Blue Dahlia (The Dahlia Trilogy of The Gilded Flower Series Book 1) (2 page)

“Is my mother home?” Dahlia asks the housekeeper as she hands the woman her coat.

“No, Miss Baron. She went to the salon.”

Dahlia sighs.
Of course. Her Friday ritual.

“Your sister, Lily, is here in your father’s office.”

Dahlia returns her smile and heads down the corridor. Just as she is about to knock on the office door, Lily opens it, obviously surprised to see her twin sister.

“Hey, D,” Lily hugs her. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to talk to mom, but she’s out.” Dahlia leans through the door, “Hi, Dad.”

He looks up from his desk and smiles. “I take it you aren’t here to see your old man.”

“Always happy to see you, Dad.” She strides into the office and kisses his cheek. “I’m just going to talk to Lily for a minute.”

“Why are you here?” She asks Lily as she shuts the door behind her.

“Going over some agreements with Dad. Nothing exciting,” Lily shrugs. “Just getting some stuff in order.”

Dahlia eyes her warily. Lily is the chosen one of the twins. While they’re identical in every physical way, early on Lily seemed to possess the business acumen of their father. Dahlia, being the older one by four minutes, was always happy the pressure fell on her sister’s shoulders to take over the Baron Empire. It made her free to pursue her passions and live her life according to her own rules. Of course that freedom came at a price. Even if you’re a Baron, you pay for your mistakes.

“You want to have lunch?” Lily asks.

“Not today. I really need to talk to mom.” Dahlia sighs.

“Everything alright?” Lily takes her hand.

Dahlia shakes her head. Speaking in a low voice she says, “I need to go to California.”

“Are you sure?” Lily crosses her arms. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. I think I need to face this on my own.”

“Want to talk over drinks later? I’m going to Miami tomorrow. I could postpone.”

“Ooooh. To see Alejandro?” Dahlia winks at her sister.

Lily blushes. She clearly has it bad for him.

“As a matter of fact, I’m taking over as CEO of
UniMundo
, that Miami-based Spanish television network we own. Mom and Dad suggested that we carve it out from the sale of Baron Media and keep it for me to run.”

“You sure you didn’t agree just to be close to Alejandro?”

“Oh, D. It’s just a coincidence. The offer was made before he and I got together.”

“Coincidence my ass,” Dahlia replies.

“In any case, I’ve got to meet our lawyers in an hour, but Vi and I are having drinks tonight. You want to join us? We’re planning that vacation we talked about. Maybe when you’re finished in California you can meet us.”

Dahlia shrugs. “We’ll see. Rodrigo is expecting me in Miami in a couple of weeks. Let’s hope it’s all done by then.”

Lily kisses her sister. “If I don’t see you later, good luck.” She cups Dahlia’s face in her hands. “Are you sure you need to go alone?”

Dahlia nods.

“Ok then. Just remember, whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

Dahlia can feel the tears well. Despite all the disappointments and betrayal, Lily has always stood by her.

“Thanks, Sis.”

Lily smiles at her and whispers, “By the way, you won’t find Mom at Garren. She’s over at some place on the West Side, Salon SCK or whatever. She says there’s a colorist who is a miracle worker.”

Dahlia rolls her eyes. “I’m sure he’s doing more than just her roots.”

Her sister looks at her quizzically. Lily was always oblivious to some of their mother’s extracurricular interests.

Shaking her head, Dahlia says quickly, “Never mind.”

Lily shrugs and hugs her sister. “Take care of yourself.”

Dahlia watches as Lily glides down the corridor to the housekeeper waiting with her coat. She sighs, a pang of envy hitting her. Her sister has her future ahead of her in Miami—no baggage, no regrets. Dahlia has hers—in California.

“Tell me where he is, Mother.” Dahlia stands, hands on her hips, as her mother casually flips through an interior design magazine. Not wanting to be ignored, she bends down to speak into her ear. “I want to know where I can find him.”

Her mother finally looks up. “Who, dear?”

Dahlia pushes away the dryer and says, “I think all these foils are affecting your brain cells. You know who I’m talking about.”

“Everything alright here, ladies?” A jaw-droppingly beautiful man with hazel eyes appears. Dahlia can’t help but admire his lean, muscular body and chiseled face. He places his hands on her mother’s shoulders and gives her a gentle massage. Finally he bends down and says in a low voice, “You look magnificent today.”

Her mother returns his look with a smile, her blue eyes sparkling.

“I’ll get you and your beautiful daughter a glass of champagne. Although I swear she could be your sister.” He winks at Poppy.

Dahlia can barely disguise an audible gasp as she glimpses the tight ass in his fitted jeans as he walks away.

“Stop drooling, dear,” her mother smirks. “I hardly think Rodrigo would appreciate your wandering eye.”

“He’s a bit young for you, Mother, don’t you think?” Dahlia asks, snidely.

“Age is immaterial, Dahlia,” her mother replies, coolly.

Dahlia rolls her eyes. “If that’s the philosophy you’re going to run with. Now that I have your attention, Mother, I want you to tell me what I need to know.”

“I don’t know why you want to open that door again, Dahlia.”

They stop sneering at each other and smile politely as an assistant offers them champagne.

“Because, if I am going to move to Miami to be with Rodrigo, I need to close out that chapter of my life.”

“We could get our lawyers involved again.”

“That could take time, which I don’t have a lot of. That’s why I’m here instead of searching for him myself.”

Her mother purses her lips, searching her daughter’s face. After what feels like an eternity, she replies, “I’ll make a call and have his address to you by tonight. Dahlia, I truly hope you know what you’re doing.”

She raises an eyebrow at her mother and says, “I could say the same to you. Perhaps we’re more alike than you think, Mother.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” her mother says, taking a long drink of her champagne.

Dahlia hugs her knees to her chest as she perches on a break wall. She wraps her cardigan around her tightly to block the cold, damp early morning breeze. From behind her Wayfarers, she watches the water, timing the waves like he once taught her to do. Dahlia steels herself against the feelings that begin to roll in like the tide—the roar of the waves drowning the pounding of her heart. She should’ve known she was never going to get away from her past that easily.

An hour passes before she sees him emerge from the water. He had caught the last wave with incredible ease, managing a frontside cutback after his first bottom turn. It was a flawless move she’d seen him do many times before. But this time it appeared effortless. Perhaps because this time, he wasn’t surfing for anyone else—not the judges, the sponsors, or even her.

Dahlia’s breath hitches as he draws closer. Over the past seven years she had managed to push his memory so far back in her mind that he could’ve been a figment of her imagination. She never stalked him on the Internet or allowed herself the luxury of wondering about him, or ever played out the “what if’s” to their story. It was a passionate and painful two years of her life, which, despite all the partying and destructive behavior, she could never completely forget.

She remains on the wall as he walks toward her. Little has changed about him except his arms and chest are more muscular than before. It appears to be the only visible difference between the man before her and the barely-twenty guy he was when they met. He doesn’t seem surprised to see her. Perhaps they both knew this day would eventually come. During the flight to Santa Barbara, Dahlia had considered what she would say to him. Somehow, ‘hi’ was the easiest, albeit most banal opener she could think of. But in this moment, as he stands before her, even that simple word is too difficult to utter.

He rests his board against the wall and lifts her sunglasses off her face. His dark blue eyes stare into hers for what feels like an eternity, radiating an intensity that makes her feel nineteen again. Finally, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and says, “Come with me.”

Dahlia follows him up the weathered wooden steps and down a dirt path, the same one she had taken when she arrived. As they approach the gate, he looks at her curiously when he spots the small tote bag she had left by it. Dahlia shrugs, not bothering to look at him. She had been so anxious to get this over with that she didn’t stop by the hotel to drop off her stuff before heading to the beach. The gate swings open after he punches in a code, and he guides her inside. As soon as it closes behind them, Dahlia lets out a long exhale. She didn’t realize she had been holding her breath this whole time.

“I’m going to shower,” he says to her. “Help yourself to whatever. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Dahlia nods, still unable to speak. As soon as he’s upstairs, she takes in her surroundings. The walls of windows and limestone are a far cry from the beach shack they used to call home. She smiles as she begins to remember the place with the broken tiled shower and one-burner stove. It was all good enough then.

The sleek dark wood and stainless steel kitchen reminds her of her own in New York and not one she ever imagined he’d have—especially since he preferred take-out to cooking. Dahlia continues to wander down a hallway and peeks in a few empty guest bedrooms and theater room before stumbling into his office. In the corner stand a few surfboards, one of which she recognizes as the board he rode during the semi-finals in the ASP at San Clemente.

Dahlia glances over her shoulder, feeling a bit guilty for spying at his things. She scans the wall covered by trophies and pictures, recognizing some she took of him during competition or practice. Behind a few frames she spots a black & white she took of them while they were camping in San Clemente. It had been taken shortly after he signed with his first sponsor. The way he looked into the camera as she gazed up at him reminds her how solid she thought their future was then. Tucked into the frame was a picture she instantly recognized. It was a sketch she had drawn of him surfing Rincon.

Dahlia traces the lines with her fingers. She had such confidence in her hands then. Her drawings and photographs were more real to her than her own life.

“I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away,” he says.

Dahlia turns around surprised to hear his voice, the sketch floating to the floor.

She swallows as she takes him in leaning against the doorframe. Wearing torn jeans, a white hooded sweatshirt, and blue Reef sandals, he runs his hand through his wet hair. She quickly looks down, picks up the paper, and returns it to its hiding spot in the picture.

“It’s okay you kept it,” she says in a low voice. She glances around the room and then at the floor. Her eyes move everywhere but never stay on him.

“Are you hungry?” He asks.

She shrugs.

“Well I am. Let’s go. Grab your bag.”

Dahlia proceeds to the door and waits for him to move his arm. The proximity and his post-shower scent draw her close to him. There it is, she thinks to herself. The pull in her core, the reason she stayed away for so long. She wasn’t sure if she would have the strength to leave him again.

They ride quietly for a few miles, Dahlia noticing how much downtown Santa Barbara has changed over the years. And how much he’s changed, from driving an old, beat-up truck to a shiny, new Range Rover. But she won’t ask. She doesn’t want to know.

He puts the car into ‘Park’ across from Backyard Bowls. Leaning against the door, he asks, “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

Dahlia sighs and gives him a pained expression. She opens her mouth to talk, but no words come out. She wants to speak, to say what’s in her heart. But it’s been too long, so long that the words don’t make sense to her anymore. A single tear escapes her as she turns away.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs.

Dahlia checks her phone. Two missed calls from Rodrigo. She sighs, realizing that she’s going about this all wrong. She should’ve just told him about her past and had the lawyers take care of it. But she didn’t want to involve her family or anyone associated with them. It seems any time her parents, especially her mother, get involved, more people get hurt. She wanted to believe that she could handle this—to confront her past and the one man who could keep her from Rodrigo. Feeling attracted to
him
after all this time was not something she had consciously counted on.

He opens Dahlia’s door and hands her a large cup of açai with berries and granola. “I’m assuming you still eat,” he says, with a friendly grin.

Dahlia nods and manages to return his smile. The memories of their post-surfing breakfasts come back to her. She loved how energized she felt after surfing the dawn with him. They usually followed it with a big breakfast at Backyard Bowls then incredibly long, morning sex. The thought sends a pulse of desire through her.

“That’s better,” he says. “I want to show you something.”