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Chapter Twenty-Eight
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Note to self.Drinking a salted caramel boba in the park beats sweating in the gym every time, all the time.
As notes went, it was okay—but it sure as hell beat the other note. Yeah, the one that’d been pinned to the top of the stack for so long, it should have been worn and yellow, even in the gray matter, by now. It had been nearly four months since I’d put it in—the day I’d gotten back to LA from Arcadia, tired and lonely and hating what I’d done to the man I’d claimed to love.
Fraud.
There was no other word for what I still felt like, even now, for what I’d done to him that night. For what I’d said, even if every word had been the complete truth.
I can’t be your princess. I would barely know how to be your damnwife.
We’ve been living in a fantasy. An amazing one. But marriage isn’t a fantasy.
I don’t know how to be there for you. I can barely be there for myself.
You deserve a woman who will serve youand Arcadia. Who won’t put her entire foot in her mouth at some state dinner, before salads are even cleared.
You need a woman you can be proud of.
You need a woman who knows what family really means…
My stomach fought the boba as the memories hit like punches—of how I’d pummeled him with every damn syllable. Of how he’d pulled away a little more with every line I’d sobbed, his cheeks gaunt and his eyes like steel, having to accept the truth I already had. Another melodramatic oldie was right on the money.
Sometimes love just ain’t enough.
As the refrain haunted my head, my four-month-old note fluttered to the top of the stack once more.
Note to self. This really sucks.
“You’re going to stay there for a good long time, huh?”
My mind only answered with more of that damn song.
But there’s a danger in loving somebody too much…and it’s bad when you know it’s your heart you can’t trust…there’s a reason why people don’t stay where they are…
“Baby, sometimes love just ain’t enough.”
I sang the last of it in a whisper—vowing not to mix tears into my boba. The thing was salted already, dammit—and by the time I got done repaying the bank of self-pity, I’d be an old woman.
Determined huff. “Get your act together, Lucina Louise. You came here to enjoy the day, so fucking enjoy it.”
There was a lot to help with that. Mid-April in Ocean View Park was nothing short of awesome. The grass was fragrant, the Pacific air crisp, and there was even a bunch of kids on Spring Break, tossing Frisbees and flying kites on the rolling hills. Across the street and the beach, out on the ocean, a handful of surfers sat on their boards, waiting for the last sets of the morning.
I pulled in air through my nose. Released it slowly through my mouth. I could do this. I could look out on the waves and not ache for the oceans in Shiraz’s eyes. I could enjoy the breeze in my hair and not yearn for it to be his long, confident fingers. I could watch a red and gold kite dance on the air and be reminded of Palais banners.
I could sit for more than five minutes and not wish for a damn transporter switch, coordinates keyed in for Arcadia.
God, how I missed it.
All of it.
Every part of the fantasy, sometimes seeming just a taunting dream now, dangling out of my reach. The island that gave me so much. The week that had changed me for good.
Never to be again.
I set the boba down with a slam, scooping up my cell instead. Like an addict needing a hit, I went for the text messages. None from any unidentified numbers, born from the distant hope Shiraz would get lonely on his training adventures and reach out, but plenty from Crista and Jayd. Thank God. They were my willing suppliers, feeding my hunger for all images Arcadia. I stored everything carefully, according to categories—even some for parts of the island I’d never seen. The breathtaking cliffs and coves of Asuman. The majestic mountain vistas of Tahreuse. The sprawling ranches of the central valley and Faisant Township. And then my two favorites: Springtime shots from the Palais Arcadia and Endigoh Beach.
