Still, Olivia and I remain silent. Her hand rests casually on the table, only inches away from my reach. I could do it, I could hold her hand. Hell, I could reach over and kiss her, mark her as mine. I want to do all that and more, but I need a sign. A flinch. Even a nod in my direction. Anything other than Olivia staring at Mitchel. No hostility and no—hell, I can’t read her face.
Body language—stoic. Straight back and shoulders relaxed. That’s a good sign. Her breathing is measured and controlled. But not in a controlled way as if she’s forcing it.
“I guess that couples massage would have been too good to refuse, hey?” Mitch’s face twists into a sneer. “Two naked bodies, rubbed with lotion until I suppose you didn’t have a choice other than to bump uglies.”
Mitch is turning up the heat, trying to force a reaction but I can wait him out. Just over a week ago, the idea of Olivia and I having a second chance seemed impossible. Now, I’d be damned if opening my mouth is going to ruin everything.
“Olivia, what’s say I forgive you for whatever happened here. You were upset and vulnerable, and your oldest friend took advantage of you. I forgive everything. In return, I hope that in time you can forgive me.”
“What for?” Again, the softness of Olivia’s voice could have been interpreted as softness of spirit. I know better, or at least, I hope I do.
“Why babe, I’m so sorry for ruining our wedding day. That stupid indiscretion with Lina. I’m so sorry you found out like that.”
“Thank you, that means a lot.”
What the fuck? Now I can’t hold back my rage. “Did Pete get the same apology?” I spit across the table, not meaning for the spittle to reach his face, but it’s an unexpected added bonus. “How long were you fucking his girlfriend before she decided to do the right thing and break up with him?”
“I’m talking to my fiancée.”
“Ex-fiancée,” I remind him when Olivia doesn’t. What the hell is going on? What were the last two days about if she doesn’t admit their relationship is over? Over. To his face, over.
“Only if she says so.”
“Liv? Come on. Tell the bastard.”
“Hunter, can you leave us? Mitchel and I have a lot of history and things to discuss.”
Fuck.
Never
Olivia
I want to feelsomething as I stare at Mitchel. After all, we’d been together for three years and only broke up a week ago. As much as I search my heart, I come up blank. There’s no love or friendship, and not even anger. I feel, nothing.
Mitchel looks the way he always does—a man in control, on a mission. He’s always been the Ben Affleck style guy who could walk into any room and own the show. Not only with his body—tall and muscular AFL style, with biceps that I loved to sketch when he let me—but also with his way with words. Mitchel could negotiate his way out of a shark tank, and then have the sharks feed out of his hand.
There are slight changes, only someone who’d once studied him at close range could tell. His eyes are slightly duller with a tinge of dark shadows. Perhaps, he hasn’t been sleeping out ofgrief or guilt? I can certainly relate to the tiredness. Or, and more likely, he’s been out drowning his sorrows in some other random slut’s breasts. Or between her legs. Or both.
Do I care? Now, that’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. And if I don’t, what does that make me? A heartless, callous bitch? A woman who could love a man one minute and turn back to her ex-boyfriend in less time than a reality TV elimination can be strung out?
I don’t like thinking that I’m that woman. I’ve always been the good friend, the loyal and faithful girlfriend. I’ve always been the person to put other people first and it’s been so hard to cut everyone off and hide away here with Hunter. My parents, my friends, it kills me to know they are worried and to not respond to their calls. But I’ve needed this time to be selfish. And, I needed to look at my feelings for Hunter with the clarity of being away from reality and the noise of expectation.
That doesn’t change where I am, sitting in front of Mitch, trying to feel something. Why can’t I feel anything towards the man I could have married? Should have married. Would have married if only he hadn’t forgotten his vows.
That silly little promise to forsake all others. I didn’t need to say the vows to mean them. In all my relationships, I’d never contemplated cheating. Not even a questionable text or emoji left my phone.
Hunter, dearest Hunter, is filling all the space around me. His love and concern, the depths of his anger. Even though we’re not touching at the table, his warmth gives me a strength and glow that could be protecting me from feeling.
I need to feel. I need all the emotions of breaking up with Mitchel to flow through me—just to make sure they aren’t being dragged into whatever Hunter and I have. Because whatever it is, and wherever it’s leading, I want it to be pure and right and us—not sullied by rumor and gossip over when and where westarted. Not to have our love muddied by accusations of which affair started first. I have it on video when Mitch and Lina’s affair was found out but not when it started. And if I never stopped loving Hunter in the five years we were apart, does that make me an emotional cheater? I need to deal with Mitch, before Hunter and I can be more than a holiday fling—and we deserve to be more.
“Are you sure?” Hunter stands when I do, but doesn’t move when I ask him to leave. The poor, hurting man. He’s shown me as much vulnerability in these last two days as I’d engulfed him in after fleeing my wedding. It’s taken courage for him to open up, and Mitchel’s presence here must be soul-crushing but I need to see if he’ll fight for us or walk away.
“Hunter, I’ll text you when I’m finished. Go back to our villa.” The only reaction I get to the “our villa” is Mitchel’s face souring. The death stares between these two men could start wars. I don’t want a war—I want the closure of one relationship so a new one can be built.
Still, Hunter doesn’t move. Not knowing which flames might ignite, I edge between him and the table until his arms don’t dare ignore me. Dragging my hands from his, up his arms, and neck, and cupping his face. Finally, he drags his death stare back to me. His eyes search for answers I can’t give. Not yet. Not until I feel something.
“Give me some time. Please?”
