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But I’m still trying to come to terms with the life-altering realization I just came to, so it takes me a second to tell her she’s fucking crazy to think that I’ll ever leave her again.
Logan and Quaid both look shocked when I finally pull my head out of my ass, that it’s me who is rational and calm. I stand up and pull Valentina back into my lap.
I smooth down her wet hair and pull her even closer, so my mouth is right up against her ear. And because I can’t talk worth shit—it’s why I take pictures to illustrate my feelings and thoughts—I quote one of her favorite authors. “‘I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you’re everything that exists; the reality of everything.’”
She melts against me instantly. She used to make me read Virginia Woolf in the library with her when she was tired of watching me mess with my pictures. So she immediately gets what I’m trying to convey to her.
Adonis comes out just then, holding a bottle of Ouzo and interrupting our moment. Logan and Quaid immediately set about demolishing the bottle, needing something strong to wash the hurt away.
I hold back though. For one, I still want to take Valentina on a date tonight and I don’t want to be sloshed when I do so, and two, tonight’s the night I’m going to make her mine again. And I don’t need anything interfering with my performance.
Valentina only takes one shot, preferring to hold on to her pensive state for a little while longer.
Logan and Quaid, on the other hand, recover from their earlier moods as the liquor flows. By the time we pull onto the dock after an afternoon spent with more swimming and some fishing, they’re two sheets to the wind and in better spirits. Maybe getting shitfaced was their way of ensuring Valentina and I had some alone time together.
I’m so ready for some alone time with her.
I’m so ready for forever with her.
Valentina
Carter’s different. It’s a tangible difference from how he started on this trip. It’s almost like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders, and despite the fact that he quoted Virginia Woolf to me earlier—which by the way, he and Logan evidently are trying to use all the weapons at their disposal by using literature against me—I’m still nervous for what this change means for me.
It would be easier for me if he could continue hating me for all I’ve put us through, because the situation with the house today just cemented that it’s hell I’ll be going to when I pass into the next life.
We get back to the hotel, and Quaid and Logan both head off to their rooms.
Carter surprises me by pulling me into his arms and running his nose up my neck. I’m used to him being a little cold honestly, but since that moment on the boat when he’d pulled me into his lap, he’s been nothing but hot.
“Are you still up for a date with me?” he asks, and goosebumps emanate from every inch of my skin that he touches, cascading down my body. He smiles against my skin, and I know that he’s enjoying the effect he’s having on me.
I’m exhausted, but I’ll push through it for a chance to be alone with him tonight.
“Of course,” I say, snuggling further into him. I’m desperate for this kind of affection from him. Even if I was living for a hundred years, I wouldn’t take how they make me feel for granted. “What do I need to wear?” I ask, thinking about the fact that I probably look like a drowned rat right now.
“What you’re wearing works,” he tells me sunnily.
And now I’m suspicious about what our date entails…because Carter does not do sunny.
But he’s very excited about something.
“I’m at least going to comb my hair,” I tell him before reluctantly leaving the warmth of his arms.
I begin to walk towards my room, looking back once just to make sure he’s real and not a figment of my imagination. I’ve had to double check things a lot on this trip.
A part of me feels like any moment now, I’m going to wake up and find out that I fell into a coma because of my brain tumor and this has all just been my imagination.
He’s standing there, looking at me like I’m the very air that he breathes.
I take a mental picture of his face, wanting to carry that image with me no matter what, and then I disappear into my room, where I do a lot more to get ready than comb my hair.
You don’t get to go on a date with Carter Hayes every day after all.
After slipping on the hottest bikini I own, along with a fresh coat of makeup and a slash of bright red lipstick that happens to match said bikini, I put a little bit of product in my curls, and I’m ready to go.
Carter’s also changed into a fresh swimsuit and tank top, and he’s carrying a picnic basket.
“Turns out picnics happen to be a hot thing on the menu at this hotel,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. Grabbing my hand with the one that’s not holding the basket, we set off through the city, eventually calling a cab.
