I remember those lips. Everything about them. The way they felt against mine. The way his eyes seemed to smile when they curved up. The promises he made me with them. The love he professed with them. The words he didn’t say with them.
I shake my head. Sigh. Pull myself from the memories that seem to come in a constant flood when I’m around him.
Maybe I’m just having trouble processing the teenage boy I once knew with this man in front of me. How can I still feel the sting of his rejection—after all this time—and yet have that sweet ache stir deep in the pit of my belly from just staring at him?
He shifts and I startle. Sleep-drugged eyes flutter open and look up at me. A lazy grin follows. A glimpse of the little boy shines through causing my heart to jump in my chest.
“Hey, you made it.” There’s gravel to his voice. Sincerity too.
“Just got here,” I murmur as he scrubs his hands over his face. I force myself to step back and create some distance. I turn and look out the window to the beautiful scenery beyond and listen to him shifting on the leather behind me.
“Your flight okay?”
“Yes. Thank you. It was my first time.” I blush even though he can’t see it and hate that I just invited him to follow up on my comment.
“First time flying?”
“No. First class.” I keep my feet moving. A way to abate the restlessness I feel from the possibility of running into Mitch, or old friends beyond the villa’s walls, and from being in such a small space inside it with Hayes.
“What? You mean Mitch never—?”
“No. We never really traveled. And if we did—”
“Wait a minute. You were with the guy for six years. A guy who constantly brags about how much money he has.” I turn and level him a look, curiosity in my eyes over how he’d know that. He rolls his eyes as he rises from the couch. “Yes, Saylor. I checked out his social media accounts. All the prick posts about is his privileged life with pictures to show what a high roller he is . . . So sorry, I’m a little surprised that he can spend a bazillion dollars on boys’ weekends to the Hamptons and San Francisco, and yet he can’t fly his fiancée first class. Call me judgmental. Call me a jerk. But that kind of bugs me. You should be more important than his boys.”
Hayes’s words throw me for a loop. His assessment of Mitch’s character from Facebook posts alone is dead on. An assessment I’ve only been able to see with the passage of time and distance from our relationship.
I feel a sudden sense of validation over opinions I’ve had. Odd that Hayes of all people provided that.
“Thank you.” My voice is quiet, eyes still on his so I see the moment they soften. I chuckle at a memory of something that bugged me but I never felt I had the right to be angry at because it was his money he was spending. “I used to call him Golf Boy. Tease him that he’d rather go on trips with his buddies to hit par than be home with me. He hated that nickname.”
“And I hate golf so no worries. There will be no golfing at all on this trip. Deal?” The grumpiness I felt over him booking this villa disappears entirely as his lopsided smile warms me from the inside out.
“Deal.”
“Sorry. I know I overstepped.” He shoves his hand through his hair and his shorts slip down a bit with the movement. “But the more I think about this whole situation, the more pissed I get.”
“Thank you, but . . . it’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.” I chew the inside of my lip as we stare at each other for a moment.
“Why?” His eyes ask the rest of the loaded question: why did I put up with Mitch’s behavior?
The sad truth is, I hadn’t even realized I had. And I’m embarrassed to admit how insignificant I felt on a daily basis. So I keep quiet in this awkward silence between us and hope he’ll let it go for now. Pretend that he doesn’t see what I assume is humiliation in my eyes over allowing myself to be constantly devalued.
We both startle when the doorbell rings announcing what I assume is the arrival of my luggage. Grateful for the interruption, I move to the door without a word but know he’s going to want an answer at some point.
And hopefully I’ll have enough courage to tell him what I now know to be the truth.
Because he wasn’t you.
“Don’t call me again, Jenna. I’ve already done my part. Do yours.”
“But Hayes . . . I’m . . . I’m struggling and really need you here right now,” she pleads.
So says the actress. The queen of melodramatics. The attention whore.
I grit my teeth and don’t buy into the lie this time. “No. You don’t. You’re perfectly fine without me.”