It’s not that we had Roxy and Chase sex on the island in the kitchen last night.
It’s not the way he looked at me like I hung the moon and baked the cake inside it.
It’s that I cannot stay away from him. I literally cannot. When we are together, we are untamable.
Wanting Chase has never been the problem.
It’s what happens after. It’s me losing myself.
I’m no longer a single person… I’m part of a pair.
It’s my needing him and being unable to be without him.
He gives me space. Of course, he does. He’s frustratingly good like that.
He cooks breakfast, serves coffee to the other couples, and goes along with Sasha’s “relationship affirmations” exercise even though I know he hates being emotionally cornered before noon. But he never pushes me. He just watches from a distance.
Quiet. Calm.
Like he has all the time in the world and he’s just waiting for me to turn around.
I spend the morning with Sasha, Whitney, and Bree pretending to care about sage bundles and relationship moon charts. I don’t care about any of it. But being here with them means I don’t have to think about what happened in the kitchen last night… with Chase.
They ask me what my biggest romantic regret is.
I almost say his name.
That would be a lie. I don’t regret loving Chase.
I almost say me.
But instead, I just smile. I lie and say, “Buying a white couch with a sangria margarita habit.”
They laugh.
I don't.
Night falls.
Everyone heads to bed early after too much wine and margaritas and one very graphic group game of “Never Have I Ever.”
I drank too much and now I’m emotionally compromised.
All I want is Chase. My husband.
I know exactly where he’s sleeping… and it’s not in here with me. He muttered about taking the small empty room across the house.
I stand outside his door for ten whole seconds. Then, ten more. Without knocking, I open it and go in.
He’s sitting on the bed in gray sweatpants, shirtless, flipping through a notebook that definitely contains either love letters or pornographic recipes.
He freezes when the door opens and looks up, startled.
“Rox—”
“Shut up.”
I close the door, cross the room, sit on the bed, and say the three words I’ve been swallowing since I walked out of that kitchen last night. “I love you.”
