The others are up on deck, lazing around and eating a cold buffet set out on a long, low table by the loungers; it looks incredible, and my stomach rumbles despite the anxious tension between Jake and me. It's a welcome distraction, and I head straight for it to fill myself a plate, deliberately ignoring him behind me.
"Oh, the love birds have returned," Leila squeals and almost throws herself into my arms for a hug. I cast her a warning look, but she doesn't seem to notice.
"We went for a drive." Jake's broody tone comes from far behind me, as though he's still standing at the top of the stairs to the deck; I ignore him. Leila casts a worried glance behind me and then back at me, but she keeps her mouth closed. I hear his footsteps as he leaves and heads down to the lower deck, and I'm relieved. We could do with some time apart to get over whatever this is between us; I can't even begin to dissect the past twenty-four hours of this trip. So much for a vacation that would relax us!
Leila, sensing something is up, goes into overdrive to distract me. She is infectious and soon has me laughing, some of the tension easing, and I'm good at pretending everything is okay on the surface, that Jake isn't at the forefront of my mind every second. I want Jake to come back relaxed and normal, join in, and put this mess away, but he doesn't reappear.
I'm cool toward the other girls. Since I arrived, Marissa has been watching me with a sour expression, and Miracle is lying topless, pouting and applying her third layer of lip gloss.
Jesus, put them away.
The twins are huddled together on one of the double loungers watching some sports game on Richard's cell and making male grunts and moans when something isn't going well. I assume it's baseball.
Jake reappears half an hour later; he's changed into a black fitted shirt and jeans, his usual clubbing look. I love that on him, and it cuts me inside.
I need us to be okay again. He has his shades on, hair spiked and looks casual as always; even when I'm still mad at him, he makes me ache inside.
"Emma, I need you a second." He sounds like boss Carrero and not Jake, and I prickle inside but get up dutifully.
Well, at least I know where I stand with boss Carrero.
I follow, and we walk down to the boat's lower deck; I can sense his tension and stiffness even at a distance. He's emanating anger; it makes my stomach drop down to my knees, but I only stand taller and maintain a look of disinterest, clasping my hands behind my back to hide the trembling as my stomach twists and my heart pounds.
"I'm leaving for a couple of days. I've left a credit card in your room if you want to go out; a car onshore will take you anywhere you want to go." His voice is flat, and he avoids looking at me directly.
Wait, what?
My panic rises in a tidal wave of emotion.
"Where are you going? We cleared your schedule for two weeks so you wouldn't need to go anywhere," I react instinctively, my voice slightly higher and faster than usual. I'm practically hyperventilating because this was never part of the plan. He can't leave me!
"Change of plan. Try and relax and have fun … if you can." He almost spits the last words, sarcasm oozing from him, and it cuts me like a knife right to the heart.
So, we're still at this, are we?
"Do you need me to come?" I reply coolly, in my best PA tone, pushing everything down and bringing that mask into play. I won't let him see how much he's wounding me.
"No, I don't!" He's closed off, his face devoid of expression. Only his eyes betray him, anger seething in the glittering green depths.
"Jake, you pay me to be at your beck and call and go with you at a moment's notice." I'm indignant. I don't want him to leave; I want to know what's happening. I want to be with him, to know what he's thinking. I want us to go back to before and behave like we usually do like we used to do.
"I don't pay you to watch me fuck other women, Emma," he snarls at me, and I recoil as though I've been slapped. The knife slices into my chest, causing my body to reel back slightly. He knows how to deliver a low blow. He stalks away from me toward his room, oblivious, but I follow angrily.
"What? Why are you being an asshole?"
Why are you going to fuck other women suddenly? You don't need other women; what happened to your sabbatical?
I want to grab and shake him, bile rising in my throat at the thought of him with someone else. Pushing it down, I try to fight the urge to cry.
"I'm redefining the boundaries of our relationship, uncrossing the line. That's what you called it, right?" he tosses back casually. I fall back, but I steel myself, swallowing my sobs and forcing my face to stay as impassive as I can muster as my body retches in agony.
Isn't this what I wanted? For him to go back to his women, and I return to being just his PA?
No! Yes! I don't know anymore.
"You think going off to screw someone will uncross that line?" The words catch in my throat like steel wool; I feel sick with the pain he's inflicting.
"It's a start." He turns into his room and pulls a suitcase from the cupboard; I notice he's already packed a flight bag on the bed, his passport lying beside it.
"Got over your little break, I see." I sound cold. The reality is that I'm dying inside, and I want to yell at him. Hold onto him. Beg him to stop doing this, but I can't.
You kissed me, Jake, twice. No, three times. You kissed me, and now you're going to have sex with someone else.
"I think that's probably the reason for all this recent tension; I need to let off steam," he smirks icily, devoid of feeling. I don't know this Jake. I hate this Jake. I want my regular Jake to come back, the one who would never talk to me this way, hurt me this way. My Jake would never abandon me to go off and be a lothario!
So, kissing me was 'recent tension'?
I've never known this uncaring, distant, and angry Carrero. I don't like it. I don't like it at all. I want to throw myself at his feet, cry, and hold him back from going, but I won't. I pull my chin up defiantly and push down the hurt, replacing it with anger and a glare; I let that trained part of me take over in all her ice-maiden coolness. That old reliable self-preservation has kicked in.
I have pride!
"Enjoy yourself." I turn on my heel, close to tears. Inside I'm chaos of emotions and trauma, but my exterior is calm and unflustered as if this means nothing to me.
"Don't miss me while I'm gone, Tesoro mia." His voice is oozing with charm. It only stabs my heart, unbearable pain that I won't let him see.
"I won't," I reply snarkily, holding myself tall.
Fuck you, Jake. Fuck you, Mr. Carrero.
"I'm sure you'll find something exciting to do," he says, focusing on packing, but his voice is flat and emotionless, the cruel and harsh side of him; it's the first time I've ever seen his father within him. I want to slap his smug, angry face with all my strength.
"When should I expect you back, Mr. Carrero?" I'm in full PA mode, making a point, a 'you don't affect me' point. If he's trying to get a reaction from me with this shocking move, I won't let him enjoy it. I won't let him see that it's hurting me at all.
"When I'm done. Hard to say; it's been a while," he sneers without looking up, clearly twisting the knife harder in my chest.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
I smile graciously, ten out of ten for my acting ability, and still the need to clench my teeth, so precise in my mannerisms. His cell vibrates, and he slides it out, answering it despite my presence.
"Hi … I'll be leaving soon … Yeah, I missed you too, honey … I'll meet you there." He sounds like Casanova Jake of old. The 'honey' makes me gag.
Oh my god.
I want to throw up, but I steel myself against the door frame.
Why, Jake, why?
"Who?" It's out before I can monitor it, and I curse myself for breaking, for showing an ounce of emotion over this, for giving him the satisfaction of knowing he's got to me.
"No one you know. An old flame." He closes his suitcase, throwing me a fiery look, challenging me to keep going with this; he wants to torture me with details. I can't bear this. My self-preservation kicks in even more viciously, and I smile fakely.
"If that will be all, Mr. Carrero? I'll leave you to it. Enjoy your trip." I'm using the door frame as a crutch, but I can't stand watching this painful scene unfold; he's going away with some brainless boobs-on-legs to screw her for at least two days. I don't want him to. I don't think I can bear this.
When did this happen? When did my feelings spill beyond friendship this badly?
I've seen him with other women …
He's always been this way; when did I start reacting like this? Breaking my heart over him being his Casanova self.
"After I'm gone, tell the others I had to go away for a couple of days." He's picking up his suitcase, his body stiff with tension, and the hatred oozing between us is unbearable.
"What reason shall I give?" I sound alien. This fake politeness between us is thick in the stifling air. We're both exceptionally good at cold and polite.
"I don't give a shit, Emma. The truth, for all I care." He flexes his eyebrows sardonically.
That was a blow. It hurt; it knocked the wind out of my sails. I move back as he stalks out with the suitcase in hand. He slides his shades on and doesn't even look at me; he seems beyond pissed.
Should I follow him? Should I stay here?
Stop hovering, Emma; it's pathetic.
I don't know what to do; this isn't me, not anymore. He's up the hall and out the door in the blink of an eye, obviously determined to leave. I hesitate, then follow; I'm not sure why, but I suddenly need to cling to his presence, the last moments of him. I want him to stop this; he's making me feel alone. So broken.
I lose him at the top of the stairs, the sun hurting my eyes. I blink and shield them from view, and suddenly I want him to slide his glasses over my eyes the way he always does. I want him to brush my hair back and take care of me. I want the Jake I know and care about, not this cruel, cold man who doesn't give a shit about me.
I want to cry as sheer hysteria and panic consume me. I catch sight of him near the stern of the boat; he's following one of the crew down to the awaiting speed boat.
Oh my god. He really is going; it's not a ruse. He wants to kill me.
I want to scream his name and run after him, but I'm rooted to the spot as I watch him descend into the waiting boat. I can't bear to see him leave, so I turn on my heel and run back to my room at full speed. I run like my ass is on fire and don't stop until I slam down onto my bed and sob out every bottled-up, deep-wracking emotion right up from the tips of my toes in a spewing of desperate agony.
I don't know how long I'm there, but I can't stop; it's like a dam has opened, the floodgates broken. Everything I've ever held back comes out with the pain I've always avoided. I can't breathe; it's suffocating and unbearable. It's excruciating, and every cell of my body is in bleeding agony.
Jake is breaking my heart.