29. sweet champagne
sweet champagne
OTHELLO
My lips still tingle from the kiss when I walk back inside the mansion. I can taste the sweet champagne from her tongue, fresh from that drink she’d been drinking.
Damn, what a kiss.
But should I have kissed her? She trusted me to play by her rules, and once again, I’ve let her down by crossing the line. The worst part of it all is that I don’t even know if I feel sorry for it. I’ve told her how I felt.
That kiss was mind-blowing, and honestly, it was the first real thing I’ve felt in a long time. I wanted more of her. It’s insane how bad I want this woman and how much she stays on my mind.
The tranquil moments on the beach are long gone now, the bass of the music pulsing like a heartbeat.
I don’t see Marley, but I do spot Danielle and Jaylah.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Have you seen Marley?”
Danielle raises an eyebrow at me. “The last time I saw her, she was asking me where the bathrooms were. Are you supposed to be meeting her there or something?”
Jaylah dips her hip before placing one hand on it. The two of them are eyeing me with coy grins. I realize what they’re thinking and shake my head.
“What? No, no, I’m looking to see if she’s okay.”
“Why wouldn’t she be okay?” Jaylah asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Never mind.”
“Trouble in paradise,” I hear Danielle mumble as I walk off.
I head toward the hallway, glass walls framing the view on either side until I turn the corner.
There is another long, narrow hallway, but no glass, just doors on one side and a wall of monotone art on the other.
I wrestle with the options of giving Marley space or accepting that she may not be feeling what I’m feeling right now.
The hallway brings back memories of when Marley and I first met.
At a mansion party, in a line to go to the restroom.
There is a line now, waiting for people to relieve themselves, and I almost knock on the door to call out for Marley when it opens, and a man taller than me walks out.
He gives me a weird look, and I hold my hands up.
“ My bad. I’m looking for someone.”
He looks me up and down before disappearing back towards the party. Maybe she made her way back to the party too. But there must be another bathroom somewhere. I continue on, heading towards the back and around another corner when I hear something that sounds like a faint sob.
There’s a room at the end of the hall with a door that isn’t completely shut. My curiosity keeps me in place, wrestling with whether I should go back or see if whoever is crying needs help. But then the weeping grows more unmistakable, and a strange sense of recognition settles over me.
As I get closer, I see Gavin through the narrow opening of the door. He’s staring out of the windows at the ocean. From the profile of his face, I watch a tear slip from his eye.
A lump rises in my throat. I already know what’s up.
“Damn, I miss you,” Gavin whispers into the empty room. “I wish we had more time together.”
The words hit me like a sucker punch, and my eyes burn instantly.
He’s talking about my Aunt Mimi. His mother.
Her memory clouds my brain. Her laugh. Her smile.
Her warm hugs. The way she carried light with her and left traces of it everywhere she went.
Seems like it was yesterday I was able to experience all of that.
Grief is so strange. It doesn't care how much time has passed.
It waits patiently for moments like this and then arrives all over again.
I should leave. This moment isn’t meant for me.
But even as I turn to go, guilt tugs at me, almost as if it’s calling me back.
As if maybe I should go back and tell Gavin he’s not alone.
Something tells me I should set aside years of silence, resentment, and unanswered questions because he's hurting.
But I find myself walking away. My mind is a fog of torment and shame.
My eyes are still blurred from tears that won’t fall.
Unfocused, I bump into the one person I’ve been searching for.
She’s coming down the steps, and, out of instinct, she starts to say, "Excuse me," but when she realizes it’s me she nearly collided with, she gasps.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” I tell her.
“I had to run to the ladies' room.” Marley keeps walking, brushing past me like I’m nothing but a draft in the hallway.
I reach out, wrapping my fingers gently but firmly around the crook of her arm.
“Marley. Just talk to me. Help me understand what—"
“There’s nothing to understand. It was just a kiss.” She turns away again.
I hesitate, thrown off by her sharp tone. But she’s wrong. I know she felt something in that kiss. I know she feels something right now. I wasn’t about to play this fucking game of denial with her.
"Marley, it wasn't just a kiss, and I think you know that.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why are you so bothered?”
“I’m fine, Othello.”
“You’re saying you’re fine. But you don’t look like it.”
There’s heat in my voice now. Marley’s steps move faster through the party, out the front door of the Jungle House where the valet waits.
Moonlight spills across the stone steps.
It’s almost midnight now. She pulls out her phone and starts tapping away.
When I glance down, I see the Uber app on her screen.
Without thinking, I pull the phone from Marley’s hand and shoot her an incredulous look.
“Are you seriously calling an Uber right now?”
“I’m going back to the room.”
“What about Carina and the girls?”
“They’re having fun. I don’t want to ruin their night because of what I have going on with you.”
The words feel like a slap in the face, and I take a step back.
“I never wanted this, Othello. This is not how my trip was supposed to be. I am supposed to be unplugging from the world and—”
“Basking in your self-care,” I argue. “Do you? Have your morning yogas and your umbrella drinks. Who are you trying to convince? Yourself? I know this, Marley! You’ve said it enough times to make it a damn brand.”
She blinks, startled by the edge in my voice.
Good. I hope she’s hearing me.
I slide her phone into my back pocket, ignoring the way she stiffens, then hand my valet ticket to the wide-eyed boy hovering nearby. He nods quickly, clearly relieved to escape whatever this is.
“I don't regret a single moment we've had since the plane ride," I continue, keeping my voice low. "And I hate that the incredible kiss we just shared seems to have ruined things for you. But you can't keep running from me.”
“I’m not running from you,” she scoffs, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
“Maybe you’re not running from me. But you’re running from what’s building between us.” My tone drops. “Trust me, I feel it too.”
We both fall quiet.
She stares past me, out towards the trees. I look over her shoulder, neither of us brave enough to meet each other’s eyes.
The valet driver pulls up a moment later in the Mustang, tires crunching softly over gravel. I walk to the passenger side, open the door, and wait.
Marley hesitates.
Then, without a word, she climbs in.