The Lovers (22 page)

Alone. With Jack.

I shiver, then cover it up by taking a bite of toast, the strawberry jam sweet enough on my tongue to slide over the bitter taste in my mouth, left there by my own foolishness.

Jack is quiet while he eats. Mostly he sips coffee and broods, pushing his eggs and bacon around on his plate. I'm doing pretty much the same. I can't help but wonder if it's really me he's mad at, or if the problem is that Audrey hasn't come back. I remember what he said to me, about how it still bothers him sometimes, and it makes my stomach pull into a tight little knot. Maybe he's jealous of her time with Charles. Maybe last night meant more to me than it did to him, and what I thought I saw on his face, in his eyes, was nothing more than post-sex endorphins.

I don't want him to want her. But hell,
I
still want her, in some small way. How can I possibly blame him?

My head is spinning again.

He excuses himself and gets up from the table before the rest of us are finished.

“What bit him in the ass?” Leo asks before stuffing an entire piece of toast into his mouth.

“Oh, shush, Leo,” Viviane admonishes, ever the mother to us all. “Maybe he's hungover.”

“Yeah, I don't think so,” he says, glancing at me.

I wonder if he knows. If he saw us together last night. But it shouldn't matter, should it? We're both adults, Jack and I. We're not doing anything wrong. That's just my old habit kicking in, feeling as if everyone is judging me. Leo probably could care less who sleeps with whom, other than in the most passing, gossip-happy way. I'm being paranoid.

I can't eat any more, but I wait until everyone is done to get up. I don't want to follow Jack so quickly.

But of course that's exactly what I want. I want to run after him and explain why I left. Beg him to forgive me. To take me back to his cottage and fuck me until I'm senseless. Until I can't think anymore. That seems to be the only time I am completely at peace.

I force myself to help to clear the table, load the dishwasher, wiping the counters after Patrice and Kenneth have gone out to sit on the terrace and Leo has gone upstairs to shower. As I'm drying my hands on a cotton dish towel, Viviane comes up next to me and asks quietly, “Are you okay, Tina?”

“What? Yes. Fine. I'm fine.”

She takes my chin in her hand. “Are you?”

I am horrified to find my eyes filling with tears. But I shake my head, shake them away.

“Oh, honey,” she says. Her big brown eyes are soft with worry.

“No. I'm fine. I promise. I don't know what's gotten into me.”

She stares into my eyes for a long time as I blink them dry. Then, “You can talk to me anytime, you know.”

“I know. I think…I just need to get my head straight. Figure out what I want. What I don't want, too.”

“Good girl. I'm glad to see you standing up for yourself, taking care of yourself.” Viviane smiles at me and I smile back.

“Yeah, I guess I am. Although it feels a lot more like I'm floundering around with no direction.”

“You just need to pick one and follow it, babe.”

“I'm trying.”

“You'll do it. I have confidence in you.”

I laugh, the tears wanting to surface again, but I swallow
them back. “That's one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”

“I mean it, Tina.” She smiles again, rubs my back for a moment. “Want to come down to the beach and write? Or do you want some time alone today? I can make excuses to the group, if you like.”

“Maybe…maybe I will take some time for myself.”

“Okay. You know where to find us.”

I nod. Viviane goes upstairs, leaving me alone in the kitchen. It's still full of cooking smells and golden morning light. I pour some more coffee and drink it while leaning on the counter, gazing out the window.

Outside, the long leaves of the eucalyptus trees are moving in the breeze, just a delicate fluttering, making them look like clusters of green and white and brown butterflies. My stomach is filled with that same fluttering.

I cannot stop thinking about him. I want to and don't want to in equal measures. I want the relief of being able to let my mind wander, to stop worrying over what this all means: his behavior, mine. At the same time, I want to indulge in those girlish fantasy scenarios: Jack kissing me, telling me…what? That he loves me?

I scoff to myself, take another sip of coffee. The hot liquid scalds my tongue and I spill some onto the counter.

My heart is hammering.

“Fuck,” I say quietly.

“It's just spilled coffee,” Jack says from behind me.

“Fuck,” I say again, whirling to face him. “You startled me.”

“Sorry.”

He doesn't look sorry. He looks furious. Furious and darkly sexy, as always, but maybe more so now. Furious suits him.

“You're angry,” I say to him.

“Damn right I'm angry.”

I hate that he's so beautiful right now, his eyes a blaze of dark green, his lush mouth set beneath the haze of beard stubble, making his jaw look sharper, more defined. And some part of me just wants to kiss him, because he wouldn't be angry if he didn't care that I left. The ache in my stomach slides open and the flutter is back.

God, I'm fucked up.

“Tell me why, Jack.”

“You want me to tell you why I'm mad, Bettina? All right, I'll tell you.”

He advances on me, until he is right next to me. Until I can smell sex on him, the scent of the two of us the night before: sweat and skin and come.

I can only look up at him, waiting. That scent has me dumbstruck with wanting.

He jams a hand into his dark hair and I see him pull in a long breath.

“I'm mad because this is bullshit. Bullshit. I can get this shit from Audrey. It's like her all over again. This fucking, then sneaking away in the middle of the night.”

“I didn't sneak,” I say.

“Didn't you?”

“I—”

“Stop it, Bettina.”

Anger surges in me suddenly, an unfamiliar but potent wave of it. “You stop it, Jack. What do you expect of me? I'm not Audrey. I'm not you. I'm not used to this casual-sex thing. I don't get the protocol. Am I supposed to pretend like everything is perfect and lovely because we're having sex? That never knowing if you'll still want me the next day is just fine with me? If that's how you want to play it, Jack—and you've made it abundantly clear that that's how you do things—then
you can't begrudge me my defense mechanisms. So pardon me if the only way I can fuck you is not to allow myself to linger after. I may be a writer, but I can't imagine my way into pretending everything is normal. There is nothing normal about this. This thing where you can't forget about Audrey even when you're with me. Hell, I can't handle that
I
can't forget about her! This is all just too…weird and confusing. I'm not that sophisticated, Jack.”

“It's not about being sophisticated, Bettina. Fuck.”

“What is it then? Why don't you explain it to me?”

He shakes his head, his face shutting down, his eyes going even darker. “I can't.”

My eyes are burning with tears, damn it. “Well, that's incredibly helpful, Jack. And a bit cowardly.”

He looks as if I've slapped him. Maybe I have. But I can't take this anymore. I've let him know how I feel. If he wasn't still hung up on Audrey, he would tell me now. If he wanted to be with me, I've given him the opportunity to say so. But he remains silent, his hand in his hair again.

I shake my head. “I'm going.”

I try to push past him, but he grabs my arm. I turn to look at him, waiting, my pulse hot and racing.

“Don't do this, Bettina.”

“Why not? Can you give me one good reason, Jack?”

But he just shakes his head mutely. I pull my arm from his hand so hard it hurts. But it's nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

He can't give me a reason to stay because he doesn't have one.

Fuck.

I turn and walk out the door, and he doesn't try to stop me.

I yank open the blue door to my cottage, every bit as furious now as Jack was. Maybe more so. I stomp inside, my flip-flop–covered feet making a sort of ridiculous slapping noise on the wood floor, which stops me and makes me think for a moment.

He cares. There's no reason for him to be upset if he didn't.

But he doesn't care enough.

I flop down on the bed, toe my sandals off, letting them drop onto the floor, where they fall with a small
thunk
that satisfies me somehow. I think I understand suddenly why some people punch walls when they're mad. And just as quickly, I realize this is one of the first times in my life I've truly been angry with anyone, that I've felt this,
allowed
myself to feel this.

How absurd is it that this is progress for me? But it is.

I cover my eyes with my hands, pressing, trying not to think; it's making my brain hurt. And I jump when the door slams open, crashing into the wall.

Jack is standing there, his face grim.

“Jack, you scared the hell out of me!”

Oh, yes, I'm still mad. And it feels good.

He is silent, watching me for a moment. Then he crosses the room so damn fast I don't have time to realize what's happening until he's on me, his hands pressing my shoulders down into the pillows. His mouth comes down on mine, hard and bruising. I don't want to return his kiss, but I do, my lips opening, my tongue twining with his.

I'm still mad. But his mouth is so sweet, some mixture of coffee and that Jack taste I could never describe, writer or not. And his cock is hardening against my thigh, that and his hot, thrusting tongue, the weight of his body on mine making me melt beneath him.

He pulls his mouth away long enough to mutter, “Goddamn it, Bettina,” as he tears his shirt over his head, then mine.

I help him wordlessly, our clothes coming off quickly. And just as quickly he is rolling a condom down over his rigid cock and spreading my thighs with his, just sort of pushing my legs out of the way so he can get inside me.

One sharp thrust and he's in, and I'm so damn wet it doesn't hurt; he just slides home. Our hips angle and pump, bones clashing together, and I think from some vague distance that I'll have bruises when this is over. Doesn't matter, though. What matters is Jack's mouth on the rise of my breast, biting into my flesh, my hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his smooth skin. Jack fucking me, fucking me, until I can barely breathe. Then his hand going down between us and pinching at my clit.

Pleasure rises, crests, and my anger, that bit I can still feel, joins with his, driving us both on. We are panting, groaning, Jack muttering a few curses as he slams into me. And I am taking it, loving it, needing it.

Soon his fingers and his cock are really working their
magic, and I come, a hard, shattering torrent of sensation, rocking me.

“Jack…fuck! Jack…”

“I'm coming,” he tells me from between clenched teeth.

His body jerks, thrusting harder, and I hold on to him, as though I will drown. Maybe I will, without him.

Scary thought. I shove it away, focus on the hard push of his chest against mine as he gasps for breath, the scent of his sweat, the wetness sticking our bodies together.

“Bettina,” he says finally.

“What?”

“Don't fucking do that again. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He's quiet for a minute. Then, “Do we need to talk about this?”

“No.”

And I don't. For once, I really want to not think, not talk.

“Okay,” he says, leaning in to brush his lips along my jaw, then over my lips. “Okay.”

Then he's kissing me, and I'm kissing him back, and it's not like those pre-sex kisses that are all about heat and need and spiraling desire. No, this is just about kissing each other, our lips meeting, parting, meeting again, the soft touch of our tongues. And his mouth is so soft on mine, my head is spinning.

Don't think.

I shut my brain off, just let it go blank, and lose myself in Jack. I shut out the fear and the questions and the doubt with which I am constantly torturing myself. And it feels good.

 

I've been here for just over a month. Time has gone by in a blur of sunny days spent writing on the beach, meals with
the group, swimming in the ocean. My writing is going well. Viviane has been teaching me to cook in a wok. Jack has been teaching me how to come almost instantly and in more ways than I ever imagined.

He's also taught me something about staying in the moment. He still hasn't promised me anything, but I'm learning to be with him without that. I'm still uncertain what it is I want from him, ultimately, what it is I truly need. Meanwhile, he gives me everything I desire.

The others know, even though no one says anything, other than an occasional veiled remark. But none of it is cruel. Audrey, on those rare days when she comes back to the group from Charles's house, is quiet. She'll sit across from us on the sand, glancing up from her notepad, and sometimes I'll catch her doing it, catch the expression in her smoke-blue eyes. Sometimes she looks merely curious, as though she wants to ask me about it, what's going on between Jack and me. Sometimes I swear she looks almost hurt.

Jack thinks she's just upset that neither of us has gone to her, confided in her. But what's happening with Jack and me now feels private. I want it to be. We've already shared plenty with Audrey. This is
ours.

Anyway, I don't understand what she has to be upset about. She's with Charles every night and often during the day. She has her life. We have ours.

I miss her. Maybe Jack does, too. I'm not sure I want to know. I miss her magic, the dynamic light that is Audrey. I miss the sex a little, too, as impossible as that seems. Jack has satisfied my body in every way. Well, almost every way. Being with Audrey was different. Softer. Safer. I miss that feeling, and I just miss
her.
It makes me sad. And that's how Jack finds me this morning when he wakes up. We're in his bed, and
the fog is heavy beyond the sheer curtains. The rumble of the ocean seems muffled by it, a white blanket of quiet outside.

“What's up, baby?”

Oh, I love it when he calls me that; it makes me shiver all over. But not so much today.

“I don't know.”

“Come here.”

He pulls me into his arms, and I lay my head against his chest, breathing him in, as I've done so often these past weeks. But today it doesn't comfort me as it has.

“Jack?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think it's possible that some of us…that I…can't be made happy?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I should be happy now.”

“Aren't you?”

He shifts so that he can look at me, his dark brows drawn together. God, he's beautiful.

I really should be happy.

“I…I don't know what I am. Sometimes I am. But some times I let myself think too much.”

“Then don't think.”

He laughs and pulls me in tighter, kissing my head, but I struggle, pulling away to sit up.

“Jack, please don't do that.”

He sits up, too. “Don't do what?”

“Don't condescend. I'm not some little thimblehead.”

“I know that.” He's looking hard at me now, his green eyes gone dark. “Don't you think I know that?”

Why am I doing this? Making him angry? But I can't seem to help myself.

“I just think…I can't stop thinking about Audrey. And about you. I mean, what exactly are we doing here, Jack?”

He sighs softly, as though he knows he shouldn't let me hear him, the classic male sound that means some woman wants to talk about emotions and they don't want to deal with it. I have never been that woman before. I sigh, too.

Finally he says, “We're just being together. Enjoying each other.”

“And then what?”

He looks at me, his brows drawing together over his mossy-green eyes. They are so damn beautiful. He is so damn beautiful.

My chest feels heavy, as though anticipating something I don't want to hear. But I don't even know what I do want to hear. I'm a mess. As usual.

“I don't know.”

I sigh once more, turn away.

“I don't know what you want me to say,” he tells me. “I want what we have right now. I don't know how to think beyond this. But tell me, Bettina, do you? Because from what you've said, we are in exactly the same place when it comes to this stuff. Relationships.”

“I…” I shake my head. “No. You're right. I don't even understand why I'm doing this.”

But as he pulls me back into his arms I know I'm lying. I know exactly why I'm doing this.

I'm in love with Jack.

I have a new secret now. But I'm good at keeping secrets. My whole fucking existence has been a secret, unnoticed until now.

And so I fall into his embrace as I always do, smiling,
letting his kisses, his touch, soothe me, so I can pretend it's not true.

But it is. I'm in love with Jack.

 

We're on the beach, having just finished a picnic lunch. Jack and Leo have gone back up to the house to help Kenneth with some car problem, and Viviane and Patrice are lounging beneath the umbrella, heads together, brainstorming some plot issue of Viv's.

Which leaves Audrey and me.

She's been writing furiously on her notepad today, but after the men have gone she puts her pen down on the colorful woven blanket and watches me. I keep trying to write for a few minutes, scribbling on my pad of paper, but she's distracting me. Finally I lay my pen down, too.

“What is it, Audrey?” My voice is a little sharper than I intended.

“Want to walk with me?”

I do. And I don't. I'm a little afraid of being alone with her. Afraid of what we'll talk about. What we won't.

“Sure. Yes.” I turn to Viviane and Patrice. “Will you two be here for a bit?”

“For a while,” Viviane answers. “You can leave your things here, if you want. If you're not back when we go, we'll take everything with us.”

I nod and Audrey and I stand up. She turns to head north, in the opposite direction from Charles's place, and I follow.

The day is hot, the sun beating down on the water, making it sparkle so brilliantly I can't really look at it, even with my sunglasses on. Even the damp, foam-strewn sand at the water's edge is warm beneath my bare toes.

We're quiet until we've walked a ways up the beach, leaving Viviane and Patrice behind us.

“So,” I say.

Audrey turns to me.

“So.”

She smiles at me, brilliantly, the old Audrey once more, and the sense of awkwardness disappears, leaving me wondering why it was there to begin with.

“I've missed you,” I tell her, the words pouring out before I can stop them.

“I've missed you, too. And Jack.”

My heart stutters for a moment, but then she says, “You two seem happy together. I'm glad.”

“I…thanks.” I look down, digging my big toe into the sand, sweeping it in an arc as I shove my hands into the pockets of my shorts.

“Just remember what I said, Bettina. About not letting them get to you.” Her gaze is a little intense now, but that's Audrey, isn't it?

“I remember.”

And I do. Even though I've let myself go a little, with Jack, a part of me is still intent on protecting myself. From hurt. From love, maybe.

I don't like to think of what I'm doing that way, but there it is. It's the truth.

We walk a little farther, Audrey wandering closer to the waves washing up on the beach, pausing, the cool water swirling around her ankles. I stand next to her and let the waves move the sand in and out in thick, wet surges beneath my feet. And I have once more that sensation of the world filling me up and falling away that I so loved as a child. Only now it feels like some sort of symbol for my life.

I hate it when I get philosophical.

“He and Viv used to be together, you know,” Audrey says
so quietly I can barely hear her over the hammer of waves on the shore.

“What?”

“They used to have a thing. It wasn't serious. Well, not for Jack, of course. But Viv…”

“Viviane what…?

Audrey turns to me. Her smoke-blue eyes are enormous, the whites as white as her beautiful teeth. The contrast against her summer-tanned skin is dazzling.

She says simply, “Viviane's heart was broken.”

“I…oh.”

I don't know what to say. I hate to hear this. I love Viviane.

I love Jack.

“Audrey, why are you telling me this? It's none of my business.”

“Isn't it? You're with Jack now, Bettina, and I'd hate to see the same thing happen to you. I care about you, you know.” There's an edge to her voice now that makes me uncomfortable. Why is she really telling me this? I nod.

“And,” she goes on, “I think you're a bit…fragile sometimes.”

It sounds like an accusation. Or am I imagining things? My insecurities getting out of hand again. “You think I'm fragile?”

“Don't be so insulted, Bettina,” she says a little too carelessly. “I just meant that you've been hurt before.”

“Haven't we all, Audrey? Aren't we all a bit fragile somewhere along the line? Aren't you?”

As I say it I understand that it's true. She's being a little harsh with me, a little mean, but I feel for her. All of Audrey's magic and brilliance is real, but some of it, at least, is to cover up.
It's to protect that part of her that, just like me, is still a little girl who's afraid of the world. It makes me angry and makes me love her all at the same time.

Which still doesn't explain why I'm crying.

I shake my head and wipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I just realized that I'm not the only one who's scared sometimes.”