FOLLOW(12)

It’s an omen, I think. An omen that foreshadows the darkness inside him that I’m just beginning to see clearly. I know more about this man than a stranger should. I’ve been obsessed with him for years.

Maybe that makes me the dark one?

He huffs out a breath. “Did you hear something? Did you read something? I mean, you were normal this afternoon and now—” He changes position and flops down on his side in the sand, his hand propping up his face, his smile a devious smirk. “Now you’re…” He stares at me in the moonlight, his eyes darting back and forth between mine. “Now you’re… afraid.” He lets the word hang there between us. “Afraid of me? Or just of being with me?”

I have no clue what to say, so I opt for the truth. “I saw you back there.”

“OK,” he laughs, a look of relief washing over his face. “So… what did you see? I’m not drunk, so I know I didn’t do anything stupid. I’m still dressed, so I wasn’t humping the chairs.”

I chuckle a little at that.

“I didn’t eat the salad”—he swipes a finger over his teeth—“so I know there’s no lettuce distracting you from my disarming smile. I tipped the waiter and the band—”

“I saw you with that woman.”

“What woman?” he responds too quickly.

“That tall brunette in the pink dress.”

“Samantha?” he asks, sitting up with a smile.

“I don’t know, is that her name?” I say back with a snarl that takes me by surprise.

“You’re jealous.” And now he does laugh. “You’re jealous of Samantha.”

“I’m not jealous, Mr. Asher—”

“Whoa,” he laughs. “That’s so fucking hot.”

I just stare at him. “What?”

“Almost everyone calls me Mr. Asher, but holy fuck, hearing it come from your mouth.”

I glance down at his crotch and see the unmistakable bulge of a hard-on. “I’m leaving.” I get up, all the way up this time, and he does not protest. I grab my sandals by the straps and turn away. He gets to his feet behind me and I’m a few paces up the beach when he calls out.

“She’s my sister, Grace. Samantha is my sister. She got married today and she’s having second thoughts. I didn’t know what to say to her so we were… having a moment, ya know? Kinda personal. I’m sorry you saw it.”

I stop but don’t turn around.

“I’m not usually so… I don’t know, caring. But she’s having second thoughts and I didn’t know what to say to make it better and I was trying to help her believe it’ll be OK. I think she loves him, but what do I know? I want to convince her this is normal, but I don’t think it is. Because if I was getting married I would not have second thoughts. If I was the one who got married today, I’d be fucking my wife in the pool house, or here on the beach, or up in the hotel. My wedding night would be nothing but constant attention to the woman I chose to spend the rest of my life with. So I’m thinking she did make a mistake. But how can I tell her that?” He stops and lets out a long breath.

When I turn to look at him he’s rubbing his hands down his face like this is eating away at him.

“I love my sister. She’s fragile and perfect and if I told her what I really think she’d believe me and be crushed. And who am I to make her believe that? Maybe this is love to her? Maybe we just all love in different ways?”

I shrug my shoulders at him. “Oh,” is all I manage. “I’m sorry.”

“Would you have second thoughts?” he asks me in a soft and solemn voice. “On your wedding night?”

I shake my head and he smiles for all the wrong reasons. “No,” I say decisively. “I wouldn’t. Because I’m never getting married so the opportunity for second thoughts would never occur.”

His smile fades. “Well, I guess you’re not a romantic.” It’s not a question.

I’m not sure what to think of this conversation. I’m standing on a tropical beach with Vaughn Asher, the movie star, and we’re talking about true love and romance. “I am,” I insist. “I am romantic, but in a very…” I shrug. “Fairy tale way, that’s all. It’s not real, it’s all fake. I don’t mind the fake as long as I keep the fairy tale where it belongs. My fantasy.”

“So why did you meet me tonight?” He takes a few steps towards me. “If you weren’t daydreaming about a real-life romantic encounter—” He’s close enough to see the color of his eyes now. And then his hand reaches out and takes mine. I want to pull away. In fact, I try to pull away, but he’s got that grip on me again. “Then what other reason is there to come?”