We’re more similar than we all probably want to be.
* * *
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so full. Full of food, full of drink, and absolutely full to the brim with love. I watch James, which I’ve done a lot throughout a surprisingly pleasant dinner after what was a rocky start. He looks so relaxed. Even more handsome. I want to keep him here. It’s getting easier to ignore the boiling desire for retaliation while we’re here being . . . normal. It’s like with the release of his true identity, some darkness has lifted too.
“Why don’t you and Rose go for a walk?” he says, turning into me and kissing my instant frown away.
“Yes, show Beau the ocean at sunset,” Danny adds, waving his arm for the waiter and ordering more drinks.
“I can see the ocean at sunset,” I say, looking past him to the ocean at sunset. Danny falters, flicking his eyes to James, who’s watching me closely. Silently. Warningly. The women are being dismissed so they can talk about all the ways they’re going to kill. There’s the end of my perfect dinner with my laid-back man. The darkness has resurfaced. The assassin is back. Although, what did I honestly expect? That a bit of sunshine and the magical sparkling ocean would strip James of the inner killer? No, I didn’t, but this evening has given me a glimpse of what life could be like for us, and as fast as I embraced the notion, it’s been robbed from me. I feel my teeth sink into the corner of my mouth, and I glance at Rose, gaging her reaction. She’s contemplative, smiling but through pursed lips.
I’m guessing any protests from us might be met with force. I’m guessing Rose has grasped this too. It’s why she’s so obviously biting her tongue.
I look at my wine glass, a little huff of laughter escaping. Get the little women out of the way so the boys can talk business. Has James forgotten that this is my war too? Resentment starts to burn a hole in my stomach. “I’m not pregnant anymore,” I say without thinking, turning a resolute stare onto him. “I’m no longer fragile, James. I’m not glass.” I regret the words the moment they’re spoken, my bitterness for the world, for our loss, speaking for me.
The look glued to me is undisputed rage. Rage mixed with a ton of hurt. “Do you think that escaped my notice?” he asks quietly, as if our company might not hear. I absorb his evident disgust. Take it all. I know I deserve it. “If you were still carrying my baby,” he hisses quietly, “you wouldn’t be drinking.” He takes the bottle and tops up my glass to the very top, making a point. “So drink up, Beau. Make the most of it.” He sits back, takes his vodka, and toasts the air. “Cheers, baby.” And downs the lot, gasps, steam virtually bursting from his ears. Slamming his tumbler down, he cracks his jaw, heaving like a wild beast in his seat. “Go for a walk, Beau,” he orders coldly and firmly.
I feel a hand lay over my arm, and I look blankly to my left. Rose is imploring me, lifting from her chair. I glance across to Danny. He’s silent, studying me, quietly taking in the scene, which is basically me losing my shit, speaking shit, and causing shit.
Furious with myself, I stand and walk away. Rose is soon beside me, taking my hand and pulling me toward the back of the terrace. “Take your shoes off,” she says, stopping us at an opening in the old brick wall, leaning down to unfasten her heeled sandals.
I do as I’m told, looking back as my fingers fiddle with the tiny buckle. Black is handing James a fresh vodka. I sigh, kicking off my shoes, and let Rose lead us barefoot onto the sandy path that’ll take us down to the beach. The silence between us is awkward, and I hate that I’ve created it. I hate myself. James might be a killer, but he’s my killer, and he’s done nothing but take care of me. Indulge me. Give me something to finally live for.
“How can you love someone and hate them at the same time?” I ask absentmindedly, watching my toes sink into the sand with each step I take down the path beside Rose.
She laughs, but it’s sardonic. “Were you at the table earlier?” she asks, inhaling and looking up to the hazy sky, smiling. “I love to hate my husband. I know he feels the same.”
I think I can relate. I love James’s persistent passion to right so many wrongs. I hate that it might break us. Already has to an extent. I swallow, forcing my hand away from my tummy when it instinctively reaches for it.