Two days ago, when William told me to come to Paris ahead of him because of a “last minute” rescheduling of his meetings, I should have known. But things were going great, and so I believed him. I thought we had turned over a new leaf. And if he was trying to work on us, the least he deserved was my trust.
As soon as I walked into the gorgeously decorated apartment, I threw myself body and soul into making it a home. I don’t know how to do much, but I can create a mean flower arrangement and stock a fridge, and I’d kept myself busy, willing the hours away until William would finally arrive. When everything would be as it should be. And if a little voice whispered close to my ear that something was wrong, I’ve ignored it. This was the new us. The new us has no room for my old fears and paranoia.
“Of course it’s not what I want,” he says over the phone, pretending to be frustrated. I can almost picture him sitting in the leather chair of his office as he runs his fingers through his hair. “But my hands are tied. I’m needed here.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, realizing that I’m fighting a losing battle. “There’s no point talking about this anymore. The fact is I’m here, and you’re there. And you’re not coming anymore.”
“Val—”
“Don’t,” I say a little too forcibly. Loosening the grip on the phone, I wipe a tear angrily off my face with the back of my hand. When I’m more in control of my stupid emotions, I add, “This is what I’m going to do—I’m going to stay here.”
“You’re not coming home?”
“No, I don’t think I will.” I suck in a breath, searching within me for strength to stand against him. “I need to be alone. I need time to think. Time to sort things out in my head. And I obviously can’t do it around you.” Because I’m a fool around you. He continues to feed me lies, and I continue to eat them, hungrily swallowing them, because I’m starving.
“For fuck’s sake, Val. Sort what things out?”
I let out a sigh, going to the bathroom in search of a tissue to blow my nose. “Do you really have to ask?”
He’s silent for a moment too long. It’s deafening and final.
Suddenly tired, so tired, I sit on the floor of the bathroom, the cold of the tiles seeping into my bones, and lean back against the wall. I know I might be overreacting. It’s just a trip, no? But I’m angry with myself for falling for his lies again, and I have no one else to blame for that but my weak heart.
“Let me ask you something. Did you mean any of the things you said? Or was it all bullshit?”
If he were standing in front of me, this is where he would look away, unable to meet my gaze. “Of course I meant it, Val. I still do.”
So many thoughts embedded with doubts and fears run through my head. I hate it, but I can’t stop them from overcrowding my mind. If what he’s saying is true, then why doesn’t he just fly here once those meetings are over? Take the time off he promised. Was the trip a ruse to get me out of his hair, out of the city? Is he fucking around again? However, I can’t bring myself to voice any of them. I keep them to myself, rotting inside me. Because I’m weak, and I’m afraid to find out what the answers will be. Denial is such a luring, deceitful bitch, isn’t it?
“Sometimes I wish I were strong enough to leave you.” I pause, feeling hot streaks of tears falling diagonally on my skin, picturing his green eyes. “Maybe I’m a bigger fool than I originally thought because I can’t stop myself from loving you.”
I hang up the phone without giving him another chance to answer.
“DO YOU KNOW WHAT I thought when I first saw you?” William asked, pulling me closer to him.
The Pacific Ocean was our backdrop as we danced on the beach of Puerto Escondido. The restaurant where we had dinner was playing “El Lado Oscuro” by Jarabe de Palo. Mezcal was running freely in our veins. The sand in our feet. The salty, hot, humid air embraced our skin. The stars shone brightly. The sound of the waves crashing not far from us. I wanted to freeze time and make the moment last forever. I reclined my cheek on his chest and listened to the beating of his heart.
“No … you’ve never said.”
“You were crying to Sailor about a guy.”
“One of my finest moments,” I said sarcastically.
“I found it endearing.”
I groaned. “It was pathetic. But you were saying … What did you think about me?”
“Are you fishing for a compliment, Mrs. Fitzpatrick?”
“When am I not?”
He laughed, and the sound alone could drive a woman mad. I bit my lip to stop myself from moaning as he began to kiss my neck, my bare shoulder, every part of me he could reach. “I saw this girl, barely a woman. She had long, wild, curly hair. Her clothes didn’t quite match. And she was talking so fast between sobs it was hard to keep up with what she was saying.”
“Oh God.” I buried my face in his chest. “That bad?”
He placed a finger under my chin and gently tilted my head up until our gazes met. “Yet every blue-blooded man in that coffee shop couldn’t take his eyes off of her.”
“Were you one?” I asked shyly, my heart beginning to drum a mad tattoo.
“Darling, I was jealous of the barista who got to serve you. I was jealous of the man who made you cry. I was jealous of every man who came before and would come after me. Someone offered you a napkin, trying to catch your attention. I watched him, ready to punch him for daring to go near you, but then you barely noticed him. You were so oblivious of your effect on men.” He paused. “You still are.”
“I’ve never cared about any of those things.”
He smiled ruefully. “I know.”
“Besides, I only care about one man.” I stopped dancing and took his hands in mine. I lifted them to my mouth and kissed each of his palms. “I belong to you.”
“I know.”
The young waitress places a plate full of fruit and an espresso on the table. “Merci.” I reach for the napkin and place it on my lap.
“De rien.” She smiles before walking to the next table to take their order.
Not really hungry, I reach for the china cup. As my fingers grow warm with the heat coming from the cup, I take a deep breath and enjoy the smell of coffee filling my lungs.
It’s funny how certain things remind me of William and our life together. Breakfast on the table. The smell of coffee. Mezcal. Spanish music. Every memory is embedded in me, part of who I am. If you had asked me the day I married him if I thought our marriage was strong enough to endure temptation, weakness, poverty, highs and lows, grief, losses—every damn proverbial curveball thrown at us—I would have laughed in your face and said that our love could survive it all. Funny thing is, I truly believed it. We were so happy. But then again, it had never crossed my mind that William would have an affair with another woman. Or lead a separate life with her behind my back. Sailor begged me to leave him.