Globetrotter Ingrid gets a fabulous fresh start when her job takes her to Melbourne, Australia. Here she meets wise and sweet Oliver, who makes her forget she doesn't have a heart.
This successful stability prompts Ingrid to accept an invitation to...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
September 2018
It took Ingrid longer than she would have liked to doll herself up for the big reunion party. To compensate, she visited the hotel bar on her way out. She found it hard to believe this sleek and glittering modern-world oasis existed in the middle of the city she'd relegated to shithole rank in her mind.
Thinking back, though, she realised that was unfair. This was one of the country's biggest cities. The real shithole was her home village, which, according to the Ionescus, still had no running gas, had only recently been outfitted with running water, and continued to lack a sewage system.
"Thank you." Ingrid looked up from the glowing countertop as the bartender brought out her dirty martini. Her phone buzzed beside her glass just then.
Filip was texting. Are you ready?
Almost, she wrote back. You'll find me at the hotel bar.
He didn't question it. Only said 'ok' and that he'd be there in twenty minutes.
Ingrid was very much not looking forward to seeing him and looking forward even less to seeing some of their obnoxious former classmates. An overlong trip down a Facebook rabbit hole had revealed that most of the other high-school couples had stuck together and got married by now.
Not Filip and Ingrid. The collective memory would remember them as an item still, alhough they'd been strangers for a decade. They'd remember her as Ingrid, Filip's girlfriend.
The dirty little village slut.
The dainty martini glass jingled as Ingrid slammed it down with too much force. The barman glanced at her. Picking up the stranded toothpick, Ingrid pinched the green olive between her teeth and drew it into her mouth. The salty sourness made her skin prickle.
I'm here, Filip texted. Where are you?
Hotel bar, as I said.
Where?
Ingrid sighed, rolling her eyes. She turned around and scanned the thin crowd for Filip. She'd been standing by the bar, elbows propped on the countertop – the thigh-high slit of her jade silk dress would have made it hell to hop on and off stools.
She spotted Filip lingering at one end of the lounge and waved him over. He squinted, then raised his eyebrows, then looked around him as if he wasn't sure her wave was meant for him.
"Seriously?" Ingrid huffed.
Smiling, he eventually decided to hurry in her direction. "Hey," he greeted, almost out of breath.
"Hi."
"You're, um..." He gulped. "You're absolutely stunning."
Ingrid glanced down at herself. "Thanks. It's an old dress, actually, but I figured it'd do. You're not half-bad yourself."
