Oh, maybe he doesn't care. Maybe I've misjudged his words and actions all along and this is just a lark. I'm just another woman to him. What we have is so casual, he can't even register any discernable emotion...
I stand up, feeling claustrophobic and sweaty. If I could somehow transport myself to the water, where I could swim free, I would. It might be the only thing that could calm my pounding heart right now. For a half-second, I swear I feel the springs close by, cool and dark and patient, like they know I'm cornered. Meanwhile, Remy’s staring at me.
It's too difficult to look into his amber-colored eyes, so I focus on his big hands instead.
"I'm getting too attached to you. I know we have our pact. All our rules and regulations about staying casual. The other day,you said that someday I'd want a boyfriend and a husband and a family. And it's true. Someday I do want that. And I don't want to just keep this going in the meantime, pretending it's enough. I don’t want you as a placeholder. I'd like all that stuff with you, but I know it's not what you want. So, I'm going to spare you the trouble of breaking up with me, and spare me from further heartbreak. I need to be honest about how I feel and what I want out of life. Now that we're not working together, I think it's best if we go our separate ways."
Did I just say all that out loud?
His jaw drops. A terrible, toxic silence hangs in the air. Exactly what I'd feared — he's not going to fight for me. For us. Because he doesn't feel the same way.
A thick blob forms in my throat, and I have to swallow a few times before I can talk again. "I'm going to leave now. I'm sorry about all this." I wave my hand helplessly in the air and reach for my purse. "Thank you for helping me with the project. I'll see you around town."
I run out of the suite, as fast as one can in four-inch-high heels.
NINETEEN
Remy
I fling myself into the booth at Over Easy, the town's hottest breakfast spot. It's a classic 1950s diner, with a stainless-steel exterior shell and a red, white, and black color scheme inside.
Natalia's already there, sitting in her usual corner spot. Today her hair is piled on top of her head, blonde mixed with hot pink. She's also wearing black cat-eye glasses and a light pink cardigan over a black shirt. I guess she's going for the beach, goth, librarian look or something. I can never tell with her.
She lowers the local newspaper from her face and studies me for a beat. "Dude. You look rough."
"Good morning to you, too," I grumble.
Joey, our favorite waiter, rushes over with a mug of coffee and sets it on the table without me asking.
"Geez, do I look that tired?"
"Yes," both he and Nat say in tandem.
I run my hand over my face and down my beard. "I'll have the usual."
"Same," Nat adds in a chipper tone, and Joey scoots off.
"Where've you been?" Nat asks.
I shrug. "Around."
"I haven't seen you for years."
"Don't exaggerate." I take a sip of coffee and nearly spit it out, it's so scalding.
"Okay, maybe ten days. You didn't come to dinner at Ma's on Sunday."
"Busy. Boat."
She purses her lips. Nothing gets by my sister. "Oh, I see. We're talking in monosyllables today."
She picks up the paper. "Nice writeup on your friend in the Cypress Grove Messenger today."
My pulse kicks into high gear. Leilani. But she's not even my friend anymore. I haven't talked with her since that dismal night at the resort. Every time I try to text her, I feel ashamed and stop. Like I messed up too bad to ask for forgiveness.
I snatch the paper out of my sister's hands. Sure enough, Leilani's on the front page, with her megawatt smile and long, curly hair. Lord, she's even showing off her dimples in the photo. So freaking beautiful, it makes my chest ache with longing.
Mer-mazing New Business Coming to Paradise, reads the headline.
