Read Online Vulnerable by Bonita Thompson - Free Book Online Page B

loosely referred to it as, “the centre.” The streets leading into Rawn’s neighborhood, between the pier and the centre, were wide-laned and tree-lined. The homes, built close to one another, were modest but charming, unlike the homes in D’Becca’s neighborhood, Crescent Hills, on the opposite side of the centre. The real estate was pricy, and pseudo-baroque with meticulously manicured lawns that were so perfectly green they looked synthetic. Where D’Becca resided, each address in the rolling neighborhood had luxury vehicles parked behind gated driveways. Conversely, street parking was the norm in Rawn’s neighborhood, because many of the dwellings had no off-street parking.
    â€œI’ve always liked this side of Crescent Island. It’s attractive,” D’Becca said.
    â€œWhat? As opposed to Crescent Hills?”
    â€œThe real charm is west of the centre. Expensive real estate doesn’t necessarily mean charm.”
    â€œWhy are you living on Crescent Island? Why not live in the city? Seattle has some really great neighborhoods.”
    â€œWhen I was working in Paris and Milan, I dreamed of coming home—back to the States—and living in a place that was unspoiled. A well-kept secret. I couldn’t believe it when my dream came true. I mean it was here all this time and I didn’t even know it. I’d heard about Crescent Island—the forgotten island—but never came over here. A few years back I had this large, really great apartment on Queen Anne Hill. I loved it, and not because it was also rent-controlled. It had one of those not-so-easy-to-come-by Seattle views—Lake Union from one window, and the Needle from another. Yet I wanted to be tucked away. Like so away from anything remotely urban.”
    â€œDo you like what you do—modeling?”
    â€œSometimes.”
    â€œI’m not familiar with your work, and I don’t mean to…Isn’t modeling a short-lived career?”
    â€œIs that your way of saying I’m too old to be modeling?”
    â€œNo…” Rawn chuckled.
    â€œI like that about you already.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œYou’re earnest.” D’Becca had a faraway look in her eyes. “I think about it often. Not being prepared. When I lived in Paris, there were days when I’d walk through each arrondissement . I was very much alone. When I wanted to remind myself of why I was there, I’d walk through the Jardin du Luxembourg, or I’d sit in the churchin Saint-Germaine-des-Prés for hours. It was something about that church. I didn’t have a franc to my name. Yet I was so happy. I didn’t know it back then, but I was. Happy.”
    â€œI can see you in Paris broke, and happy. You would make the most of it, I can tell.”
    â€œI came to Seattle without anything except a small, cheap bag I bought at—it was a store like Kmart. It was stuffed with Tees and denim, which I lived in back then. I was this skinny girl, sixteen, if you can believe that. I wanted to go to L.A., but Seattle was as close as my three-hundred dollars could take me, and far enough from my small North Dakota hometown that could smother you to death.”
    â€œThings appear to have worked out.” D’Becca did not deliver one of her spirited comebacks. Rawn looked over to her. “So have you got any other plans?”
    â€œI need a back-up plan for my back-up plan since the first back-up plan failed.” She chuckled, attempting to camouflage what she genuinely felt. “Unlike you, I don’t have fancy degrees. I self-educated myself when I came to Seattle. I spent every moment in the library when it was open learning about everything. I remember trying to get through the Bhagavad Gita one summer, but I wasn’t ready for that. My first year in Paris, I even tried to read Dangerous Liaisons in French. I’d read most of the book on the