves with the money he found and get something special at the grocery store and maybe even get me some Chinese to go. He emailed me and told me to decide what I want and that we could get pizza, but the place might be a little crowded. I emailed him back and suggested the store, as we originally planned, and then the Chinese.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

I have been too tired to write due to all the excitement of my latest wonderful and very big win! Best one of all. Something I’ve always wanted to do – go on a cruise! Yes, I won a cruise!!!

Late in the afternoon on the 14th, we fired up the heater now that summer’s checked out. Just when I was getting bummed over the thought of it being cold till mid-June (with the exception of the fact that the bugs are virtually gone now) I got the news. It’s been in the 50s-60s. We’re to have a couple of days in the 70s, but that’s pretty much it for the year. We’re done with the 80s for the year, that’s for sure. So anyway, it was a few hours later in the evening when I was settled in bed reading when Tom came and said I must’ve won something good because this number that’d been trying to call all day finally left a message with a callback number. When he mentioned something about a blues festival, I thought maybe I won a trip to Louisiana or something. I’m no blues or jazz fan as opposed to Tom, but I know that area is big on that stuff. Yet when I called back and spoke to a woman named Nancy, she said I was the grand prize winner for a cruise for two valued at $4,999 aboard Holland America’s MS Westerdam!!! First place got a $1,500 river cruise, and the many runners-up got CDs. The ship sets sail from Ft. Lauderdale, Florida on Jan. 7th and has 3 ports of call before returning to Ft. Lauderdale on the 14th. Its first stop will be Nassau, Bahamas, then Ponce, Puerto Rico, then the Grand Turk Island, the smallest of the islands.

I’ve developed a knack for sensing surprise wins coming in the mail, but I sure as hell never sensed this one! This one gives me hope that yeah, I can win big. They got over 5,000 entries. Well, over 7,000 before they weeded the duplicates out, including one of mine. I’m surprised they don’t have it set up to automatically kick out the dupes, but as I told her, I enter tons of contests and it’s easy to lose track of what you’ve already entered. I’m surprised they didn’t get more entries. It must be because they didn’t include transportation to port because I’ve seen sweeps for sneakers get 12,000 entries.

I had to update my OLS profile which asks what the biggest prize I’ve won so far is. That had been the guitar till now. Hope I keep steadily moving up to the car, then the house, then the millions of dollars!

Nancy told me to call the next day and ask to speak to Regena, who would have more info for me as far as what we need to do. There are a few kinks to iron out first, though, and that’s that we’ll have to come up with the $400 or so for round-trip tickets to and from Florida. We also need to pay around $300 in port taxes, get some 2x2 passport photos taken, then apply for passports at the PO, thanks to the fucking Arabs who’ve caused us to really need to beef up homeland security and then some. They should be made to pay for all this shit if they’re going to terrorize us like they do. We’ll have to fill out and send in a citizen form as well and hope our Arizona IDs/driver’s licenses won’t hinder anything. I think we can work it out and that it’ll be well worth it. I wish we had the truck up and running to do all these errands, but not having it running will help hide the fact that we’ll be gone a week to 10 days.

I don’t trust leaving Tinkerbell in the hands of anyone else, so we’ll be getting her a roommate. I just hope they get along and the one I choose doesn’t turn out to be a biter like the one I bought with her last November turned out to be!

I don’t like the idea of virtual strangers having a key to this place while we’re gone, but hopefully they won’t need to come in here for any reason. If they do, there’ll be a note on the memo board saying: To Bill or AAA, If you have any reason to come in here (and it better be a good one), we’re on vacation and will return on the 14th. Meanwhile, if there’s been some mix-up over the rent, look at the receipt on the kitchen table. We did pay!

Speaking of paying, as Tom pointed out, if I were still in touch with the folks they’d probably pay for the airfare, but they’re not worth associating with for a few hundred bucks. Really, the thought of speaking with them or seeing them makes me sick! Some people really truly are unforgivable. If only they knew, though, that their crazy daughter was to be just 71 miles away, assuming they’re still in Palm City. And if only Mary knew I’d be just 103 miles away, though I’m done with her as far as I know.

All in all, we’ll want to come up with around $1,500 to cover all that’s not included, get new clothes and have money for souvenirs, gambling and fun stuff like that. She said the artists are bringing merchandise if one wants their picture taken with any of them, or to have something autographed. This Delbert McClinton is going to be the lead feature of entertainment with other artists we’ve never heard of. I won’t care for the music as much as I’ll care for the gambling, shopping, swimming, dining, and just plain old relaxation at sea! No stereos! No barking! And hopefully no wild kids! It’ll sure beat starving in dumpy motels!

She gave us our cabin number and we looked at the deck plans online. It’s a deluxe outside cabin. They have standard inside cabins for as low as $1,500. We’re on the upper promenade towards the stern and on the port side. Based on the description and the 360 virtual tour of our cabin, it looks like it’s third-best. The penthouse is obviously the best, but because it’s so high up, you wouldn’t have as good of an ocean view from there as ours will down on the upper promenade. It looks a lot like a hotel room, only you can see the ocean beyond our private verandah through the floor-to-ceiling window! It has the usual dull colors of greens, tans and browns, just a shower, and two lower beds that can be pushed together to form a queen-size bed. There is a little sitting area and a desk. It is one serious luxury cruise liner! This company has a fleet of 16 ships. This ocean liner will have 11 decks, 14 guest elevators, 24 public rooms, 1,848 guests and 800 crew members. The ship’s gross tonnage is 82,000, its length is 950’, its width is 106’ and it was built in 2004. It can go up to 22.5 knots, whatever that means. I emailed her and asked her how that compares to MPH.

I also asked if kids were allowed because contrary to what Nancy told me, the site lists rates for them, which sucks. If they allow animals on that’ll really spoil things big time, because you know we’d be next to someone with wild kids that can’t sit still or shut up for a minute, and well, I don’t want a vacation filled with screaming, running, door-slamming little monsters. We wouldn’t be able to get any peace at the pool or in most places, though the cabins in our area are only designed for two people, so that’s good. Still, I want to eat, shop and swim in peace. At least I could gamble in peace as I don’t see how they’d be allowed in the casino area. I figure, though, that no matter who’s in the neighboring cabins, they’re bound to be noisy enough, coming and going. We’ll be coming and going as well, only we’ll shut the door normally and not slam it. The walls are bound to be paper thin so as to lessen the weight, and so it’ll be noisy enough because that’s just our luck, especially with God knowing we’re not paying for most of it! But neighboring kids would be all the worse than neighboring adults, and we still have to come up with a good $1,500 or so for extras and that’s quite a bit. I just hope it’ll be worth it! Sure seems like it will be. Tom says not all the cruises allow kids just because some of them do, and pointed out that they’re supposed to be in school at that time of year. Well, I just hope that if there are any animals, there are not that many. I don’t see how there could be, as most people with animals couldn’t afford to go cruising. It’s certainly another reason to be glad we don’t have any of our own. First of all, I wouldn’t have the time to do these sweeps in the first place. Secondly, we’d never be able to come up with the money for the extras, and then where would the animals go while we were gone? I’m also glad he doesn’t make $8 an hour. That’d be another sure way to stop us from going, so I guess it’s meant to be. I can’t wait! There are 113 days to go, according to their site. The next 113 days are going to be boring because I’ve ceased all doll shopping, so it’s going to be a big old waiting game.

My only real concern is it severely delaying the handicapping from getting us out of here. Tom’s not going to be able to bet as aggressively as he originally planned to start doing today, so hopefully this won’t be a serious issue. He’s sort of compromising the way he’s going to be betting. Life is never what we plan it and things always take longer than expected anyway, so we’ll have to ask ourselves upon returning from the cruise, do we want to stay here, or try to find a bigger place around here that’s no noisier than this one if we can’t go quieter? So that’s my biggest concern right there. If I knew, for example, that it’d add a year to our Oregon sentence then I’d be really tempted to bail out of the cruise as much as I want to go, then wait till we’re settled somewhere with enough money to go on a cruise of our own choosing, which I guess would be from California to Hawaii. They just don’t have as many Pacific cruises, though, because there are not as many destinations to sail to from there.

Nancy had mentioned something about Dan Aykroyd and a radio interview, which had me confused at first because Dan Aykroyd’s an actor. Regena said she didn’t know anything about it and that he was one of the Blues Brothers. But Nancy’s going to set up a magazine interview which I’m not too eager about since I reckon it’d be a pain in the ass. She’s going to do it before the cruise, which seems weird. I would’ve thought that’d be afterward so we could tell all about the fun we had. As long as it’s no additional cost to us, we’ll just get it over with and go ahead and do it. She said she’s going to send the magazine with last year’s winner featured in it, and the quarterly newsletter, too. She also asked for both our full legal names, DOB & place of birth.

Now here’s the good news. I had been concerned about us being stranded on land without a place to go at each port of call till the ship took off again (I looked up these places on maps and satellite images), but she said not to worry cuz we don’t have to leave the ship when it’s docked. We’ll have an ID card which we’ll scan in each time we come and go. They’ll give us robes and towels to use on the beaches, too. I miss the beach sooo much!!! Sure I’d love to go snorkeling and scuba diving, which is extra, but if we have to wait till we’re rich to do things like that, fine. I’ll be happy enough to just bask on the warm sandy beach with palm trees and stare out at the ocean!

I was so excited that I tried to call Paula to tell her all about it, but the numbers I have for her were changed. Figures.

Tom thought it’d be cheaper to get to and from Florida by train, but it’s actually more expensive. I can’t say I’m sorry about that one because it’d add two weeks to the trip, and flying is way more fun! Since there’s no real airport here, I guess we’ll bus ourselves down to Reno, Nevada, gamble a little there, then fly to Ft. Lauderdale from there. I just wish Oregon wasn’t so damn far from Florida! We may just go to Sacramento instead. There’s no road going straight through from here to Reno because there were never enough people in this damn town to be worth spending the millions of dollars on roads to connect to there, so you have to go down to Sacramento anyway to get over to Reno. We may leave two days in advance, get a hotel in Sacramento, fly to Ft. Lauderdale and get a room there till we embark the next day. We just don’t want to be cutting it too close between each point of travel.

Fortunately for me, I won’t have to worry about keeping a schedule other than getting to and from Florida. We can get free room service 24/7. Coffee, water and ice tea are free, but soda isn’t which is strange. Soda is way cheaper than coffee. They don’t pay for alcohol, of course, but since we don’t drink, it doesn’t apply to us. She said they used to schedule people to set dining times at set tables, but since that didn’t work out, they just schedule set dining times. She asked if I wanted 5:30 or 7:30. I told her I didn’t think it’d matter. She said she personally prefers to eat early, so I said we’d go with that. She said we could gain 10 pounds on the cruise and I told her I love to eat so it’d be worth it. So this is why I don’t have to worry about a schedule. If I miss the dining time I can just get room service! She said if the early dining time doesn’t work out, just tell them and they’ll reschedule it, but I think it’ll be fine. She said there’s also the Lido deck we may want to go to instead which is similar to a food court in a mall. The casinos are like Vegas.

I told her I was almost certain we could make it and asked if there was a cash equivalent if something came up where we couldn’t, and let her know that I read that the Blues Festival guide would pay $500 to those who couldn’t make it. She said she didn’t know and would check into it. All she knew was that the trip could be transferred or bumped up a year.

It’s too bad I don’t love people and hate shopping. If I didn’t like shopping, having rats, blasting music and singing, we could live and work on a cruise ship somewhere! Or even on such tiny and secluded islands like the Grand Turk. Although they do have hurricanes, the weather there is even nicer than in California. Maybe we can still build a place in California, live there for a while, buy all we want, sell out, then build a place on some remote island. They’re not crowded despite how nice the weather is there because most people don’t like living so isolated.

The hard part will be leaving the beautiful sunny weather just to return to a tilted microscopic dump in the Arctic. I’ll just have to keep in mind that I’ll be coming back to the rat(s), my stereo, computer, and all my other stuff. I can then resume my shopping list, too.

Apparently, Kim’s behind on her car payments. The guy who drives this old gray pickup was there a couple of days ago. I put my ear to the wall as he was leaving and heard him say, “Well, maybe you can get them to take it back, ride the bus for a while, get a job, then see if you can pay off…”

This was all I heard, but maybe her being so broke will prompt her to stay put. I don’t know if losing her car will mean having more company, but she wouldn’t be going out at 2 AM, that’s for sure!

Monday, September 18, 2006

They’ve been trying to get the dog across the street used to life outdoors 24/7, but as people just don’t seem to get, it doesn’t work that way. The fucking thing’s barking its ass off. The guy came out and tried to calm it down and I wanted to grab the cock by the throat and say, “Hey, the dog’s not going to stop barking. It doesn’t want to live outdoors all the time on a 5’ leash.” Yet as often as I’ve been hearing it, they obviously won’t allow it indoors anymore. They have it leashed at the front corner just a few feet from the windows of the house next door. I’d feel bad for them if most people were as bothered by noise as I am and if they didn’t have a dog of their own. But theirs is older and doesn’t bark much. This thing’s gonna be like the canal dog or worse, a constant nuisance.

Regena replied back saying yes, there are a few kids, but they’ll be doing children’s activities and there shouldn’t be very many. She said very few attend the concerts. Yeah, they’ll be hanging where I want to be, particularly the pool, and given the time of year, they’ll be mostly preschoolers which are the most disruptive. I just hope none are in the cabins that’ll sandwich ours!

Also, 22.5 knots is about 25 MPH, she said. They try to go at a speed that won’t upset the concerts.

The stupid cock just tried again to calm the dog down to no avail. He saw me standing out front with my hand on my hip in a very annoyed pose, but again, if this was someone who cared about those around them, then it wouldn’t be just a few feet from the corner house. He was on a cell phone and spotted me when he hung up. I then called out, “The dog’s not going to stop barking.”

I couldn’t hear his reply, so who knows what he said? He just better hope it wasn’t a threat I didn’t hear or I’d have been over there in a heartbeat.

He’s back again. Obviously, he’s just as annoyed by it, so why doesn’t he take the fucking thing inside? I guess it’s just the way of the west. Either way, I’m just so sick of listening to people’s shit everywhere we go!

He may’ve got a complaint yesterday. I couldn’t hear anything, but a huge woman was standing outside the fence talking to him, then she headed around the corner. She may live in the corner house for all I know.

Well, I’ll be damned! The cock just took it inside! For more than 5 minutes, I hope. I also hope that when this idiot sees that when every attempt he makes at forcing the dog to live outside in peace fails, he gets fed up enough to get rid of it. No one will let their dogs live indoors. No one!

Another thing that sucks is that due to the cooler temps, I’m back to having to take painkillers nearly every day for my ear. It’ll be interesting to see how flying and then being so far south affects it. I’m still thinking there’s a very good chance it’s connected to the combination of being so elevated and the cold.

Anyway, the ship’s got an area with internet access. Good. I wouldn’t like missing 10 days of sweeps, so at least I can do some every few days or so and check the 1000 messages the email connected to that would get in 10 days.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

All day yesterday I never saw or heard the dog. I hoped that due to not being able to make it an outdoor dog the owner had gotten rid of it. No dog’s going to stay outdoors and not bark. But I did see/hear someone else playing with it for a few minutes today. Guess they’re going to let it be the indoor, part-of-the-family dog it wants to be which would certainly make me a lot happier so I don’t have to deal with it. I knew there’d be a dog over there sooner or later.

Friday, September 22, 2006

There hasn’t been much barking, but it’s been hell with the stereos for the last 7 hours. Although it’s getting late, you still can’t go 15 minutes without one booming by.

Not much in the way of wins other than the mystery package with 6 hand-blown shot glasses. Like I could ever have any use for those? I also won a men’s exercise book that I forfeited. I was shooting for the grand prize, but as is usually the case, you get a lot of piddly unwanted wins instead.

Due to having no running vehicle, I’m not looking forward to the many errands we have to do such as getting checks cashed, getting passport photos shot, going to the PO and applying for a passport, and God knows what else.

We ordered some lotion and shower gel from Kepa. It’s a little pricey, but certainly worth it. His enriched lotion really helps with my dry skin, and it’s fun picking the scents and having them custom-made. I got Ylang Ylang shower gel and lotions in Pink Sugar, Patchouli, Coco-Mango, Aloha, Vermont Maple Syrup, and Zen. I got Maple Syrup in a smaller 8-oz. bottle to take on the cruise with me!

Just when I thought we might be able to go 15 minutes for the first time since 3:00, some desperado just based by at 13 minutes since the last one. God, I wish I could see these mother-fuckers as I do the trains! I hear them, but they don’t bother me. They’re just sounds. Ah, but every sound is different and to say the pounding bass is nerve-grating is the understatement of the century!

Not much in the news other than the same old shit with the Arabs, and the same old childish shit with the silly celebs, including a rapper who bragged about getting fired from his job bagging groceries before getting his undue fame. Said he was better at stealing groceries than bagging them. Yeah, that’s your all-American whacko blacko for ya.

Saturday, September 23, 2006

They’re still keeping the beast across the street indoors, and fortunately for me, I rarely have to hear the thing. I told Tom I thought they took it inside because the barking bothered them and not because they were concerned it’d bother their neighbors. He said he thought they felt bad for it. Well, if that’s the case, then I wish more people would have more compassion for their pets.

We took the AC out, even though we’re to have days in the mid-70s coming up. It won’t last long.

Haven’t seen Miss Century 21, so maybe she was an out-of-towner.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Tom’s decided to go with the semi-aggressive betting method and hit 3 of 10 races today. He made $100 on one and ended up with a $50 profit. Hopefully, he’ll make enough to at least cover the trip’s expenses that are on us. In a week or so, after he’s had enough time to test this method out, we may sell some stuff on eBay. It’ll depend on how well it does.

Since stopping the Claritin and starting eating I climbed up to 131 pounds, but this little “daily stuffer” diet I devised has dropped me down to 128 pounds. I’d really, really like to go on the cruise at around 120, if God will let me have any say over my own damn body. That way I could eat all I want and know I’m not likely to return over 130-135. If I left at 130, then hell, I’ll be setting records coming back at 140 or higher! The most I’ve ever weighed is 137, and I’d still prefer not to break that record till I’m old. It’s so uncomfortable and so much harder to get around when I’m over 125. I gave up a long time ago on getting thin and staying that way, but if I could find an easier way to lose a few pounds here and there when I get carried away, that’d be great. Having 3-4 small meals/snacks per day didn’t do me any good because this didn’t allow me to get full while still keeping the calories down. It was like a smoker trying to get by on just a drag here and a drag there. It doesn’t work. At least not for me. Without looking forward to filling up at least once a day, I go batty. So I decided to wait as long as I could when I got up each day, then stuff myself till I was full. Then I’d let myself have a small end-of-the-day saver like a piece of fruit, a cup of soup, popcorn, or yogurt, to keep me from waking up hungry. My big meal is usually around 800 calories. Hungry Man makes these 1-pound TV dinners that are pretty good. Especially the fish and chips. I sometimes have other things too, for variety. All in all, I end up with roughly 1000 calories a day. I may have to drop it to 800 if I ever get back down to 123. There are 105 days left before we set sail, so we’ll see where I’m at then, although wherever I am is where I am. This diet isn’t easy, but it’s not impossible. I’m a little hungrier today, however, now that my weight’s dropping. Tea does a good job of flushing water off and relieving my sore tits. I don’t know if the weight I’ve lost is water or fat, but it all takes up space just the same so it doesn’t matter.

Monday, September 25, 2006

I’m having another half-assed period just two weeks after my last half-assed period. Either that Hoodia really messed me up or something else is going on. I find it hard to believe it’s menopause this young and I don’t have any other symptoms suggesting anything’s wrong, so who knows what’s going on? I just hope I’m not ragging or spotting on the cruise! Who wants to have to deal with that shit while on vacation?

I’m up a pound. I wonder how I managed that on just 1000 calories. Maybe it’s because I didn’t have tea last night. I’m not just fat, I’m watery.

A couple of animals broke one of the planks in the fence. The fucking things were only about 8 years old, so I don’t know how they managed it. By the time I got to the window when I heard the screaming, one of the animals was pointing to it saying that it broke. I stepped out and asked them what happened and they shyly said nothing. Then I told them not to fiddle with it anymore so it didn’t break more. They said ok and left. Hopefully, them seeing that they can’t do things without being seen will deter them from breaking any more shit cuz we sure as hell ain’t paying for it if management mentions it!

I later saw these two animals slip inside next door’s fence with a couple of older animals. I don’t know if they’re associated with next door or not. There’s a car parked just inside the gate, so I noticed when I went to fetch the mail. It hasn’t moved since. I don’t know if it’s a visitor or just a car they’re not planning to use much because there were only two cars in the driveway, so it’s not like it was too loaded with cars to park it there.

It’s never been this warm this late into the year since we’ve been here, but we’ve been having wonderful days in the upper 70s and the next 4 days are to be around 80º. It’s been saving us money since we haven’t had to run the heat much.

I saw a baby puppy across the street today for the first time, but Tom says that’s the only one he’s ever seen there. The one I’ve seen is a medium-sized dog. I saw that today too, but they’re not leaving them outside so that’s all I care about.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

We walked to the store both yesterday and today even though today I didn’t see the cashier I think is hot. She’s a little young, though. I’m guessing she’s in her 20s, very straight, yet very open-minded, so my vibes tell me. I once complimented her on her nice straight hair and she said she sometimes wished it were curly. I can’t remember if she’s the one who said she lived in Hawaii and that it was a nice place to visit, but not to live, or if it was some other cashier that said that. The last time I saw her I had been casually looking out the front window while she was standing with her arms crossed waiting for Tom to finish writing. Then I glanced at her and she smiled brightly as soon as I did. I smiled back and then she sort of gave me a quick once-over. She seemed to notice I cut my bangs back. She sort of reminds me of Melanie, the dental assistant I saw in Phoenix when wasting time and money getting braces. She’s a little shorter and a bit plump, yet still very attractive with dark eyes and hair. Her hair is nearly to her waist. I rarely see someone that good-looking that’s heavy, and she’s certainly heavier than I am. I can’t remember her name, but I’ve seen her several times before and she only recently jumped out at me as being someone I’ve got a crush on. It happens sometimes. You see someone several times, then one day you think, hey, this person is really good-looking, and it hits you rather suddenly. She’s always been really friendly and smiley. Wonder what she’d think if she knew what I thought of her? Well, she’ll never know and we’ll never do anything together even if she did know and the feeling was mutual. You know lust has always been a no-no outside of my imagination. There’s an older one who’s good-looking too, named Estella, who’s also got dark hair (I’m not sure of her eye color), but she’s not as good-looking as the younger one. I think that’s usually how it works – younger is better looking. I figure I’ll always find those in their 20s and 30s most attractive no matter how old I live to be.

My period turned out to be pretty normal. I just hope it doesn’t come back in two weeks! It’s weird because it’s like it’s finishing up where it left off two weeks ago. At least my boobs haven’t been left sore or I left watery like the last time, so I’d say I’m back on track.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

We lost 3 of the 5 races Tom was awake enough to stay up for when the results came in, and again I started wondering if he was simply kidding himself over this horse thing. He said that he still feels strongly that the potential is there, but that it’s important that I have a positive attitude to influence things to have a better outcome. This is when he stressed to me that from what he’s observed over our years together is that my so-called psychic gift isn’t making predictions so much as it’s influencing the outcome of things. My first instinct was to laugh, but the more I think about it, the more I think he may have a point when I think of all those I’ve made sick that have angered me in the past, amongst other things.

But what about me predicting when the well failed and the flat tires and things like that? I asked him, and he said he believes it was more of a case that I made those things happen rather than saw them coming, and didn’t understand why I couldn’t see this. I’ve always had a vibe that the well would fail on December 6th of this year and now I wonder if it isn’t really a prediction, but something I’m going to make happen that day. I should blow out the whole damn state if that’s the case! I miss some aspects of the desert, but not that state. I also wonder if my vibe of the queen giving up her reign when she’s 86, but probably 87, is really what I’m going to make sure she does at that time. If that’s the case, should I see if I can get her to turn in her crown earlier? Nah, I’ll let her live to be a burden to Miss Perfect and Dave a little longer. So both the users (his family) and the abusers (my family) can live longer and have more time to suffer!

He said it took him years to realize I was an influencer because it’s not that obvious. Well, I sure as hell didn’t realize it for a while there myself. Sometimes he knows me better than I know my own self. Anything else about me I should know? I asked him.

Maybe even Miss Perfect also knew I was an influencer before I did. Let’s just say if there was one more thing I could do with her it would be to go to the casino! When she first accused me of making her lose I was like, you blubbering fool! You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Then when Tom mentioned it I was like, oh no, you too? Everybody’s losing it, though I certainly dig the vote of confidence!

And he may have a point about me fucking us up without knowing it with my anger and sense of hopelessness. Remember how he’d get so many colds in Phoenix? Well, I always wrote those off to secondhand smoke and lack of vitamins, and perhaps that was truly a part of it, but maybe my being pissed at him for putting me on about wanting a kid was a factor as well. After all, his colds did seem to lessen the more my desire to have a kid lessened. I hope that fat tub of shit we lived with at the duplex is sicker than her dog!

I won’t change what I’ve written up till now, but I’ll try to work into my stories things I’d like to see happen if they go with the plot. If a trip to Hawaii doesn’t fit, then I’ll have to leave it out, but I don’t see why some folks can’t move to California! I really do seem to have a knack for jinxing things through writing, not just thinking.

I wonder if a person can influence another to desire them sexually or at least for a friend. I don’t know if I’d want to influence Tom to think I was young and skinny, though, cuz that just wouldn’t be real, you know? But the cashier would be a good one to test this on. She’s no Jane and she seems like a real sweetie. The kind you’d feel comfortable letting into your home. It wouldn’t be fun testing it on a woman I wasn’t attracted to and I sure as hell wouldn’t want to make other guys dig me. I’ll remember what he said about not trying to influence things with a specific goal in mind, though. When I threw in the cruise in Doe and Art’s letter, it wasn’t my sole purpose for writing. But it seems I jinxed it to happen, even if I told them the cruise was to Hawaii. So what this means is that I won’t plan to be email pals with the cashier or to get it on. I’ll just try to make her like me. Wouldn’t it be funny if this chick who I think is straight, although open-minded, was suddenly having these feelings of attraction to me that she just doesn’t get? What a hilarious idea! I may not know if it works, though. Remember, I may’ve known right away that Pérez liked me, but it took time with Teddy Bear and Palma. Yeah, I think I’ll try it anyway. I figure that if I can do this, maybe I can influence any future assholes to keep them from fucking us over.

I don’t know about doing outrageous things like making Tinkerbell live as long as we do, but I’ll try to keep the dolls, money and wins coming, and the dogs, spiders, stereos and extra weight away. I just gotta develop my skills at doing this. I’m not sure what to do, though. For the most part, it’s still like handing me a trumpet and saying, “Okay, play it.” Well, I’d have it in my hands, but I wouldn’t know how to play! Yet the more I think about it, the more I think he may have a point and the more curious I get about it. It gives me all kinds of new ideas. Funny, as I always used to consider myself a very non-persuasive person. If he’s right, though, then this is one hell of a gift! What would be the point of seeing things if you couldn’t change any of the bad things you saw, as opposed to being able to guide things in a more favorable direction?

I know I’m gonna try to mentally communicate with Tinkerbell while we’re gone to let her know I haven’t left her forever.

So these are the jobs I can work on:

Job 1: Influence sweeps. Job 2: Influence horses. Job 3: Influence Tinkerbell to live longer than usual. Job 4: Influence noisemakers like dogs and music. Job 5: Influence us to keep in good health, me to lose weight. Job 6: Influence the cashier to like me. Job 7: Continue to have “ill feelings” towards those who’ve fucked us over.

Later…

To prove Tom’s point about thoughts and attitudes influencing things, I was thinking how weird it was that we’ve never had to change the bathroom or bedroom bulbs since moving in here, and the bathroom just blew out.

Today I’ve been kind of bummed out. I’m trying to pick myself back up, but believe me, I don’t feel the least bit influential or hopeful today. I hope the way I feel right now won’t influence things in a bad way, but sometimes I just can’t help how I feel. I’m back to feeling stuck in a rut.

First I awoke to find myself up a pound after 900 calories the day before and just 800 the day before that. I’ve been bouncing back and forth between 128-129. So once again, that reminder that’s been jabbing it me saying that it’s my time to gain weight along with everyone else my age sort of set me in a bad mood. I hate having no control over my own body, and I hate knowing that it’s either starve and maybe stay the same weight, or eat a perfectly reasonable amount and gain indefinitely, but I still believe things happen for a reason and I’m sure it must be important for me to gain the weight now if my body’s fighting for it this bad. I was going to drop to 500 calories a day and see what happened since as Tom and I both agree, it’s impossible for anyone to drop that low and not lose, but then I said Nah, there’s no avoiding the inevitable forever. If I just get it over with I know I’ll be glad I did in the end despite how horrible I’ll look and feel. At least if I let my weight reach its middle-age max, then I won’t have to worry about it happening anymore and having to try to fight it.

Then I got even more bummed out because I didn’t go to the store with him and that cashier was there, according to him. However, he described her as skinny, even kind of anorexic, while I thought she was a bit plump. The rest of his description matches, though – 23-25 years old with straight, thin dark hair. I didn’t go because I had just gotten up when he was ready to go. He would’ve waited, but I was pretty hungry when I got up and have gotten frustrated with trying to lose weight, I wanted him to get me a box of brownies while I had my coffee and tried to wake up. I also figured that she wouldn’t be there because I wanted her to be, and you know how it usually works – it’s when you’re looking for something or someone that you don’t find it/them. If you’re on the road in search of a gas station, there isn’t one around for miles, but then they’re everywhere when you’re not looking for one. And you’ll never find that perfect dress for that special occasion until after the occasion. The same goes for those of us seeking out eye candy or lovers. Either way, I lost my confidence. I felt that if I couldn’t influence my own self, then how could I influence someone else, even if Tom feels that trying to get someone to like me is also being too specific and that I should just have an overall positive attitude in general to put out positive energy to make good things happen. He feels that my being happier upon moving in here is part of what helped influence his promotion and things like that. He’s got a point, but we also can’t influence fate. At least not for the most part. I don’t think my believing, for example, that all I’d get were those I wasn’t attracted to if I joined a dating service is what would make that happen, so much as that would simply be what would be fated to happen no matter what I thought or felt. If I were meant to be with someone I was attracted to to the degree I am with Kate or even this cashier, I really think it would’ve happened, be it for a one-night stand or more. It’s common sense that the cashier’s hopeless as far as me making the attraction mutual, no matter what my attitude is, simply because of the age difference. Being heavy isn’t an issue with women as it is for guys, but a 15-year age difference most certainly is. Besides, I really think she’s straight. She’s awfully feminine.

I asked myself this: despite the inevitable outcome, do I really need to start meeting other women? Is that what I really want? But I still feel that no, I don’t think I’d have much fun seeking out women. It’s easier to imagine what I want than to try to find it, especially if it can’t exist for me. Sure I’d be flattered if the cashier liked me too, and sure I’d be friends with her and even have casuals, but that’s just not going to happen, so all I can do is just look forward to whenever I can see her and enjoy those moments. Like I said, though, now that I want to see her, I expect it’ll be a long time before I do and that there’ll be a long line and she’ll be in a rush. Oh well. She may never have a place in my life, but she’ll have a place in one of my stories.

Of course there’s another question, too – is it really just being sick of Tom sexually despite my love for him that’s the problem, or am I simply burning out with age no matter who the person is or what they look like? I figure that there’s got to be all these diet programs and sexual aids for a reason and that if I don’t want side effects like the way the Hoodia screwed up my cycle, then I should just accept things as they are and roll with the punches, even if this means gaining a ton of weight and never having sex again in my life.

I think to myself, if I’ve got to have problems why can’t they be little ones, but then again, not having any control over my weight and never experiencing lust other than in my head and in my stories is a little problem, as opposed to vindictive freeloaders getting me thrown in jail, living with Doe, Art or Tammy, living in Brattleboro, Valleyhead, the NHA, etc. I guess it’s just that the ones that are the current problems seem the biggest of all.

The biggest thing that’s got me down is the nagging feeling that comes and goes, and right now has come, that Tom’s just kidding himself with the horseracing thing. He said that if he is, just let it run its course. I will, I told him, but the next time he gets some grand money-making idea, I don’t want to hear it! It just infuriates me that yet again God goes and teases us with money. Thanks, God, I needed that. We both did.

So now we’re back to square one. Where in the chaotic, but warm mainstream do we go? He still feels he could get a good job in Sacramento despite his age and that we could live in a rural place and still get the things we want without being at risk of losing the place as long as we don’t overextend ourselves as we did with Maricopa and then the mountain, but I don’t know about that. Again, why would I be stuck in the city for so much of my life if this wasn’t where I was meant to be? This is my place in life and on earth, like it or not, and believe me, I don’t like it, but sometimes it’s easier to bitch about something than to try to change it. I hate it but it’s easier here and it makes no sense to go through the struggles of getting a rural place whether or not we’re at risk of losing it when 6 years from now we’d be eligible for a retirement community. Of course, 6 years can be a long time when you live in a noisy environment, and the noisier it is, the longer those 6 years are. I hate the barking, the stereos, the car doors, the kids screaming, the stress of neighboring houses turning over, the problems most neighbors bring, but it’s all I’ve known for the last 20 years. As long as we don’t live next to a pack of freeloading psychos, we should be okay.

He said Sacramento has rapid transit. Just like New York has subways, they have trains they call light rail. Therefore, we could live far out and he could maybe take his bike to the train station, etc. He also said that because the climate is more temperate there and doesn’t get as hot as Arizona or as cold as here, the electric bills would be more stable, but I don’t know. It’s going to be a tough decision. Do we give up having money for shopping and other fun things to get a rural place? Or do we give up the chance to live in peace for the convenience and extra money city life would bring? He thinks we’ll have a choice, but again, I don’t know about that when most of our decisions seem to be made for us by circumstances, fate, God, whatever. First things first, though, and that’s to do what we need to do to go cruising, enjoy the cruise, then come back and start saving to get out of here in June, the month we agreed upon. If I have to sell things due to lack of money, I will. Then we’ll see if we have a say in where we go from there and try to decide what’s best if we do.

Wow, it’s almost 11:30 at night, almost October, and it’s 78º in here!

Oh, God, why’d you have to get our hopes up? And Tom’s hope is still up there, too. He still feels certain we can make a lot of money, own a quiet place outright, and that he’ll never again have to work for anyone else, and I hope to hell he’s right! It’s just that I’ve never been that wrong in such a big way whether I’m the cause of it or not. It would’ve been so wonderful to build our own place and not have to worry how far it was from his job because his job was at home! There’s no doubt about that one.

The way he explained to me why he felt making tons of money wouldn’t be a problem made perfect sense, and I know he knows his stuff when it comes to programming, handicapping and money, but then why do I feel so stuck in a rut?

And why can’t I get this cashier off my mind? I don’t have to have sex with her to be satisfied being the older person that I am. I could be just as happy to hang out with her from time to time as a friend. I know it seems foolish since beauty’s only skin deep, I’ll be gone soon enough, and she’ll be fat and ugly herself in 10-15 years, but I guess I’m only human.

Friday, September 29, 2006

Oh, my God, the penny! I was just laying in bed thinking – what in the world’s got me so down? There are worse problems than all the weight I’m going to gain. There are even worse things than being in the mainstream for 6 more years, and this is only if the worst of fate and circumstances keep us there. There are worse things than being attracted to a cashier that I no doubt don’t stand out to any more than a hole in the wall. So what is it? Then I remembered picking up a penny that was lying with the tails side up. I asked Tom if he’s ever heard of any side being particularly lucky or unlucky to find, and he said he had. I had a feeling the bad side was the tail side, and well, according to the research I just did, many people believe a penny found lying on its tail side should be ignored. If anyone knows not to laugh at what may seem like the silliest of superstitions, it’s us, and so I wonder, did picking this penny up on the wrong side cause any of this gloominess?

When I think of all the times I was furious with God for not punishing those who’ve wronged me, I think maybe He didn’t because he knew I could punish them instead. Then again, I don’t see how I could punish them to the degree that He could. I can’t set the black sickos up in return and have their lives turned upside down and make them suffer a loss of freedom and thousands of dollars.

Saturday, September 30, 2006

Another big grand prize win! Tom was waiting excitedly for me when I got up at 6 PM to show me the overnight letter. I won a platinum graphite wakeboard autographed by Andrew Adkison (we’ve never heard of him, but Tom looked him up), along with other things valued at $2,500!!! For a minute I thought it was a surfboard, but it’s actually a type of fancy waterskiing that they do on this one board. They do all kinds of flips and turns and things like that which regular waterskiing doesn’t usually include.

I asked Tom if he thought everyone wins like this or if he thought it was my psychically influencing it, and he said he definitely feels my being in a good mood over the cruise influenced it. What’s amazing is that I ran and checked the expiration date of this contest and found that it ended the day after I was notified about the cruise! And what perfect timing to learn of this win today with the 1st being right around the corner!

We’re going to get the forms notarized in the morning. Yup, another long day for me just like when I had to get the Bluefly win notarized. It’ll be worth it, though. We’re hoping to get around a grand for it, give or take a hundred or two, and this will more than cover our plane tickets and port taxes!

I’m certainly in a better mood today than yesterday. Even the racing went better with a few small wins.

That cashier is still on my mind, though. Hey hot stuff, wherever you are, whatever your name is. You aren’t in the arms of a guy right now, even though it’s the weekend and you are young. No, you’re somewhere dreaming of me, looking forward to the next time we meet at the check-out.

Yeah, right!

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The primary thing you want to consider while leasing a boat is your movement inclinations and accessible spending plan. Do you need a quick specialty or something that will cause you to see the value in a sluggish cruising voyage to enjoy the sea, breeze, and view? Various vessels have their own speed and cruising limit. Ensure that you have thorough information on these vessels and their highlights all in all.

How much would you say you will pay for your Phuket island escape? Extravagance yachts are the most costly in this bundle. There are additionally vessels with moderate or medium reach valuing while others are financial plan well disposed. You can change your spending plan or find the ideal vessel that will cause you to partake in your experience without burning through every last cent.

Enlist a Respectable Sanction Organization

The Web is where you can find various wellsprings of yacht sanction administrations with various organizations offering their exceptional bundle. Do a complete examination and pick the specialist co-op with a decent standing and trust rating among their clients. This will save you the concerns and bother while making exchanges for your journey.

The best boat contract Phuket administration is the way to reveal the magnificence and wealth of Thailand. Try not to pass up a portion of the pleasant exercises that you can do while installing the best sanction vessels. Contact a boat rental master today!

For more information please visit boat charter service provider

[cruisepartyinsandiego]

San Diego Party Boat Rentals: Experience the Best Course of Action of Boat Rentals!

San Diego is known for its staggering shore, excellent year-round climate, and dynamic party scene. Whether you're sorting out a birthday hammer, a corporate occasion, a free individual or single-woman party, or a day of fun with loved ones, a San Diego party boat rental gives the best system for joining the best of the city's phenomenal significance with the energy of a festival on the water. These backings offer a remarkable encounter, permitting you to try all parts of the sea, hold the sun, and continue through recollections in a stunning setting.

Why Pick a Party Boat Rental in San Diego?

San Diego offers different astonishing exercises and districts; regardless, something stands out about working with your occasion on a boat. Coming up next is a couple of safeguards for why the SAN DIEGO PARTY BOAT RENTALS are decisive decision for your next festival: San Diego is home to the world's best seaside points of view. From the San Diego horizon to the rich shore and, unfathomably, marine untamed life like dolphins and ocean lions, there could be no more astounding procedure regarding the locale's standard quality than from the deck of an understanding boat. The city's Mediterranean environment licenses you to participate in your party boat rental in any season. With sensitive winters and shocking, warm summers, you'll have to sometimes stress over horrible natural circumstances crushing your eve. The cool sea breeze and the light make a splendid climate for your party. Game-plan boat rentals in San Diego are wonderfully adaptable.

Striking Party Boat Rental Choices in San Diego

Whether you have a small gathering or a huge party, a party boat rental San Diego guarantees the space and security to enjoy the day without hindrances. San Diego offers a colossal grouping of party boat rentals, from extra unnoticeable vessels ideal for extra-satisfying get-togethers to monster-rich yachts expected to have various visitors. A few boats even have pools, frothing tubs, and sun decks, offering extra solace to chip away at your party. Whether you're after a principal sunset excursion or a full-scale overabundance of yacht information, Cruise San Diego has choices to suit any event. San Diego offers rich yachts for lease for those hoping to encounter a convincing in solace and class. These yachts have cutting-edge conveniences, including clearing decks, superb quality parlors, sound frameworks, luxurious kitchens, and full alliance bars. Many go with various individuals to oversee everything, from course to giving food, permitting you to loosen up and unwind.

The Significance of San Diego charter boat rental

On the off chance that you need a free, definite, or harmless regular framework choice, cruising underwriting could be the best fit. San Diego charter boat rental offers a calmer, more tranquil cruising experience, reasonable for extra-guaranteed parties. For additional essential get-togethers, a boat rental can give sufficient room for moving, eating, and mixing. With two bodies offering extra security, boats are sensible for people participating in unreasonableness and a high-energy climate while working out. Different ships have a dance floor, sound plans, and water exercises like swimming or paddle boarding. The ordinary party boat is a mind-blowing choice for extravagant occasions. It offers open decks, a bar area, and, occasionally, a DJ-contained dance floor. Ideal for good times, such as birthday celebrations or corporate occasions, party boats in San Diego offer tomfoolery and a euphoric climate for your get-together.

Conclusion

Different cognizance affiliations offer extraordinary degrees of progress, limits for booking during off-peak hours, or complete parties that combine food and redirection. Reliably get information about striking propositions to capitalize on your rental. Party boat rentals can range from reasonable to ludicrous, depending on the size and amenities of the boat. Be clear about your budget and find a boat rental that meets your needs. San Diego is the best setting for any event, with stunning perspectives, different rental choices, and the capacity to change your festival to meet your nuts and bolts.

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Abramovich Accused of Dodging Millions in Tax Through Superyacht Charter Scheme

Roman Abramovich, the Russian billionaire and owner of luxury superyachts, is accused of orchestrating a decade-long tax evasion scheme that involved chartering his fleet of yachts through a network of companies to avoid paying millions in VAT on their purchase and maintenance costs.

The scheme was uncovered in an investigation by the BBC and the Bureau of Investigative Journalism, revealing how Abramovich's yachts, including the 115m Pelorus and the 162.5m Eclipse, were falsely presented as part of a commercial leasing operation. This allowed him to bypass tax obligations by hiding the true ownership and usage of the yachts.

In December 2011, during the Christmas period, records show that Abramovich’s Eclipse was officially chartered by a company based in the British Virgin Islands, despite him being photographed on board in the Caribbean. The chartering of the yacht appeared to be a legitimate business transaction, but was, in fact, part of a deliberate scheme to avoid paying taxes, including VAT on both the yacht’s purchase price and its operating costs.

Italian tax lawyer and professor Tommaso Di Tanno, commenting on the investigation, stated, "There has been tax evasion. This is criminal."

Abramovich’s legal team, however, defended the billionaire, stating that he had "always obtained independent expert professional tax and legal advice" and had "acted in accordance" with that guidance. The billionaire, who has been sanctioned by the UK since March 2022 due to his ties to Russian President Vladimir Putin’s regime, divides his time between Istanbul, Tel Aviv, and Sochi.

The scheme involved five luxury yachts that Abramovich acquired during the 2000s, including the Pelorus, which he famously lent to Chelsea footballer John Terry for his honeymoon in 2007, and the Eclipse, once the largest private yacht in the world and valued at approximately $700 million.

The details of the tax evasion scheme were uncovered through the leak of more than 400,000 files and 72,000 emails from a Cypriot corporate service provider, MeritServus. These documents shed light on how the oligarch’s businesses were managed through a network of global companies controlled by trusts, with Abramovich as the beneficiary. The leaked files were part of the "Cyprus Confidential" investigation by the BBC, Guardian, and other media partners, which has been ongoing since 2023.

The investigation revealed that Abramovich's advisers helped him avoid large tax bills on his yachts by leasing them to a company in Cyprus, Blue Ocean Yacht Management, which then chartered the yachts to companies in the British Virgin Islands that appeared independent but were actually controlled by Abramovich. This deceptive scheme allowed him to circumvent tax laws in EU waters, saving millions of euros in taxes.

The investigation continues to uncover further details about Abramovich's financial dealings and his connections to figures close to Vladimir Putin, raising new questions about the oligarch's business practices.

[cyberbenb]

Russian oligarch Abramovich evaded taxes through fake yacht hire scheme, media investigation says

Russian-Israeli oligarch Roman Abramovich evaded millions in taxes in EU countries through a fake yacht-for-hire scheme, according to a joint investigation by the BBC, The Guardian, and The Bureau of Investigative Journalism published on Jan. 28.

The businessman acquired five yachts in the 2000s that he then “hired” for himself through controlled companies to claim an exemption from value-added tax (VAT) in Cyprus and elsewhere, the investigation said, citing leaked documents.

Abramovich has a net worth estimated to be around $9 billion and has Russian, Israeli, and Portuguese citizenship. He was formerly the governor of the Chukotka region in Russia’s far east and previously owned Chelsea FC, which he was forced to sell after the outbreak of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine.

He and other top Russian oligarchs were sanctioned after the beginning of the full-scale invasion in February 2022. The oligarch now resides alternatively in Tel Aviv, Istanbul, and Russia’s Sochi.

According to the investigation, Abramovich acquired the Eclipse, Ecstasea, Luna, Le Grand Bleu, and Pelorus superyachts shortly after getting rich from selling the Russian oil company Sibneft in 2005.

The vessels, owned by various companies registered in the British Virgin Islands ultimately administered by Abramovich’s trust, were registered as cargo, commercial, or passenger yachts and “leased” to the Cyprus-based company Blue Ocean Yacht Management.  

Blue Ocean then reportedly rented the yachts to other companies, which were, in fact, also controlled by Abramovich. This scheme helped the businessman generate profit without paying VAT.

The oligarch’s companies falsely claimed the right to tax exemption by listing the yachts as central to their business. According to experts consulted by the journalists, this may amount to tax evasion.

Abramovich’s lawyers denied any knowledge of a tax evasion scheme.

The article came as part of the joint Cyprus Confidential investigation into files leaked in 2023 and led by the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists and Paper Trail Media.

Shortly after the outbreak of the full-scale invasion, Abramovich participated in peace negotiations between Russia and Ukraine. Bloomberg reported that he visited Kyiv as part of the talks in April 2022, which his spokesperson denied.

Later in the year, Abramovich met with Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman to help negotiate a prisoner exchange.

UK lawmakers criticize failure to use funds from Russian oligarch Abramovich’s sale of Chelsea FC for Ukraine

The sale of Chelsea FC generated 2.5 million pounds ($3.2 billion), which Russian oligarch Roman Abramovich said he would donate to Ukraine.

The Kyiv IndependentNate Ostiller