Chapter 4 Forrest
Chapter four
Forrest
Ifeel set up as hell and now I’m pissed.
Birdie’s going to think I chose Phee because why am I on this idiot boat with my ex-wife?
“Turn this yacht around,” I snapped. “I’ve had enough fucking family time.”
“Forrest, you uncultured boor,” Phee smirked. “It’s a self-driving yacht. It’s programmed to take us the fastest, most scenic route to Tahiti. With no stops. So there’s no turning around until we get there.”
Fuck. We’d been gone for two days. That meant it was eight more days until I could get back in contact with Birdie.
“You’re out of the show.”
“What?” Phee yelped, splashing champagne all over herself.
“You can’t fire Mother!” wailed Paige. “She’s my star!”
“I can fire whoever the hell I want to,” I said sharply. “Want my money to produce this? Then she’s out. It’s my show and my production. I need to find some way to turn this ship around.”
“I think I’m going to faint,” Hieronymus wailed as I got up.
“Daddy, how could you?”
But I saw what had happened now. Phee had thought I would come when she called, because that had always been our dynamic before.
And, like a fucking idiot, I had. Because I thought my ex-wife would beg to get back together, like she always had, and that was always fucking amusing. In fact, I’d been expecting it ever since Paige cast her.
There had been a momentary excitement in her melodramatics and the prospect of her jealousy, but I’d never actually considered getting back together with my ex-wife. Perhaps. . . I should have made that clearer to Birdie.
“You know we’re meant to be together,” she said smugly.
“Maybe if I was single and bored, but why the hell would you ever think I’d dump Birdie for you?”
Phee shrieked and flung her empty champagne glass at me.
“You’ll never find anyone who could replace me for the show anyways!”
“You’re struggling to reach that high C,” I told Phee, dodging the glass easily. “And you’re surrounded by yes-men and bootlickers who won’t tell you that you’re losing your range with overuse. Keep it up. In fact, you’re already halfway there.”
Her scream of rage reverberated in my ears as I headed over to find who or what was driving the boat.
Why the hell had I thought this was a good idea?
Why the fuck had I paused the wedding? I could have been on my honeymoon with Birdie right now, relaxing and probably getting a blowjob in the private jet. Instead of here on a robot yacht with my obnoxious ex-wife.
What the hell did she mean by self-driving boat?
If she believed those headlines, Birdie was going to be pissed as hell. Hopefully she’d see them for what they were.
Just cheap attempts to get clicks that didn’t reflect our reality at all.
I tried to reassure myself with this, but I had been loving and fucking and seducing women for a long time and I knew I was going to need to put some serious dough out to make this go away.
After prowling around the ship I realized unfortunately Phee had been telling the truth. The goddamn yacht was skipping along the Pacific Ocean with not a damn captain in sight.
Fuck.
I’ve made a huge mistake. A massive mistake.
There was a reason Phee and I were exes. Because she was an unhinged lunatic and I got bored of it. I shouldn’t have even wanted that amusing ego boost of seeing her jealous and desperate to break up the wedding.
What had I expected? To teach Birdie a little lesson about throwing a tantrum at the wedding? Fuck.
I didn’t sleep with her, I began to arrange my arguments to my fiancée in my head.
Didn’t even kiss Phee. Didn’t want anything to do with her.
All I’d done was take a few days as a breather. That wasn’t too bad, was it? I could work with that.
The wedding wasn’t off, despite what the headlines said. That was a ridiculous misunderstanding of the situation. It had just been delayed. I could get the cathedral again. I could get the trip to Ireland rebooked.
Birdie loved me. She’d understand.
But this reasoning didn’t sit well with me that night.
What was Birdie thinking right now? Was she sad? What if she did believe those headlines?
I wished I had some goddamn service. Just to send her a message assuring her I wasn’t angry, that of course I loved her madly and I’d see her soon.
And the situation sat even less well with me the second night. And by the third night I was barely sleeping, pacing the yacht from end to end.
What the hell had I been thinking, to pause the wedding for even one damn minute?
I compiled a list of all the things I’d need to do to make it up to Birdie.
On day four we were sitting on the deck, Phee glaring daggers at me and Hieronymus chain-smoking with anxiety when suddenly,
“Ooh, looky, I have some service!” Paige yelped.
“Give me that!” I barked, knocking over the chairs in my haste to get to her.
“Daddy, you’re worried about Birdie, but look, she’s clearly doing fine.”
She flipped the phone around in my face, and it was some Tiktok Birdie had posted.
She appeared to be out dancing at a club somewhere, which was surprising as she didn’t usually go for things like that, dressed in a tight little crop top and jeans, turning so you could see that phenomenal waist-hip ratio she had and rolling her hips in a very sensual manner, each plump ass cheek seeming to move individually in a hypnotic wave.
“Give me that!”
I grabbed the phone to put in Birdie’s number so I could text her, and a mysterious number of things happened at once, causing Paige to shriek out in horror.
“Daddy, you’ve put Birdie twerking on my own story! Nooo!”
Ignoring her, I flicked Tiktok away, anxious to text Birdie and find out exactly why she was at a club and if she was doing fine, when—the bars suddenly disappeared.
“Fuck!”
I turned and headed to the boat’s control panel.
On day five, I managed to shut off the automated trip route, and turn the yacht around manually.
By day six we were headed back, my family pissing me the hell off every step of the way, and me pushing the yacht to the absolute max as I streamed back to land.
Birdie’s little Tiktok video played over and over in my head because I didn’t have anything else to think about.
That little move she had done with her hips—I’d never seen that before, the way she ran her hand through her curls, the way her face had that saucy little pout.
Of course, she was just playing around, but if she was going to a club without my supervision, other men might presume to think they had a chance with my fiancée and that was a rather irritating thought.
The moment we docked, I turned my phone back on, expecting to see a bunch of pissed-off messages calling me a bastard from Birdie.
But there was nothing.
Not one message.
She was fiery and passionate, and usually she had no problem telling me what was on her mind, so she must be giving me the silent treatment.
I didn’t play those games, though, so I texted her.
Back on land, baby girl
Be home in a bit
Can’t wait to see you
As I waited for my driver, I casually flicked open Find My Friends to see where Birdie was.
But her location was just listed as unavailable.
Maybe she was out hiking with friends. I hoped she was being safe.
But I didn’t like that look she had given the camera. Those sultry looks were supposed to be for my sole enjoyment, and I would have to tell her so. After all, men were dogs, and Birdie was so innocent and wholesome.
I stopped by the fine jeweler’s and dropped about $200,000 on a few different necklaces, some earrings, and multiple vintage rings.
Birdie loved rings. My fingers tightened on her engagement ring that was waiting securely in my pocket.
I felt a little uneasy that Birdie still hadn’t contacted me at all, so to be on the safe side I stopped by the florists and got a massive bouquet of pink roses, her absolute favorites, and arranged for them to deliver twelve dozen more massive bouquets to the house later.
All looked quiet as I pulled up, and my keycard worked to open the high iron gates. It didn’t look like my little hellspawn had done anything to the grounds at least.
Birdie and I shared a massive, Tuscan-style villa, warm with rustic elegance. It was the height of comfort, complete with groves of cypress and olive trees, massive swimming pool, private tennis court, and a fully-equipped home recording studio.
But no one answered the front door.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d come home and Birdie hadn’t come flying through the door to leap into my arms.
Now of course I was going to have to do a certain amount of apologizing, and I’d be in the doghouse for a while, but Birdie would come round.
But I was very anxious to see her and get any misunderstandings cleared up.
The living room and kitchen looked warm and I could smell a hint of Birdie’s scent, that sweet coconut oil lotion she always used.
At least I knew she was still here, hadn’t left in a huff to a hotel.
But I frowned to see a couple cans of beer on the counter, next to one of Birdie’s charcuterie boards.
Now my fiancée didn’t like beer, so who the hell did she have over here?
“Birdie!” I called out. “Where are you, baby girl? Whose beer is this?”
But there was no answer, just a tiny little splash from the backyard.
Ah, she must be in the pool.
Holding the bouquet of apology pink roses in front of me, I walked around to the pool in the back.
And for a moment it didn’t register what the two writhing bodies were doing on my deck chairs.
And my stomach plummeted sickeningly to the ground.