"Pippa, please. Don’t do this."
She shakes her head, a single tear glistening at the corner of her eye. "I have to, Rhett. I’m going home to George. It’s him I love. This was fun, yes, but it was never real. What real difference does it make if I fly home tonight or in the morning?"
I swallow hard, a lump forming in my throat. I want to argue, to fight, to pull her back and tell her that she is wrong - that what we have could be real, and that I don’t want her to fly home at all, but the words refuse to come.
She is slipping away, and I feel powerless in a way I had never known. I thought she had started to fall for me. I thought I would never let her go … but really, I can’t hold her against her will. I can’t even blame her for wanting to leave. This was the deal, and it’s not her fault that I fell for her. But I still feel it isn’t all one-sided. I know she feels something for me too. But she is choosing him. She is too distraught. The only thing to do is to let her go … for tonight. I will regroup and renew my efforts to win her back in the morning.
I reach into my pocket for my phone and send a quick message to my chauffeur. Pippa watches me, her expression unreadable.
“My chauffeur is coming to get you. He will take you wherever you want to go,” I tell her.
“Here,” she says, holding the ring out again.
I step forward and take it, and my hand lingers over hers for a brief moment, but she doesn’t move closer. And I know she doesn’t want me to. I understand. I get it. My car pulls up, and every instinct in me screams at me to get in it with her, go back to the beach house, and beg her to stay. But I don’t want her to stay because she feels guilty.
“It’s really for the best,” she whispers.
“I … I wish you a lifetime of happiness, Pippa.”
“And the same to you. I won’t contact you again, and you shouldn’t contact me either.” She bites her bottom lip. “Maybe you can block my number.”
I frown.
“Just in case I drunk dial you or something. It’s ok, don’t worry, I’ll just delete your number.”
I step back and drop my phone and the ring into my jacket pocket. My arms drop to my sides, and my legs feel like they are turning to lead. She gives me one last look, a look that is soft and wistful, but resolute. Then she turns from me, the heels of her shoes clicking against the pavement as she walks away, moving toward the car that will take her away from me.
I watch her go, my chest hollow and aching. The night air feels colder than it did a moment ago. My gaze follows the car until it is out of sight, and I realize, with a crushing clarity, that I could have just lost her. That she really meant it when she said she would delete my number. Just when I thought I was finally winning her over, just when I could almost taste the possibility of her hand in mine permanently, she is gone.
I turn and walk away from the curb. My feet carry me without thought away from the house and towards the beach, every step heavy, every breath a reminder of what I have just lost. The tent behind me glimmers with light. From it, distant laughter and music still spill into the night. A celebration of love …
I feel gutted, hollow, completely undone. For the first time in my life, I know what it is to be lonely … to hurt for a woman.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Pippa
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JS8LWRCS6do
-don’t let me be misunderstood-
The drive back to the beach house is a blur. I watch the lights streak past, the neon and street lamps smudging into one long ribbon that I can’t focus on. I know the ocean is there, dark and endless, but I can’t see it. I guess I don’t really look. I feel as if I am in a daze.
My hands grasp the top of my clutch bag so hard that my knuckles show white. It is taking every ounce of determination in me not to cry, and to maintain that I am trying not to remember the events of the wedding. It is hard, though, because every time I close my eyes, I see it playing out before me all over again. The huge screen, the Jessica Rabbit clip, the laughter, the surprised looks on their faces. My stomach twists with a heavy, sinking ache, and for a horrible moment, I think I am going to be sick in Rhett’s car, but the feeling passes, and I sigh.
The Hawthorn estate is pretty close to Rhett’s beach house, and it isn’t long before the car pulls up on the driveway.
“I won’t be long,” I tell the driver.
“Take your time, ma’am. I am at your disposal tonight,” he replies.
I thank him and get out of the car. Outside, I take a moment to breathe in the now familiar scent of the salt and sand, mingled with the faintly sweet aroma of the flowers and herbs in the garden, but I don’t enjoy it. It makes me feel nothing. Until tonight, it felt comforting, grounding, but it doesn’t anymore. It’s just a house, just a scent. It’s a place to gather the pieces of a broken romance.
I go inside, my footsteps loud on the polished hardwood floor. The rooms are empty, the familiar furniture cast long shadows in the moonlight coming in through the tall windows.
I go upstairs to the guest room, and I drop my clutch bag onto the bed. I debate getting changed, but it feels like too much effort. I barely have the energy to pack my things, but I know I have to do that. I get my suitcase back out of the walk-in closet and start gathering my things. I dart in and out of the bedroom and the bathroom, gathering up my clothes and toiletries. My movements are mechanical, my mind somewhere else. I pack my gifts for home, and I smile sadly at the memory of buying them.
I stop and look out of the window for the last time. The sky looks purple, and the ocean stretches out beyond the beach, waves lapping softly at the shore. I see it, but I don’t really see it. I can’t. I feel hollow inside, the emotional residue of the night clinging to me. I press my palms to the glass, trying to anchor myself, trying to make sense of this swirl of feelings that I can’t name.
