Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

“You love him?” she whispers.

I nod. “Yes.”

“If you knew Spencer Jones at all, then you’d know damn well he wouldn’t have slept with me this week. He’s in love with you. He’s a proud man, and if you don’t go to him soon, you won’t ever get the chance again. You’ve hurt him deeply, Charlotte. Truth is, you may already be too late.”

“I don’t know how to get past this. Every time I picture him, I see her.”

She exhales heavily. “I can’t help you with that one. If Spencer loved me, nothing else on this Earth would matter.” We stare at each other. “Are you really going to let Penelope take him from you, for something that happened four years ago when he had no idea who she was or that she was even married?”

I stare at her as a clusterfuck of emotions run through me.

“Fuck the tabloids. Fuck your family. Take what’s yours and hold onto it with two hands.”

“Is this your motivational speech?”

“This is your ‘wake up to your fucking self and get to Santorini’ speech.” She drains her glass and stands, and without another word, Sheridan walks off into the distance.

She flicks her hair over her shoulder, and I watch her sexy little figure sashay out through the reception area.

I glance down at the memory stick in my hand.

What now?

Spencer

The sea breeze floats over my skin as I watch the reflection of the moon dance across the water. I’m on the balcony, high up above the ocean with the most beautiful view at my fingertips. The fire pit is lit and I stare back into it.

I can hear the celebrations in the distance. There’s muffled music and coloured lights sporadically strung from one property to another on the hill above me. They all twinkle in the distance. Every so often, a crowd cheers as they celebrate together.

Their giggles hang in the air with an eerie echo.

It’s New Year’s Eve. It’s December thirty-first. It’s my birthday.

I’m in Santorini, and I’m very much alone.

She didn’t come.

And here I am, scrolling through photos of Charlotte on my phone, remembering the good times.

It’s Heaven and Hell all rolled into one.

Image after image, I see her smiling beautiful face staring back at me.

It’s almost like I can feel her arms around me. I remember back to when we first met and the way my heart began to beat faster whenever she looked at me. The way my stomach would flutter at her smile…

Her kiss… her perfect kiss.

I exhale heavily and pinch the bridge of my nose. I’ve had some bad birthdays in my life but this one takes the biscuit.

I haven’t left the villa all day, convinced if I did that she would come while I was out. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m destined to have the people I care about walk away from my life.

My mind goes back to a time when I would be feeling just like this—alone in my bedroom, waiting for him to call me on my birthday. Waiting for him to extend an olive branch, and desperate for the smallest sign that he did, in fact, love me like my friends’ fathers loved them.

I drag my hand down my face. This is fucked.

And then the doorbell of the villa rings out.

The doorbell? What?