Sofie
Car rides, or at least very long ones, have never been my favorite thing.
I enjoy moving around the city almost any other way: taxis, feet, bicycles, those types of things.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, limos are nice, and I’ve been enjoying them quite a bit recently.
In fact, the very one that I’m writing in right now—we just crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, heading somewhere east, somewhere mysterious—it’s pretty fucking nice.
But what I’m learning about limos is that they’re not nearly as enjoyable as I thought they were—not when I’m by myself.
Turns out it’s the company, not the car.
The one thing that’s making this limo ride bearable—as we speed silently west along the Brooklyn Queens Expressway to who knows where—is knowing that there’s company waiting for me to enjoy at the end of the trip.
The kind of company who helped me pick up my life and my dreams from where they left off.
But that’s for when school starts up again tomorrow…or maybe I’ll let myself have just one day off.
For now, let’s see where this is going, am I right?
What was an overcast day is now quickly becoming blue and bright. Shafts of sunlight are fighting their way through the gray clouds.
I shudder with excitement.
Before I know it, we’ve turned off the Long Island Expressway, and we’re driving along what I think could be considered surface streets, although this seems more like some kind of rural road going through the middle of nowhere.
No, not some rustic rural road going through uncharted territory, but more like an enchanted, well-paved path surrounded by a dense beautiful forest. I feel like I’m in the middle of a European forest in some fairytale land that I never knew existed.
I feel a tingling all over my skin as the limo takes a sharp left turn from the majestic path we’re on to another path going straight through the woods.
The deciduous trees are beautiful and dense, and they’re letting through just enough sunlight to make the view seem magical.
I shake my head, a little confused and a lot enchanted.
On one hand, I don’t want this ride to end.
On the other, I can’t wait to find out what’s waiting for me at this mysterious address that I’ve intentionally forgotten.
Yes, intentional. All I remember from the text is that it was nothing more than a number and some street with a peculiar name. And even though I haven’t been in contact with the guys since then, there’s not even a trace of doubt in my mind that we’re going to the right place.
That’s because I just spotted the palatial top of a multifaceted-style mansion.
The quick glimpse was just a clue of what it looks like up close, but I can already tell—it’s gonna be more magical than this ride.
We are approaching this mythical Wonderland, whatever it is, so slowly and so dramatically, I feel like the guys must’ve given the driver instructions to slow down the closer we get.
“Excuse me, sir,” I shout to the driver, “I appreciate the showmanship, but I really want to get there faster.”
The driver gives a little wave of his right hand and laughs musically.
“I’ve been told you may say something like that, madam.”
“Oh? And what were you told to do in that case?”
“Would you really like to get there faster? Because I’ve been told to make sure that’s what you’d really want.”
I cross my arms, smile, and nod with a touch of sassiness. “Yeah, I really do. Oh, I really do.”
“As they say in the movies, madam, your wish is my command.”
The classic Town Car limo, which has been a wonderful ride, but does not appear to be any type of a performance vehicle, accelerates smoothly, evenly, as all the details of the estate of my literal dreams comes closer and closer into view.
I know there’s a mansion at the center of it all. I can be sure that it’s so fucking huge that to look upon it would be to understand the true meaning of the phrase ‘larger than life.’
So far, all I’ve gotten are glimpses, but I can’t let my imagination run too wild while I’m still enjoying the lead-up to the main attraction.
However, even the journey there is beyond my wildest fucking imagination.
The mind’s eye has a way of filling things in with the imagination that reality can never quite match. But as anyone paying attention could guess, my reality isn’t just matching my imagination these days—it’s totally fucking exceeding it.
“And madam,” the driver continues as he accelerates down what is becoming I think is a driveway, “I don’t think my clients will mind me telling you that they didn’t want to wait too long for your arrival. They’re beginning to get a little antsy waiting at the new place, complaining that not everyone was there yet—and that was before I picked you up.”
“The new place.” I say it out loud without thinking.
These guys surely own a million homes each. This must be one of them—a new one, it seems.
But what does my arrival have to do with anything?
I don’t know, but this is probably the type of place I wouldn’t mind calling home for at least an afternoon...and an evening, perhaps. Maybe three.
Even after all the good news today, I still could use a bit of stress relief.
“I’m getting antsy, too,” is all I say to the driver.
“Say no more.”
And I do say no more, and settle with watching the manicured lawns speed by through the window, deciding that a little bit of suspense may not be the worst thing.
Flat, verdant, endless lawns of grass start to give way to small, symmetrical rows of bushes on either side of the road.
They’re subtly, masterfully landscaped, with uniform violet flowers. It’s all set up very dramatically as the driver slows down. Maybe he sees me looking out the window, or he’s caught up in the landscaping, too.
I don’t think it’s the right time of year, yet somehow everything is in full bloom.
I try picturing what I’ll see as we get closer to the mansion entrance.
I imagine iron gates and stone fences.
I imagine trimmed and neatly landscaped florae arranged in brilliant, gorgeous color schemes.
I don’t know where I stopped imagining, or where reality took over, but what I see in front of me, clear as this day has become, is everything I pictured and more, all framing—yes, there it is—a neoclassical behemoth of a brick mansion.
“How are you doing back there, madam?” The driver asks, for no reason but to gauge if I’ve gone fucking speechless yet.
“Hungry,” I reply, letting my mouth act bit faster than my brain.
Coming up to the entrance of this magical castle in the middle of New York State, I imagine three guys.
Standing there, watching my limo arrive.
Dressed in dark, formal suits. Suits that are even nicer than what they normally wear—which I did not think was possible.
Lucas holding a bottle of champagne.
Oliver holding two glasses.
Elijah in the center, holding the biggest damn bouquet of long-stemmed roses you could ever fucking dream of.
I realize I’m not imagining any of it, not even for a moment.
I’m seeing every detail of it in pure, explicit reality, with my own two eyes.
The chauffeur takes one more sharp left, bringing the front of the limousine into a little concrete embankment that seems to be built just for this purpose.
“This is some place you guys have here,” I remark while stepping out of the limo, “I’m glad I had a bit of time to get ready before the car picked me up.”
“Looks like you spent a lot of time getting ready, not that it matters,” Lucas tells me, grinning. “We don’t care if you just rolled out a bed, out of a botany lecture or out of some overpriced salon on the East Side”
I laugh. “Are you gonna hold those two champagne flutes forever, or are they both for me?” I ask Oliver.
“You want them? You can have them, plus all the champagne. There’s plenty more.”
“You guys set all this up just to celebrate getting me back into Colombia,” I remark with an amused, flattered smile.
“We’re celebrating a lot of things,” Elijah joins. “Celebrating our new life here, and our new house.”
New house.
I never pictured something like this as a new house.
I’d be lucky to be able to save up enough for an efficiency apartment somewhere in Hell’s Kitchen—with a 30-year mortgage.
“You guys are doing pretty well.”
“‘You guys,’” Lucas says, laughing. “Listen to her.” He shakes his head. “You’re doing just as well, Sofie.”
My three billionaires all grin.
“Why don’t we give you a tour of our new place?”
I don’t know which one of them says it. I was too busy gaping at the mansion to notice who spoke, but I do catch something.
Our place.
There’s something in my brain that makes me think they’re including me, somehow, but there’s no way that’s true.
“It’s true, Sofie. This is for all of us, but it’s especially for you.” Elijah’s reading my mind, and his soft words are followed by the loud pop of a champagne cork. I catch the sight of it rocketing far out into the distance.
Oliver hands me both champagne flutes, and Elijah fills the glasses skilfully.
With my hands happily full of champagne, I follow my three favorite billionaires into my new house.