Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Is it presumptuous to ask that? Oh well.
“In part, yes. I won’t deny that.”
Oh god. I’ve really messed up here. “You didn’t cheat on her. Right? You told me you two were broken up. That’s what I saw online as well. So you could come clean to her, admit you had a fling—meaningless and all that—and I’m sure she’d—”
“You’re not listening.” I jolt at his tone. “You changed things, Casey.”
I gulp. “I’m sorry.”
He laughs. Laughs! “You’re apologizing?”
“Yes?” I say with a wince.
He sighs and turns so he can lean down and prop his elbows on the railing. He tugs his hands through his hair and then asks, point blank, “Where did you see this going?”
What a complicated question. Does he want to know where I saw us going at the start or where I hoped it could go if things were different . . . less complicated.
He doesn’t know the half of it. I’ve still not been honest with him about my tenuous position with Bon Voyage, the absolute mess of my life.
“Nowhere, right? That’s what we agreed.”
We said it over and over again. We kept tight parameters on this relationship, and while, yes, the lines kept getting pushed little by little to accommodate our growing feelings, we cannot let this get so carried away that we’ve lost sight of how little this makes sense.
Phillip and me? Actually together? In what world?
“Right,” he says stiffly.
“Is that . . . I thought we were on the same page, Phillip.”
“We are.”
He won’t look at me, and it leads me to believe that perhaps, maybe, Phillip is feeling an ounce of what I’m feeling, this unexpected wild yearning, but I can’t let him make this mistake. I won’t be the one to lead him astray from a perfectly prearranged future. “If you walked away from Vivienne for me, please don’t. Fix it. She’s the woman for you. The woman you deserve to be with.”
I don’t know this, of course, since I’ve never met her, but I have my suspicions. The night I was rewriting my article about Phillip, I looked at photos of Phillip and Vivienne together online. Not the healthiest pastime by any means, but I was curious, and the internet proved fruitful.
It was relatively easy to find tidbits of information about Vivienne. She has a high-up job at Yves Saint Laurent. Her parents own a real estate empire. She went to the best schools and has all the right connections, and she’s even received a humanitarian award from the National Charity League for her work with their organization. So she gives back! She’s literally a saint! I mean, I cannot stack up against her in this life, or any life, for that matter. It’s laughable.
“She would take you back . . . I’m sure.”
“You’re not understanding, Casey.” He turns his head, staring at me, showing me if only I’d stop being so dumb. “She’s not who I want.”
I take a step back.
“No.”
I say it firmly. Absolutely not.
He’s not going to do this. Not going to admit he has feelings for me!
He is not going to make this harder by feeding me hope where there is none.
“You’re wrong about your feelings for me. It’s the sunset and the booze and this dress.” I sweep my hand down my figure. “I don’t normally wear pretty pink dresses while sipping mai tais on a fancy cruise ship! I’m the girl living out of dingy hotels, remember? The one with no home? I wear T-shirts and sweatpants on the daily. Sometimes I don’t shower for three days, and I don’t even feel bad about it! I am not someone you should like, Phillip Woodmont! Go to Vivienne. Marry Vivienne. Produce fancy, well-educated offspring. Forget. About. Me.”
After this, I turn on my heel and hurriedly walk away before I can see his reaction to my words. I’m really good at this, I’ve found—leaving when the going gets tough is just so satisfying. Whoever said you have to stay and duke it out during moments of crisis was dead wrong. You can actually do whatever you want, and right now it feels so good to scurry back down to my suite—my one sanctuary on this godforsaken boat. I slam the door behind me; then I lock it for good measure, as if Phillip’s going to be running after me. Laughable. After that diatribe, the man is probably thanking his lucky stars that things didn’t go any further with us.
I look down at my half-empty mai tai and consider pouring it down the drain. Instead, I toss it back, swallowing all that sweet liquor down in one go. After, I stomp straight to my laptop and fling it open.
I’m ripping off Band-Aids left and right, might as well do one more . . .
I’m the villain in the movie who’s finally completely unhinged. The Joker in that little nurse’s outfit, about to light this place up.