Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
My stomach growls. I’m hungry . . . starving.
We didn’t make it to dinner. Exhaustion set in. I don’t remember anything after . . .
I look over to the man beside me, sleeping peacefully on his back.
My stomach growls again. I need to find something to eat. I get out of bed, grab my robe, and tiptoe out of the bedroom and softly close the door behind me.
The cabana is lit up. It’s a full moon, and light is dancing across the walls as it reflects off the ocean. The sound of the gentle lapping of the ocean is echoing so loudly.
So perfect.
I flick the lamp on and find a big bowl of fruit in the fridge. I’m going to eat this entire thing. I open the sliding door and peer out into the darkness, still and quiet.
A little bit scary, if I’m honest.
I’m not sure if it’s safe to sit out here alone at night. Who knows what’s out there? I glance at the time on my phone: 3:00 a.m. The witching hour.
Being in another country is unsettling. I’m sure it would be fine, but . . .
I decide against sitting outside and come back in. I lock the screen door and sit on the floor in front of it, cross-legged. I peel my banana and look out to sea as I eat.
My mind is in overdrive.
Something happened tonight . . . last night.
It was all going fine, and then . . . Henley pulled away, retreated back to his old habits. Guarding himself at all costs.
Damn that stupid check-in agent calling me his wife. I knew right then and there that it was going to freak him out. But at the time, he said he liked her calling me that . . . and not surprisingly, I did too.
I think back to my little dress-up skit. Was it that?
Did I go too far?
He seemed to love it . . . physically, he was all in. Emotionally, he wasn’t even in the same building.
It’s his heart that I want, and some days we are there, but how the hell do I get to it every day? Every time we get closer, he puts his walls back up.
I know he’s trying. We’re away together on a vacation that he organized. He’s come such a long way in a very short time. It’s only been a couple of weeks; this is eighteen years of a behavior pattern that we have to break down. Of course it’s going to take him some time to adjust.
I’m overthinking this.
I slowly eat my fruit and sit on the floor in the darkness, contemplating a life with Henley James.
Is this what it’s always going to be like with him? Three steps forward, one step back.
I mean, how can I complain? His sexual dominance is so perfect.
I lie back on the floor and listen to the ocean. It’s so loud. Like an amphitheater, the sound echoing off the beach. There’s a feeling of melancholy that has fallen over me, which is weird because I knew what I was getting into with him.
Yet when he pulls away . . . it hurts.
What happens if he never gets over this? What happens if I spend the next ten years trying to make him let me in, only for him to turn around and leave me anyway?
The bedroom door opens, and Henley appears. He’s naked, hair disheveled, and he frowns when he sees me sitting on the floor. Without a word he comes and sits beside me, and we both stare out to sea. The feeling between us is thick with regret.
He knows.
He knows how he makes me feel when he checks out during sex.
For a long time, we sit in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. To be honest, I felt better when he was still asleep, because at least then I thought this was all in my head. Now I know for sure it’s not.
“Why are you like this?” I whisper.
“I don’t know.”
Silence . . .
“Do you want to be like this?” I ask.
“No.”
“Talk to me.” My eyes search his. “Tell me what’s in your heart.”
“My heart isn’t the problem.”
I frown as I listen.
“My head just gets in the way.”
“What happened tonight?”
He stays silent . . . his jaw clenching as if he’s holding himself back.
“Hen, if we are going to work out, you need to talk to me. We need to have a clear and open line of communication.”
He listens but still stays silent.
“What was the trigger tonight? What set you off?”
He gives a subtle shake of his head.
Seriously . . . this is pointless.
I’m beating my head up against a wall here.
He lies on the floor and puts the back of his forearm over his eyes to cover his face. “I had a fleeting thought where I knew where I wanted to be in five years,” he murmurs.