Bound to You:The Complete Novel

By: Vanessa Booke







The airport is buzzing as I make my way over to the baggage claim area. I’m glad I didn’t listen to my mom when she suggested that I take a later flight. With the unpredictable East Coast weather, I’ve already lost more than a day stuck at the Dallas airport in Texas. To my dismay, I did not see Mr. Tall, Blond, and Sexy as I exited the plane, but that’s probably a good thing.

“Rebecca!”

I spot Carol standing near the drop-off section just outside of the JFK airport. Her short, blonde pixie cut from college is replaced with long strands of brown hair pulled into a perfectly set bun. I smile as she pushes up her stylish glasses and heads my way. I have to admit she looks stunning. She makes wearing a bun look like fashion chic. I think I’ve always been jealous of the way confidence just seems to ooze out of her. I peek down at my raggedy jeans, Chuck Taylors, and my ten-dollar T-shirt, slightly embarrassed at just how plain I look.

Finding fancy clothes is difficult with my size. I hate the term ‘plus size,’ yet that’s what the world insists on labeling me as. If I’ve gained weight since college, Carol doesn’t mention it. I grab my suitcase and haul it across the sidewalk trying my best not to get run over as I make my way toward Carol. “Oh, my god. Becca, it’s so amazing to see you!” She hugs me, and the memories of our late night study sessions, frat parties, and college heartaches come rushing back to me. I didn’t even realize how much I’ve really missed her until right now. Carol is like the sister I never had. Sometimes being an only child sucks. Not to mention I don’t have any younger or older sisters for my mother to marry off.

“You look great, Carol. New York has done you good.”

“Thanks, girly. It’s a crazy world over here, but you’re going to love it! I can’t wait to get back to my apartment. I have so many plans for tonight!”

“I’m excited to be here. Thanks for letting me crash with you.” Excited wasn’t even close to how I really felt. Scared. Anxious. Ecstatic. Pumped. I feel invincible—ready to take on the world.

“It’s not a problem, really. I would’ve been terribly offended if you hadn’t have asked.”

She hooks her arm through mine as she tugs me toward a sleek, black Lexus. It’s as if we’re teenagers again, off on an adventure. Taxicabs flood the airport, pulling in and out every few seconds. It’s a miracle anyone can get out of here. My attention is drawn to a handsome older man stepping out of Carol’s car.

“Ms. Gellar,” he says, quickly bending down to grab my suitcase. His movements are so swift that my suitcase is settled into the trunk of the car in what seems like a blur. He walks over and opens the back passenger side of the Lexus. If he didn’t look at least twenty-years my senior, I would say he’s pretty sexy.

“Oh, I almost forgot, this is my driver, Steven,” Carol says, grinning. Whoa, she has a chauffeur?

“He’s fantastic. If you need anything—he’ll get it. Even tampons and stuff.” The thought of Steven, who coincidentally reminds me of Liam Neeson from Taken, picking up tampons for me makes my cheeks burn.

“That’s okay, I’ll be good.”

Steven chuckles, obviously amused at my shyness. “It would be my pleasure picking up anything you may require, Ms. Gellar.”

“Please, call me Rebecca.” The only people who call me by my last name are my professors and the occasional telemarketer. Gosh, I hate telemarketers. I always feel bad when they call because you know half the time they’re just as miserable as you are.

“Steven, on our way home let’s stop by Cheri’s place.” Carol’s PR business must be skyrocketing if she can afford her own chauffeur. I can only wish to have half the success Carol’s had.

“Who’s Cheri?” I ask.

“She’s one of my clients. She runs her own fashion line, Retro Thrift. She does a lot of affordable pinup styles and some great formal dresses that look like they’re from the nineteen-thirties,” Carol says, digging through her black leather purse and pulling out her phone. “Here, check it out.” Carol pulls up Cheri’s online web store. It’s like looking at old photographs. The dresses on Cheri’s site are absolutely gorgeous. I have no idea how she’s managed to make them affordable. Unless thrift is a new word for overpriced vintage clothes.

“Wow, I wish I could wear all of them.” I’m such a nerd for vintage fashion. My mother is always rolling her eyes at me when I find vintage outfits at the Salvation Army. She can’t understand why people want to dress like they’re from the past.

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