Page 46 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

The question hangs between us like a sweet threat. And I know it isn’t just a question. It’s a challenge I don’t want to accept, because if I do, everything will come crashing down.

“Yes,” I reply, more firmly this time, though inside I’m breaking apart. “Because our marriage… wasn’t sustainable. Yes, we could burn and consume everything, but afterward all that was left were recriminations and the ashes of a love that, in the end, ended up taking over everything.”

“But it was real,” she replies, taking a step toward me. “More real than anything I’ve experienced since then. Don’t you see? Every time we try to pull away, we end up coming back to each other. Like magnets. As if the universe were constantly pushing us together.”

“That isn’t always enough,” I say, and the words come out sadder than I intended. “Sometimes wanting isn’t enough. Sometimes you have to choose to protect yourself, and when I asked you for a divorce, I did it for that very reason. Because I couldn’t go on like that.”

Silence falls over us again. And this time it really hurts, because we both know there’s truth in every word we’ve said, and in all the ones we’re keeping to ourselves.

“So what now?” she finally asks, her voice tinged with a sadness she tries unsuccessfully to hide. “Do we keep pretending we’re strangers? That nothing happens when we look at each other? That when I lie in bed, I want you more than ever?”

I take a deep breath, because this is the hardest part. The part that requires making a real choice, even if it hurts.

“Now… we just have to move on,” I say with all the conviction I can muster. “Like two adults.”

“As if nothing happened?” she insists, her eyes flashing with anger.

“No.” I shake my head, feeling a huge lump in my throat. “Like two people who shared a story and know perfectly well that going back to it would only bring pain.”

She looks down for a second at the deck, and that tiny gesture breaks me. Because there’s something about her that’s still mine. Or that was.

For a moment—a very brief and dangerous one—I want to forget everything else. I want to let this happen again, to let her hands find me once more, to let her mouth make me moan her name, to let the world disappear so only the two of us remain on this deck under the sun. But I don’t. I can’t. Because I already know exactly how this story ends. With tears, with silence, with a parting that leaves the heart in pieces.

“We’d better go back to them,” I say, pointing to the water where my father and Miriam are still laughing and splashing each other, unaware of what’s happening up here.

She nods silently and says nothing more.

I turn away before my body decides for me. Before my emotions win the battle. Before I make the same mistake as always and throw myself into her arms without thinking of the consequences.

And there, after diving into the water, I realize that no matter how fast I run, no matter how hard I try to get away, or how many excuses I make up to avoid being alone with Barbara, there are things that never stop haunting you because, deep down, you never left them behind.

And a part of me—the craziest part—doesn’t want to, either.

CHAPTER 24

WHAT WE’VE ALWAYS BEEN

Barbara

There’s something dangerous about being right. Something that doesn’t comfort you, but instead stirs you up inside and shakes everything you thought was settled.

As the boat slowly returns to port and the deep hum of the engine mingles with the gentle lapping of the water against the hull, I can’t stop replaying the conversation Lidia and I had. Every one of her silences. Every evasive answer she gave whenever the conversation started brushing against what we truly feel, what matters, what still… exists between us.

I rest my elbows on the railing, my gaze lost on the horizon slowly filling with color. The truth is, I’m not paying attention to the scenery. All I can see is her face at the exact moment I asked her whether what happened between us was a mistake. That split second of doubt that flashed through her eyes and how, despite it, she pulled away and put distance between us as if fear weighed more than anything else.

Yes, I know I hurt her, that not choosing her over my work and my professional ambitions was enough to make her feel small. But I loved her; she was an essential part of my life, and that’s why I thought she’d understand. That’s why I thought she’d sacrifice everything she had to stay by my side and help me achieve that dream I ended up living with Ingrid.

I’m not stupid; I know all of this terrifies her. That after everything that happened, after the way the magic ended, it’s hard to believe one night of sex can change anything. But that’s exactly how I feel. Something shifted inside me; I’m no longer the same woman who left London and was on the verge of throwing up on the ferry.

I’ve tried not to look for answers as to why she flat-out refuses to go through this again, but the more I think about it, the clearer it becomes. I don’t want to think about Alex, about the possibility that they’re together. I don’t want to become that jealous, resentful person I’ve always hated. But I already am, because on the way back I couldn’t stop imagining them together, enjoying that peace and security she never had with me.

I sink down onto the bench, crossing my arms tightly as I try to focus on the lively conversation between Pablo and Miriam, who keep laughing as if the world were a simple, carefree place. As if love were easy and didn’t come with all this weight attached to it, all this history that never seems to end. But I can’t do it. Every time I look up and see her, all I want is to kiss her again.

“Kiss her? As if a kiss could fix all my mistakes, as if it were enough to erase the years, the doubts, and the silences that have piled up between us,” I think.

The return to the resort passes without incident. Everyone seems wrapped up in their own world, and mine is an absolute chaos of emotions I can barely contain. I try to keep my composure, answer when someone asks me something, smile at the right moments, and even force myself to laugh when Pablo makes one of his ridiculous comments. But it all feels like I’m acting in a play where I don’t belong.

I don’t know when we got in the car or when we arrived back at the resort. I only know that one moment the sky is streaked with sunset colors as the sun slowly disappears behind the palm trees. It’s beautiful. Really beautiful. The warm breeze brushes against my skin, and the salty scent of the sea mixes with the fragrance of the flowers lining the path. But I can’t enjoy any of it. Because Lidia is only a few steps ahead of me, because I feel her presence like an electric current running through my entire body no matter how hard I try to ignore it. Because I’ve spent the entire trip holding back something I know is going to explode at any moment.