Page 52 of I Almost Do

James

After the mess I made the night of the gala, Clarissa finishes out the semester at school and decides to spend most of the summer touring Europe with a few of her friends.

If I thought the idea of her moving four hours away to go to school was bad, it wasnothingon this. I’m barely sleeping or eating. All I’m doing is swimming laps in the pool to try to settle my mind and obsessively plotting how I’ll keep her safe and happy from an ocean away.

Not one member of the staff at the house or the office will even make eye contact with me since she announced her plans for fear of me biting their heads off.

Marcus would never have let her go. He'd have guilted her into staying. He was a great man and an amazing father. But even I can see how sometimes—a lot of times—he rode roughshod over her free will, probably without even realizing he was doing it.

I won't do that.

I wonder if Marcus is looking down and hating me now. He trusted me. And I betrayed that trust in a spectacular fashion. I put my mouth and my hands all over his baby girl on the night of a gala in his memory.

I betrayedher. The first orgasm I ever gave her wasn't some romantic, loving moment spent on white sheets with rose petals spread all over her on her twenty-fifth birthday. It was up against a door after I practically tore her dress off during an argument.

I got turned on when I was angry. I know exactly what kind of sick fuck does something like that.

I held her hands down.

She cried afterward. Every time I think of it, I want to rip my heart from my chest.

I never wanted to hurt her. I just wanted her to feel good.

I’ve apologized to her. She says it isn't necessary, but it's the only thing I know how to do. That and encourage her to do the things she wants to do without fighting her on them or asking her to stay.

I text her a list of travel safety tips. Then I print a hard copy and put it in her carry-on. I share contacts of every phone number of every mutual friend or trustworthy business acquaintance I have on that side of the pond, just in case she gets in a bind. I also print those, in case she loses her phone.

I make sure she has her passport. Make sure she has multiple sources of money, in multiple places, in case she gets pickpocketed. I send her itineraries and make her reservations. Remind her to drink water, not alcohol, on the plane. Stay away from drugs and users. Practice moderation. Cover her drinks. Listen to her bodyguard.

Then I stand in the airport and watch her meet up with a giggling Bronwyn and her girls, before they drag their luggage over to Bag Check. I want to just grab a ticket for myself and go with her. But that's not what this is for.

Clarissa leans over, saying something to Bronwyn when they reach the point where it's about to be passengers only. Bronwyn shoots Clarissa a thumbs-up in response, then wiggles her eyebrows at me. Classic Tequila Bronwyn.

Clarissa runs back to me, puts her hands on my face, and yanks me down for a quick kiss. A little tongue. A little teasing suck. Then she pulls back to search my eyes, her own sparkling with excitement.

"I'll be fine, I promise. I'll come home all cultured and shit." She winks.

She's already cultured by anyone's standards. She grew up surrounded by it. But she’s barely been anywhere. She’s lived vicariously through her novels long enough.

I nod and try to smile at her joke because that's what she wants from me. But I don't say words. I don't have any that aren't "Don't go" and "I changed my mind" and more versions of "Be safe."

Clarissa starts to run back to her friends, then turns midway, jogging backward while she shouts across the busy airport. "Hey, James!" She makes a goofy heart out of her hands. "I still love you!"

I put my fingers to my lips, then hold them up toward her. I mouth the words back, "Still love you.”

SheanswersFaceTimeina pub in Ireland. All the girls are holding Guinness, and a bunch of good-looking guys with Irish accents are crowding around them. She shouts, "I told you I'm married!" and waves her phone around at the table. The pronouncement is greeted by a chorus of laughing male boos.

She calls me freaked out in Amsterdam when she gets separated from her friends and bodyguard, terrified to walk back to the hotel alone after dark. She stays on the phone with me the entire time, and, though it's less than a two-block walk, I'm pretty sure I don't breathe for three whole days.

When Clarissa locks herself safely behind her hotel room door, I call Sasha and threaten the bodyguard with death and dismemberment. It's not hyperbole.

Clarissa FaceTimes me from a beach in the South of France. Topless. When I freak the fuck out, she laughs and turns the camera around to show topless women everywhere, including Bronwyn in a damn thong—because of course she did.

Bronwyn waves. "Heeeey, big daddy."

Clarissa flips the camera back. "You're not actually mad about this, are you? Literally everyone does it here. Nobody's ogling my boobs."

I clear my throat. "No, I'm not mad. Wear sunblock." I swallow. "A lot of sunblock."

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