simple items. It should be easy, handled in fifteen minutes of my day. Maybe not packing. Packing is generally an all-day project for me. Of course, that was back in the day, when I had to choose between Crappy Outfit #1 and Crappy Outfit #2. Now, I just need to grab the appropriate hangers marked with the correct numbers, to assemble the outfits that I choose from the book.
I dive into the task, hoping that I can figure out the Drew situation as I pack. In the closet I find a matching luggage set, three red and black Diane Von Furstenberg vintage-style trunks. I flip them open in the center of the room and open the book of outfits.
My brain is not cooperative, playing somewhere in the corner of La La Land, causing me to daydream while I pack, my mind relishing the feel of expensive fabric. They belong to me , My thoughts flit to walking along the surf with Nathan, lying in a hammock underneath palm trees and stars, soft kisses that will lead to more. I should be thinking about Drew. I should be figuring out this screwed up situation and what my choices are. I shouldn’t be having so much damn fun.
I flip through the stack of books on my floor, picked from the library this morning. I grab a few paperbacks and toss them in, zipping the third suitcase close, concealing three pairs of shoes and hair and makeup items, enough bottles, sprays, creams and powders to improve half of Florida. I look around the room, the silence mocking me. My stomach conveniently growls, aiding in my brain’s quest to stall any decision-making action. I ignore it, moving past the bed and grab my notepad, settling down on the couch and posing my pen above the page.
Blank white.
What do I want to demand?
I know what I really want. To sleep in bed at night next to Nathan. To have the Nathan who comes out when the cameras are on us—his loving smile, soft hands, mischievous grin and playful stories. I want to spend my evenings with him, side by side on the couch, my head in his lap, his hands in my hair, quiet moments that we both would treasure.
But I can’t put those demands down on paper. I can’t show my cards, especially not when it’s a losing hand. The worst-case scenario is for him to give me that, all of that, while his heart is still Cecile’s. My heart wouldn’t be able to resist, would fall down a long dark hole that it would never be able to climb out of.
CHAPTER 11
Nathan drives us the hour and a half to Tampa International, where we will board a plane that would take us to Nassau. It’s the first time I have ever seen him drive, his profile sleek and confident behind the wheel of my Mercedes.
“Why didn’t Drew drive us?” I look out the window as I speak.
“It seemed a waste—him driving us all the way here and back, just to repeat the trip two days later. Plus, it’ll give him some time off; he hasn’t had that in a while. And I wanted the time to speak to you, about our trip.” He speaks so freely now, comfortably, his cold demeanor warmed to an impressive 98.6 degrees. Human .
“Why are you so comfortable now? Talking with me? Before you were so unfriendly.”
He frowns slightly, glancing over. “Like I told you, I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression. I wanted to be sure you were aware what our relationship was about.”
“Sex.”
“Yes. Sex, and your new identity. But, as you know, we had planned on keeping that part from you.” He says the words with a hint of an apology—not quite remorseful about his actions, but regretful of the deceit.
“And now, you feel comfortable with me? With me understanding that relationship?”
He glances away from the road, his blue eyes studying my face, his shoulders relaxing at my calm demeanor. “Yes. I’m assuming, now that you know about Cecile, that you understand my … inability to give anything more.”
Cecile. I am really beginning to hate that bitch. I sigh. “So, tell me