“Your family sure did,” I scoff. “They never liked me. They thought I wasn’t good enough for you, not smart enough, not sophisticated enough.”
“Sybil, we’ve had this conversation.” Jamie puts his hands on his hips. “They aren’t outgoing like you. They don’t express themselves well.”
“So, it’s okay to be aloof and judgmental because you’re not ‘good at expressing yourself’?” I ask, unable to keep the bite out of my voice.
He winces. “That’s not what I meant. Look, I’m sorry. I should have done more to make you feel comfortable, to bridge the gap between you and them. But Sybs,” he says, his voice strained, “you lying to me is not okay. If we can’t be honest with each other, then how are we supposed to—”
“Oh, like you’ve been so honest with me?” I interrupt. Because some part of me knows he’s right, and yet, I can’t let him have it. I’m still too hurt, too angry. It’s as if all the wounds and feelings of rejection and abandonment from our wedding weekend have taken over my body and I can’t control what spews out of me.
“I have!” Indignation is creeping back into Jamie’s voice. “What haven’t I been truthful about?”
“How about Genevieve being just your ‘colleague,’ for starts.”
“Sheisjust my colleague.”
“Jamie, she’s always around. Always calling you—”
“Because we’re here for work!”
“Always looking at you like you hung the damn moon.”
Jamie’s affronted expression falters slightly, as if he’s realizing something for the first time. But I just barrel right on.
“It’s more than just that,” I tell him. “You’ve been lying to me since the day you proposed. You said you loved me because I brought color to your life. Because I felt things more strongly than anyone you’d ever known.” Hot, angry tears are forming in the corners of my eyes, but I wipe them away. “But you didn’t want the reality that came with that, did you? When things weren’t all sparkly and fun. When shit got real. You just pulled the plug. All that bullshit about wanting to ‘set me free’… that was just an excuse to make yourself feel better, wasn’t it? So yes, I made up a story about a fake boyfriend. But you lied to me too, Jamie. And yours was worse.”
I turn on my heel and start heading for the path where Sebastian stands waiting, fearing that if I stay here one second longer, I will only do more damage, or have to admit that I’m doing it again.
That I’m ruining everything.
“Sybil, come on. Don’t do this,” Jamie says. “Stay here and fight with me.”
I ignore his pleas and continue down the beach.
“Where are you going?” Jamie calls sharply.
I whip around to face him. “To the beach cove. With someone who never expects me to be someone other than who I am.”
“Of course,” Jamie says, the muscle in his jaw jumping. “There you go. Running away… again.”
“Yes, I am. And you can’t stop me,” I add, even though there’s a huge part of me that’s praying he will do exactly that.
Instead, all he says is, “If that’s what you want.”
Then he turns and walks back up the stone steps to the hotel at the top of the ridge.
And I feel whatever delicate threads were keeping my heart together snap.
I march across the beach to Sebastian. As I get closer, I can see the back of the ATV is loaded with supplies—some sort of tarp, and what looks like his tripod and expensive camera gear.
“Sybil, I’m sorry about—”
“That way.” I point to a dirt road that departs from the edge of the beach, away from the resort and to the south.
Seb just raises an eyebrow at me, swallowing whatever he’d been about to say. “Well, hop in, then. No time like the present.”
I jump onto the seat beside him.
He starts the weak engine. “You sure you want to do this?”
