A SECOND CHANCE MAY BE TOO HOT TO HANDLE
They say there are no second chances, and for Lily Onassis, ever since she walked away from Formula World driver Max Becker, she's considered this true. Instead of a glitzy, glamorous life on the auto racing...
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MAX
We pull into the circular driveway of a massive condo building in Miami's downtown. It's all sleek glass and concrete.
"This is where you live?" I don't mean to sound incredulous, but it seems so unlike Lily. I'd always taken her for a stand-alone home, something smaller and cozy, filled with books. This is cold and severe. Not terrible, and I'm sure it's luxurious, but different than I would've imagined.
"Yes. I'm renting for now." Her brow furrows. "You can stay here while I pack."
I stare at her. "In the car?"
"Yeah. Or go get lunch or something."
We lock gazes. There's so much pain in her eyes, all I want is to hold her. It's remarkable how all the tender feelings I had for her are back with a vengeance. I wish she'd invite me inside, because I'm dying to see her place.
"Okay," I say.
She lets out a sigh. "Uh, if you want, come up and hang out in my living room. You can watch TV or whatever."
"That sounds great," I say quickly, hoping she doesn't change her mind.
The valet takes the keys and we troop into the lobby and the elevator, flanked by bodyguards. From the looks Lily is giving the two guys, I can tell she's uncomfortable about having strangers in her house.
She unlocks the door. "Sorry for the mess. I left in a hurry yesterday."
She looks at the bodyguards. "Aren't you coming in?"
"We'll wait out here," one says.
"Don't you want water, or coffee?" She smiles at them. "Cookies?"
They shake their heads and she nods. "I'll make this quick."
The colossal, gleaming windows with the ocean view gives the living room an airy sense of freedom. Tall potted plants are nestled in sleek pots, their deep green leaves popping against the white walls like wide green wings. The living room is light and open, like the Miami breeze. "Wow. I didn't expect any of this."
"Any of what?" She tosses her purse on a tan leather sofa that's angled toward the windows. A fuzzy gold throw blanket is bunched in one corner of the couch.
I lift my shoulders. Considering I keep an apartment in Monaco — but didn't pick out any of the decor inside — and stay with my parents often, this place seems like a home for someone who has their shit together, which Lily obviously does.
"I don't remember you liking plants this much."
She frowns, and I follow up with, "It's nice, really beautiful. Did you use a designer?"
"No. I did everything myself. I wanted it to look a certain way. Tropical, but warm. A lot of these condos can come off too sterile. I'm a plant person now, that's kind of my hobby. Anyway, make yourself at home, the kitchen's over there, the remote's on the table if you want to watch TV. I'm going to pack." She presses the heels of her hands to her forehead. "How long am I going to be gone?"
