27.
Becca
My pulse is already racing the moment I wake up. As I roll over and am greeted by the soft morning light streaming through the curtains, my thoughts turn to him. I’m so jittery I feel like I’ve just downed ten cups of coffee.
Do you think he’ll be angry? What if he refuses to talk to you? Even worse, what if he has another woman?
Pushing away these useless chatterings, I slide out of bed, my feet skittering across the cold floor until they come across my slippers. The clock reads a quarter after seven. Was it too early to go over? I knew Rich was an early riser, but even for him this was probably too early.
Okay. So a shower first then. I needed something to calm me down anyways. With how agitated I was, if I were to go over now I doubted I’d be able to get out even one full sentence.
The shower helps somewhat, though just like the droplets of water needling my skin, so too do a million thoughts poke at me. There were so many different ways this could go. What would my life look like this afternoon?
When my breathing has finally settled into a rhythm somewhat resembling normal, I towel off and return to the bedroom, whereupon I spend twenty minutes carefully picking out an outfit. Was it better to wear something sexy? Or something formal? Something casual? Something plain? What exactly was I hoping to get out of this? If the rumors were true, did I really want to be dressed as if I were intending to throw myself at him? Then again, if the rumors weren’t true…
I end up choosing something simple, a long, green sundress bespeckled with blue orchids. By now, the time is nearing eight. I’m well aware as I pull on my dress that I’m doing everything I can to hold off the inevitable. Could a girl really be blamed though? Who in their right mind liked to rush into hard, not to mention possibly painful, conversations?
After fixing and re-fixing my hair half a dozen times, finally there is nothing left to do but get it over with. Resigning myself to my fate, I pull open my villa door, my hands shaking, and step into the Hawaiian sunlight. As I’d suspected, it is yet again another gorgeous day, the sky a light-blue lake without depth. Seated atop a bush next to the door is a bird, the little plump ball of feathers chittering happily as it preens itself.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I hurry down my walkway to the main path and turn towards Rich’s villa. Not five seconds later, I’m standing before his door, my hand poised to knock.
Okay, girl. Come on. All you have to do is knock. The rest will take care of itself. Hell, he might not even be here. You might worrying for nothing. You know how he likes to go for early morning runs. Come on, just do it.
But I can’t. For a full minute I stand there with my hand frozen in the air, coaxing it, wheedling it. Regardless of what I say, it refuses to move.
I end up returning to my villa feeling like a total failure. Back in my bedroom, I pace from one side to the other, my hands clasped behind my back.
Okay, Becca. You can do this. Just get it over with. It’s like a bandage. You just have to rip it off.
My pep talk successful, I return to his door. This time though, it’s not nerves that keep me from knocking, it’s the fact that I can hear voices inside that hadn’t been there before. Did Rich have company?
My heart jumping up into my throat, I press my ear to the wooden door. People were most definitely talking on the inside. A man and the woman it sounded like, though the door was too thick to make out if the man in question was Rich.
For several minutes, I listen, undecided as to what to do. Should I knock anyways? Maybe what I was hearing was just the TV. For all I knew, Rich was lying in bed watching the news.
Or maybe it’s not Rich at all. Maybe Rich has already returned home and who you’re hearing is a new couple.
Either way, my nerve is gone once again. Ever so slowly, I back down Rich’s walkway. This time though, rather than return to my room, I go instead to the dining garden. Not that I’m particularly hungry. No, what I needed was a drink. I’ve had just about enough of these nerves; it was time to do things the good old-fashioned way, with a bit of liquid courage!
The buffet hasn’t been open long, the garden mostly empty. Spotting Cal, who I haven’t seen since that first night after finding out about Rich when he’d dropped off food, I wave. A look of confusion flashes across his face. Just as quickly, this look melts into a smile and he waves back.
Not even glancing at the food, I go straight to the bar. It’s a tiny, grass-roofed hut to the left of the buffet.
“Hello,” I say to the bartender as I plop down on a stool. Naturally, I’m the first one here. The bartender is just setting up for the day, his eyes still heavy with sleep as he polishes a rack of tropical cocktail glasses. “A mimosa, please.”
“Coming right up,” the bartender says nonchalantly, setting down his rag. Stifling a yawn, he opens up a mini-fridge below the bar and pulls out a bottle of champagne and a jug of orange juice.
I down the first mimosa quickly and immediately order a second. This one too disappears in a flash. The third I slip only slightly more slowly as I run one last time over my plan.
Just be honest, Becca. You messed up. That’s all there is to it. Even if everything you read is true, he still deserved a chance to defend himself before you cut him off. Especially after the wonderful week the two of you spent together.
The third mimosa now flowing through my blood, I’m finally ready. I saunter back over to the stone path leading to the villas, waving to Cal once again before disappearing into the hedges. Everything, from the sun to the sidewalk to the bushes pressing in on me from either side, is now a little brighter than before.
When I reach Rich’s door two minutes later, I’m surprised to find it cracked open. As before, I can make out two distinct voices inside, though both are talking too low for me to make out what they are saying. Even so, the man’s voice is easy enough to identify as Rich’s. The woman’s I don’t recognize.
I know I should walk away but I’m just too curious. Placing my palm to the door, I gently push it open, the mimosas having all but done away with my inhibitions.
It is indeed Rich and a woman. He’s seated in his desk chair, the woman atop his lap, her legs straddling his. Her hands are on his shoulders, his hands down by his sides, empty beer bottles scattered around his feet. His shirt is crumpled, his features haggard. It looks as if he’s been up all night. Even so, his handsomeness is enough to make my breath catch in my chest.
Hearing the door creak open, Rich glances towards it. When his eyes meet mine, it’s as if an arrow pierces my heart.
“Becca?” he murmurs, sounding as if he doesn’t quite trust what he’s seeing. He cocks his head to the side and blinks several times. “Becca…”
The woman straddling him turns towards me. My gaze flashes over to hers. Though I don’t want to, I can’t help but recognize her instantly. Impossible not to with all the pictures I’d seen of her in my search for the truth about Rich.
Charlotte!
No. No, this couldn’t be. What was she doing here? I’d thought…Hadn’t they?...
Realization, the realization that I had been and was still an utter fool, washes over me. Pain comes following right after, slicing through my heart like a well-sharpened knife.
“Rich…” My eyes blurry with tears, I take a faltering step back.
“Becca…” Rich says. Placing his hands on Charlotte’s hips, he pushes her off of him and makes to stand. “Becca, wait!”
But it’s too late. For already I have turned and am gone.