Page 15 of The VIP Package

“No, let me finish.” She sets down her juice pouch. “A week ago, he took me out for dinner. It wasn’t much different from a normal Friday night. He spent most of it on his phone texting other attorneys about this case they’re working on. He’s a partner at his firm and—” She stops, shaking her head. “That’s an irrelevant detail.”

“The devil’s in the details,” I quip. And I’m still not seeing her ex as the devil here.

“My point is that we barely spoke at all over dinner that night. I started feeling a little neglected and sad, wondering if maybe I’d missed the boat on having a deep connection with my partner.” The pain in her eyes is the opposite of the emotionally detached relationship she’s described thus far. “Then Hayden set down his phone, looked me right in the eye, and said, ‘I want to marry you.’ Just like that. Took the breath right out of my lungs. And all of a sudden, I felt—I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Seen.” My voice sounds raw and gravelly. “Desired. Worthy.”

Camille blinks. “Yes.”

I nod once. “Go on.”

She stares long enough that I’m not sure she will. When she finally speaks, her own voice sounds strained. “There was this five-second window where I felt all those things you just said.” She looks down at the table again. “Then Hayden kept going. Turned out his accountant tipped him off about some change inthe tax laws. A reason it behooved us financially to tie the knot before the end of the month.”

“Very sensible.” Not particularly romantic, but I respect sensible.

“Itissensible.” She looks up again, eyes searching mine. For what, I’m not sure. “And for so long, I’d prided myself on being sensible and practical andsmartin my relationship. On finding a way to avoid all those landmines that bring couples to my office—fizzling passion, fading feelings, a loss of newness and novelty. I thought if I skipped those things to start with, we’d begin from a more solid place.”

“I can’t fault your logic."

Her throat rolls as she swallows. “But for those five seconds, I knew what it felt like to be something more. To bechosen. To be claimed by somebody who loved me enough that he wanted to stand up in front of our friends and our family and a few random assholes from his office and say, ‘I commit my life to being the best possible partner to this woman I love more than anyone else in the world.’”

The pinch in my chest returns with a vengeance. I look out at the sea because it hurts more to look at Camille. Too many memories squeeze the breath from my lungs. “A lovely thought.” I try to infuse my voice with as much disdain as I can muster. “Not very practical.”

“You’re right. It wasn’t. And I stuffed all that sentimental crap back down my throat and convinced myself we should forge ahead with a legal partnership. That I had it right the first time.” She looks out at the water again. “Then he forgot to show up for our wedding.”

“Forgot?”

“Yep. Just plain didn’t show up.”

Okay, that’s bad.

I might not have the best track record with committed relationships, but I like to believe I’d never forget my own wedding. “Didn’t he have it in his calendar?”

“You’d think. All his work stuff is in there. His phone pings constantly with reminders.”

I can’t wrap my head around that one. “Did something important come up?”

“No, that’s just it. He went to get lunch. Scallops, apparently.”

Good lord. “Were they at least fresh?”

She laughs and swipes at her eyes. I hadn’t noticed before that she’d started to cry. “The best in Portland. Almost worth it, right?”

“Indeed.” I shouldn’t touch this woman. That’s playing with fire, and we’ve already seen what happens with that.

But I can’t seem to stop myself from placing a hand on her forearm. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“Thanks.” She looks down at my fingers brushing the edge of her wrist. “And thanks for listening. I swear I’m normally not such a mess.”

“Quite understandable.” I reach for the handkerchief in my breast pocket, then recall what I did with it. Why I’m wearing a starched white chef’s coat I found in the kitchen. “Come on.” I stand and offer my hand.

“Where are we going?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. Just laces her fingers through mine and lets me hoist her to her feet.

“There’s a new section of rooms we just added.” I guide her past the pool and toward the luxury villa where guests stay. “While the main section is scheduled for deep cleaning this week, these new suites don’t yet require it. You can stay there tonight, and tomorrow we’ll arrange for your transport home.”

“Thank you.” She yawns as I guide her past rows of lush hedges and palm trees. “Would this be the room I intended to book?”

“Indeed.” Here’s where I owe her an apology. “You were correct that you’d successfully booked a room. Not astayat the resort,” I add quickly before she can get too smug. “That’s required to take part in dining and activities at Crystal Bliss Retreat. But you discovered a glitch in our system in which one of the rooms not slated for deep cleaning was technically still available for booking. I apologize for that.”

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