Mad Love (32 page)

“Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure,” he tells them as they shake hands. “Please, take care of her on the flight home.”

Orie pulls me into his embrace, knowing I’m walking a fine line and can crumble at any minute.

“We’ve got her. Don’t worry.”

“I hope we’ll see you soon,” Erik says to him, voicing the longing in my heart. Like can we see you in an hour, I think? Can you get on the plane with us to LA? Can you?

“You will. Sooner than you think,” Clayton responds. Erik smiles at him. I know he likes his answer.

I am handed a lifejacket from one of the men from the resort. I put it on and Clayton helps me buckle it tightly as Erik and Orie walk onto the plane. I feel so sick, I think I’m going to throw up. It’s surreal, like a complete fucking circle. Here he is seeing me off, there he was, helping me arrive. My hands move up slowly and I cover his as they hold onto my safety buckles. I close my eyes, knowing the inevitable tears are going to come.

He leans down into me, putting his forehead against mine, taking a deep, heavy breath. I can feel his raging emotions, I know he’s upset with me for leaving. I know he’s upset at the whole situation. And I hate disappointing him.

I take his hands and kiss each palm.

“I want to thank you … ” I begin, my voice wavering with the depth of my emotion.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Sophie. Don’t you fucking dare,” he responds harshly, like he knows what I’m about to say to him.

He lifts my chin up and stares at me, his eyes ablaze with feeling.

“This is not the end.”

I can only nod.

“Do you hear me?” he says roughly. “
This is not the fucking end
! Say it to me. Say it now!” he demands.

My voice is choked up. I can barely speak, but I give him what he wants. “This. Is. Not. The. End.”

He nods at me, then grabs my face between his palms and kisses me so passionately that I think I’m going to die.

“I will see you soon. And when I do, I will punish you for making us both go through this mockery. Because it will never happen again.” He says it so savagely that my toes curl. I throw myself in his arms and kiss him again. Then I pull back slowly and smile at him.

“I love you.”

He doesn’t say the words back, like I wish he would, but I know he’s not used to emotions. It’s so strange. I’ve never uttered these words to a man before, and yet it feels so natural right now. I love him with all that I am, and even though I know he’s not ready to say the words to me, I am finally completely confident that he feels the same way, and it’s okay.

“I do, you know,” I tell him softly.

“I know, baby.” He pulls me in and holds me close.

I cried the whole way to Male. And on the entire, four-hour trip to Singapore from Male. And just about drove Erik and Orie crazy. I don’t think they could much more of it. When we got off the plane in Singapore, with a three-hour layover stretching out in front of us, Erik turned to me and really let me have it.

“One more goddamn tear and I’m going to scream.”

I stared at him with wide eyes.

“But … ”

“No fucking ‘buts!’ He’s coming for you. He’s not letting you go. So stop your whining and go have a glass of wine. Make it two,” he ordered. “I’m going to Hermès in duty free to buy myself something nice. If I feel like it, maybe I’ll pick up a bangle for you. But only if you stop the damn crying. If I see one tear, one damn tear when I get back to the lounge, you can kiss the bangle goodbye. Now go drink.”

So here I am.

I grab my bag and turn my cell phone on, hoping that I have reception so I can connect to the Wi-Fi in the lounge. Thankfully, I do.

I have three texts from Clayton Sinclair.

When did I input his number in my phone? Um, I
never
did. I slowly smile. He must have done it himself, the sneaky bastard.

Clayton:

SOPHIE, TEXT ME WHEN YOU LAND IN SINGAPORE.

The next one reads.

Clayton:

I’M FUCKING PISSED YOU LEFT.

I start laughing.

And then there’s another.

Clayton:

I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LEFT. I JUST CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. THE VILLA, THIS RESORT, THIS PLACE IS JUST NOT THE SAME WITHOUT YOU. I MISS YOU, GODDAMNIT. CLAYTON.

My heart soars. I feel so happy, so incredibly content, because of that text.

I write him back instantly.

Sophie:

I JUST LANDED. I’M IN THE LOUNGE. I FUCKING MISS YOU TOO. XO SOPHIE

I don’t even have to wait thirty seconds for his response. He must have supersonic reception in the Maldives.

Clayton:

DON’T USE THAT LANGUAGE. IT’S UNBECOMING OF YOU. AND YOU HAVE ONLY YOURSELF TO BLAME. PICK UP YOUR PHONE.

The phone rings a second later and I answer after one ring.

“I’m going crazy here without you.” His voice is even sexier on a cell phone. He’s calling me! I’m so happy I could scream.

“I’m miserable,” I admit. Because I am. I want him to be with me. I want us to be together, wherever that place is, just together. And if I’m miserable now, I keep wondering how I will ever survive the rest of the separation. The time difference, the long flights? How?

“Fly back. My assistant can book you a flight right now.”

“You know I can’t,” I whisper to him, wishing the opposite was true.

“You can drive a man mad, baby.”

“I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want,” I tell him, because it’s the honest truth.

“You will,” he assures me, sounding completely confident.

“I miss you, Clayton.”

“I miss you too, baby.” I can feel the tears start to come again. Those dreaded tears.

“I have to get a grip. Can we talk a little later?” I ask him, not wanting him to hear me cry.

“Yes, that’s fine.” He sighs. “I know your layover is another couple of hours. I have a work call I’m jumping on right now that I should be off before your flight leaves. I will ring you right when I’m done, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Bye, baby,” he says softly, then pauses for a second. “Sophie?”

“Yes?”

He takes a moment.

“I’ve never felt this miserable before. I just want you to know that. I want you to know that you’re responsible for this feeling of discomfort I have. I’m not used to it. And honestly, I hate it. I don’t know what someone would call this … if it’s … ” My heart stops. Love. He wants to say it. “I don’t know, because I’ve never experienced this before.”

It’s the most amazing thing he could have said to me. The sweetest, best thing—besides I love you—that he could say to make me soar.

“I understand, Clayton,” I tell him.

“Do you?” He sounds annoyed.

“Yes. I make you queasy, angry, and uncomfortable.” I laugh.

“Christ. I miss you,” he says sharply.

“I’ll talk to you after your call, Clayton,” I tell him with a smile, so happy that he just told me how much he misses me.

“Count on it.”

“I do.”

We hang up and I’m happy to note that I am feeling a little better. Knowing that he misses me is reassuring and gives me hope. I pick up my
carry-on bag and go freshen up in the bathroom in the lounge, then make my way to the duty free.

A couple of hours later, and after blowing even more money that I don’t have, I find Erik and Orie in Gucci buying aviator sunglasses that look suspiciously like the ones Clayton had. I smirk at the sight.

“Fancy you two liking those.”

“That’s a very English thing for you to say,” Orie smiles at me. “I’m guessing lover boy called?”

“He did.”

“Thank fucking God. Can you imagine a flight home listening to her cry the whole way?” Erik says to Orie with a look of pure horror. “The thought makes my skin crawl. But if that happened I’d slip an Ambien in your drink and call it a day,” he admits.

“You’d drug me?” I ask him, feigning horror, even though I know he probably would; for humanity’s sake, he would tell me, and for his own sanity. Shit, I’d probably welcome it under those circumstances.

“One hundred percent. No doubt.” He turns to me with the aviators on his face, posing like a runway model.

“How do I look?”

“Pretty damn good.”

“Could you die?” He smiles at me then tells the sales lady, “I’ll take these.”

“I’m going over to the newsstand. I want to pick up some magazines,” I tell them.

“Grab an
US Weekly
and
People
. I feel so out of the loop with my celebrity gossip,” Erik asks me as I head out.

They have a pretty impressive wall filled with about one hundred different magazines from around the world. It’s so overwhelming, I don’t even know where to begin. I grab the two that Erik wanted me to get, then pick up an interesting-looking magazine for artists, a
UK Vogue,
a
Bazaar
, then stop dead in my tracks when I get to
Hello
magazine. What the hell?

I can feel the bile rise in my throat.

It can’t be, and yet it is. It’s him. Clayton Astor Sinclair. On the cover of a magazine. And he’s not alone.

The headline reads:

Lord Clayton Astor Sinclair on again with the beautiful Amelia Von Peters.

It’s a picture of Clayton and Amelia taken a few days ago in Singapore. When he told me he was going for business. He’s wearing the same suit he had on that day, so it can’t be a picture from the past, and there’s no mistaking the Maldivian tan. His arm is around her, holding her close, as they’re caught on a street corner in the city. In broad daylight.

Like a lunatic, I read the article, which gives a location and time. An eyewitness even says that they were caught leaving the Ritz-Carlton Hotel arm in arm.
They look so in love. What a handsome couple they are
, another witness said of the two them. As if on cue, my phone rings and it’s him. Clayton. I don’t answer as I stare blindly at the magazine. Moments later, Clayton rings again. And I still don’t answer.

Then again. Damn it! I grab my phone and turn it off, making sure there is no way I can hear the ringer again as I try to digest it all.

So, I was used. Thoroughly. Completely. Used.

Played.

I have to sit down.

I literally collapse on the ground in front of the stand, the magazine gripped tightly in my hand. I look at the photographs. As if I’m watching myself look at the photos of the two of them from a distance, I note how good they look together. Their height and coloring complement each other very well. According to the article, it seems they have the same pedigree. Amelia’s father is some important person in Parliament or something, honestly, I can’t even focus.
And his family loves her
, his friends say. I’m sure they do. What’s not to love?

“Yo bitch, I think they just called for our plane,” Orie says behind me.

“Do you have any idea how germ-infested airport floors are?” Erik says in a horrified voice. “Are you insane? Do you want to catch the bird flu?”

I lift my arm up, holding the magazine in my hand. No words. I just hold it up. Someone, one of them, grabs it from me and they both take it in.

“What the hell?!” Erik practically screams.

“That motherfucking piece of goddamn shit!” Orie chimes in, enraged.

A few minutes go by and the two are now completely silent. A rarity. I know they’re probably staring down at me, wondering how in the hell they’re going to deal with me, what they’re going to say, what
can
they say, and just what they should do for me. I’m beyond pain. I’m beyond feeling. I’m in such a deep, deep state of shock that I don’t know what to say to them either. So many colorful adjectives come to mind, but I don’t think they would fully capture the essence of what I’m feeling inside. I actually don’t know if there are any words in the English language for it.

Erik breaks the silence, as I expected. “We all need to get a grip for a second and back the fuck up.”

I stand and face my friends. Erik holds the magazine in his hand and waves it around.

“Where did we go wrong?”

I’m incapable of answering him because I’m at a loss. I grab the magazine from his hand and turn to pay for it at the counter.

“Is that really necessary?” Erik asks me.

“I think it is.”

I hand the woman cash then look at them with zombie eyes.

“Are we going?”

They nod and follow my lead as I make my way toward the gate. I’m methodical, robotic, it’s like I’m having some type of out-of-body experience and this is not for real, none of it is, and I’m going to wake up. I’m going to wake up and I’ll be at home, in my parents’ place, and I’ll never have gone to the Maldives, I’ll still be a virgin, and I’ll think about this dream lover I had who was incredible. And a lying cheat. Christ.

I hand my ticket to the stewardess and walk onto the plane, Erik and Orie behind me, speechless.

I find my seat and collapse in it. My friends come to me, both staring at my pale face, waiting for some type of reaction that will show them that I’m still breathing, living, and sane.

But something inside me has died. Something was crushed so cruelly and completely that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to revive it. Recover from it.

“Are you going to say something?” Erik asks me, worried.

“What is there to say?”

“Something!
Anything,
” he says frantically, searching my face for signs of life. “This is so fucked!”

“Well, I’m going to say something,” Orie cuts in, with a look on his face of pure anger, a complete rarity for him. “I feel betrayed by this English asshole. What a crock of shit he is. A big, fat, motherfucking lie. From head to toe. And I hate him. I really hate him, Sophie. He’s a goddamn dick. If he were here, I’d beat the living shit out of him. Actually, he’s way worse than that, Sophie.
He’s a cunt
. Isn’t that a word the English love to use?” Erik nods in agreement, giving his boyfriend a high five.

“You couldn’t have said it better. He
is
a cunt,” Erik says.

I almost smile. And then I feel it coming. I think I’m … I think I’m …

“Oh shit! She’s gonna barf!” Erik screams out as he pulls out the barf bag and hands it to me.