Illusion(45)

Moving quickly, I unfastened my seat belt and leaped out of the car. I was going to attempt to head off Stefan and get between them before she could say anything else. I was too late. He was already out of the car, his six-foot-four frame barreling around the front of the car to Georgia’s door. Managing to cut him off, I placed my hands against his chest and looked up at him with imploring eyes. I understood his frustration. I was also trying to figure out her real problem with Stefan. She antagonized Stefan at every turn and was testing his patience.

“Stefan, please. Don’t let her do this. She’s trying to get you angry,” I silently pleaded with him.

His chest pushed against my hands for a moment. He closed his eyes for a second and drew in a deep, unnecessary breath. When his blue eyes reopened, he looked down at me wearily. “I am only tolerating this because she is your friend and I love you. Know and remember this.”

My shoulders sagged in relief as I sent him my mental thoughts. “Thank you, Stefan. I love you.”

“Georgia, open the trunk please,” I called out. The trunk lid popped open and I placed my keys in his hand, my fingers lingering against his longer than necessary.

“Let me handle this. Take our bags inside and let me talk to her, ok?” I thought to him, trying to force a tiny smile.

He nodded imperceptibly and turned to head to the back of the car, pulling our luggage out. He headed towards the front porch with the bag in one hand, impatiently jingling the keys in the other. I waited until he had opened the door and stepped inside before I faced Georgia.

She looked smug and self-satisfied with her little performance as she leaned against the side of her car, her arms crossed under her chest. Seeing her like this made me even angrier, even though I was trying my best to not take sides.

“Are you happy with yourself?” I asked, walking to stand in front of her, mirroring her stance.

“Huh?” Georgia blinked. She pulled her arms tighter around herself, her head rising sharply as she met my gaze.

“I’m trying to not take sides and you’re making it really difficult not to do it,” I confessed, glancing away to stare at the gravel before meeting her blue eyes. “I get that you maybe don’t like him, or you think he’s wrong for me or hell, maybe you’re just pissed off that I’m running off with him.”

“Dickmatized was more along the lines of what I was thinking actually,” Georgia interrupted, her eyes burning holes through me.

A dry laugh escaped before I could stop it. “Whatever. You can think what you want because no matter what I say, I’ll never change your mind. You’re my friend, and you’ll continue to be my friend if I live in New York or New Zealand. You have to stop with the whole ‘I’m going to annoy Stefan’ thing you’ve got going on. It’s not helping things with him. Or with me.”

She glanced over my shoulder, off into the distance. Her face was set in a mask of defiance. “Fine.”

I’d had enough, enough of her pettiness and enough of her bullshit. Grabbing her by the shoulders, I gave her a gentle shake. “Stop acting like a petulant five year old that lost her lollipop, Georgia! For fuck’s sake, I love him. Does that even matter to you?”

She pushed a strand of dark hair back from her face and looked at me, her blue eyes glittering with tears. “Of course it matters to me. He’s going to break your heart. He’s too smooth, too pretty and he’s gonna be like Jon and leave you once you’re not so young and pretty anymore.”

A proverbial light bulb went off in my head with her honest statement. Georgia’s problem with Stefan had nothing to do with him, it had everything to do with her ex-husband who’d left her six years ago. There was no way to tell Georgia that I’d never have to worry about pesky things like aging anymore. I’d always look 28. If Stefan chose to leave me, it wouldn’t have anything to do with me getting older.

“Georgia, Stefan isn’t Jon. First of all, Jon is a jerk,” I reminded her, moving to her side, leaning against the car. “Second, Stefan is it for me. When I saw him, my heart and soul knew it. He’s the one.”

I couldn’t help but lose myself in the memory of seeing him on the beach and in the bar the first night I met him, with his golden blond hair, high cheekbones and eyebrows that arched over his expressive sea blue eyes. My mind had taken a mental snapshot of him leaning across the polished wood of the bar, dressed in the black t-shirt that strained tightly against his broad chest and the low-slung jeans he wore that rode low on his narrow hips, clinging to his long, powerful legs. I didn’t ever stand a chance. Deep down I knew I fell in love with him at that moment. My heart knew it then; my mind was the hardest thing to convince.