“Till you forgive me.”
She sips her coffee, her eyes lowered, demure, innocent—how is she still so innocent, after everything that happened? How does she still havehope? Does she love me that much?
“What’s to forgive? It’s like you said. It was all an act. And it worked.” She looks down at the coffee, as if it contains some code that needs to be interpreted. “My ego is a bit wounded, though.”
“I thought you were going to kill me,” I say. “I thought you’d told Jesse the truth and were working together to get revenge.”
“I thought you were going to kill me, too,” she replies sadly. “You put a knife to my throat.”
“You scared me. Though I suppose you’ve been through a traumatic experience.”
“Traumatic is the right word. You were very convincing, you know.” She suddenly, miraculously, leans her head on my shoulder. “You’ll have to make it up to me.”
“I tried last night,” I joke.
“Tonight,” she says, her arm around my waist. “We’ve been through a lot. But it’s over now, isn’t it?”
“Of course, my dear,” I say, before drawing my trump card. It’s time. “I love you. I’ll never let you suffer again. Not one day.”
After sayingthose three little words, her mood picks up. I’m almost disappointed—I was enjoying the thrill of the hunt. In a moment, she’s transformed from prey to pet.
I tell her to pack and meet me in the lobby. I make sure the receptionist and security guard see us together in case they’re worried about my behavior. At worst, they’ll think my actions were a kink, role-playing to spice up a relationship. But at least they won’t call the police.
We leave the car in long-term parking at the marina and carry our stuff to the boat.
“Where are we going?” she says with excitement. She’s happy for me to lead, happy whatever happens, as long as we’re together.
“South. San Diego. We’ll camp out there for a month and take some lessons. I’m not an expert enough to take us too farfrom shore yet. Then, wherever you want. How’s a Pacific island sound?”
“Perfect,” she says, her voice quiet, dreamy. She looks blissful now. A week ago, she thought her life was over. She thought I’d betrayed her, set her up, and why wouldn’t she? All the evidence said that was the case.
She’s sodesperate. All it takes is a few denials, a few declarations of love, and here we are. Why is it always so easy? Why so predictable? Why do people do what I want them to do, every damn time?
By mid-afternoon, we’re sailing out of the harbor, south along the coast. The weather’s calm. Brie goes immediately into the cabin for a nap. As I pilot the boat, I feel grateful that life has delivered me here. Hard years, yes. Hard decades. But after all that suffering, I’m here, in the open ocean. Complete and utter freedom.
I feel a stirring. I won’t be able to hold off much longer. By early evening, I spot a bay and drop the anchor about half a mile out. We’re all alone.
“This is paradise.” Brie is climbing from the cabin, holding a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “It’s about time we make the most of it.”
We sit on the nose of the boat, looking west over the Pacific. After a glass, I take her hand, and she leans into me. As I reach for the bottle, I hear a crash from below.
“Did you hear that?” I ask.
“It’s my stuff,” she explains. “Sorry. It must have fallen off the bed.”
I feel Brie’s lips on my neck—a deer, nuzzling into me. I can’t take any more. The wine, the sunset, the dress, the hair on her shoulder, the fine bone of her shoulder, my soul is bursting, bursting.
“What about the time of the month?” I ask.
“False alarm.”
That’s all I need. I push her down flat against the deck and find her lips. I know I should move slowly, but I can’t; she’s too much. A stick of dynamite, lit, ready to blow. My hands reach under her dress.
“Wait,” she breathes.
“I can’t.”
“Not here. Not outside.”
