Maybe I should swing by Greenfield later just in case…
My phone buzzed again, this time with a new text that proved the day could, in fact, get worse.
Natalia: STELLA
Natalia: What the hell is this?
A photo from my Hawaii shoot accompanied her text. The Delamonte print campaign had finally gone live along with my Washington Weekly profile. Julian had done a great job writing it up, and Luisa was thrilled. She’d emailed me yesterday gushing over the piece.
Apparently, my family was less thrilled.
I could see why they might be shocked. My back was turned to the camera in the photo Natalia sent, but I was obviously topless. My bikini bottom covered the necessary bits and not an inch more.
The composition was artistic, not sleazy, but it was still probably the most scandalous thing an Alonso had ever been involved in.
Stella: A photo
I wasn’t in the mood to indulge Natalia’s demand for answers.
I’d known my family would freak out over the Hawaii photos, but I didn’t care. We hadn’t spoken since our dinner almost three months ago. Perhaps it was pride and stubbornness keeping us apart, or maybe I’d been right all along. They couldn’t care less if I was part of the family or not.
The only time they cared about what I was doing was if I embarrassed them. I wasn’t the least bit surprised that Natalia’s first message to me in months involved criticism.
Natalia: You’re NAKED
Natalia: Mom and Dad are freaking out!
Stella: I’m HALF naked. And if Mom and Dad are freaking out, they can tell me themselves. They’re adults. They don’t need you acting as their mouthpiece all the time.
We were texting, but I could practically hear her stunned silence.
I’d spent my life doing whatever my sister wanted and letting her push me around. I was sick of it.
If my parents had a problem with me, they could say it to my face.
And if Natalia had a problem with that, she could shove it up her you know what.
The three dots that indicated she was typing popped up, disappeared, then popped up again.
Natalia: I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but it’s not cute. YOU’RE an adult, Stella. Act like one.
Natalia: Also, half naked isn’t much better than fully naked
Natalia: Dad is the chief of staff to a cabinet secretary. How do you think this will reflect on him?
Aggravation sunk its claws into my skin.
Arguing with Natalia was like arguing with a brick wall. She never backed down or tried to see the other person’s side. She was always right, and everyone else was always wrong.
Instead of texting back, I called her.
When she picked up, I didn’t give her a chance to speak.
“I. Don’t. Care.” I hung up and switched my phone to silent.
Was I acting like a brat? Maybe.
Would I regret my mini tantrum later? Probably.
But I’d deal with that when the time came. For now, shocking my sister into silence was the brightest spot of my morning.
Still, I couldn’t focus on work, so I changed into an old T-shirt and shorts and turned to the only thing that made me feel better when I was super stressed: deep cleaning.
I started in the kitchen and worked my way through the penthouse, dusting and wiping every corner and crevice. Nina cleaned once a week, but her last visit had been five days ago, so there was plenty for me to do.
My friends thought it was a weird stress relief tactic, but it was the perfect mindlessly productive task. Plus, every swipe of a damp cloth through dust felt like I was clearing out stagnant energy, which was a bonus.
Eventually, I made it to Christian’s office.
I hesitated outside the closed doors.
I only entered his inner sanctum to water his poor plants, which I’d continued taking care of even after I moved in. He’d offered to hire someone else to do it, but I’d grown attached to them.
Christian wouldn’t care if I went in when he wasn’t there, right? He was fine with me going in to water the plants. If he didn’t want me in there, he would’ve told me.
After another beat of hesitation, I opened the doors.
I spent longer in Christian’s office than anywhere else since I was so careful about putting everything back exactly where it was.
The room was a study in monochrome with its light gray walls, black leather chair, and massive glass and metal desk. Even the globe in the corner was black and gray.
Apparently, he was as allergic to color as he was to art.
“Christian doesn’t know it yet, but we’re going to add a bit of life to you,” I told his desk. It was empty save for his laptop, two extra monitors, a paperweight, and a matte gray holder containing four identical Montblanc pens. “Eventually.”
I wiped down the desk and was so busy trying to figure out what the paperweight was—a jaguar? A boar? A deformed cat?—that I accidentally knocked over his pen holder.
I knelt and retrieved the pens, but I miscalculated the distance from the floor to the desk and accidentally banged my head against the underside on my way up.
“Ow!” I winced at the sharp burst of pain.
Maybe the planets were out of alignment because today was not my day.
I waited until the bout of dizziness passed before I rose again. This time, I slid my hand against the side of the desk on my way up so I didn’t make the same mistake.
This is why I can’t have a glass desk. They blended a little too well into their surroundings.