Chapter 8
8
Nick
I open my eyes and find the bed empty beside me. Fuck.
Jumping up, I grab my phone from the dresser and look for any sign of Natalie. But my brain is still half asleep, so I waste time on stupid things like looking for a text. “Natalie?” I call out, glancing through the open door to the bathroom and then moving into the living room. I could kick myself for falling asleep, but how could I not when I was holding her in my arms? I haven’t felt that kind of peace to let my mind rest in years. I found it with her, though. “Natalie?”
Peeking out through the glass, I hold the smallest bit of hope she might be on the terrace, lounging on the chair or leaning on the railing. A deep-seated disappointment returns because I didn’t even get her full name. I have no way of contacting her to tell her how much I enjoyed playing backgammon.
It was more than the game I enjoyed. I should have told her how much last night meant to me. I look at the door when I find no sign of her anywhere else. Glancing over to Harrison’s room, I notice his bed is still turned down from housekeeping, making it easy to conclude he scored with Tatum as well as a place to stay last night.
Ah, fuck it.
I put on my shoes and head out to search for Harrison. If I can find him, I can find Tatum, and that leads me back to Natalie. I hurry to the lobby, practically jumping over suitcases left near the bellhop station, but skid to a stop when I see Harrison coming toward me from the other hallway. “Where’s Natalie?”
“Good to see you, too.”
“Sorry, I don’t have time for jokes.” I look over his shoulder, hoping to see the girls coming. “I have to find her.”
That surefire smirk reveals how his night ended or morning started. We don’t discuss these things usually, but let’s just say the dude scores a lot. But there’s a sincerity about Harrison that not many see. He may not talk about it, but he’s been burned by plenty—family, friends, and gold diggers. The swagger is dropped, and he asks, “What’s going on with you, Christiansen?”
“I should have told her my last name. Or gotten hers. Exchanged numbers or made plans. I should have done something to keep in contact, but I didn’t.”
“Okay,” he says, shrugging, still appearing not to catch on to why I’m panicking. “Why not?” Why. Not?
That’s a good fucking question.
I don’t know why I didn’t when I felt more than lust for a woman for the first time in my life. With Natalie, I want to spend time talking with her rather than simply fucking or doing the foreplay dance leading up to it. Because I think I found someone real.
She was real with me.
She. Was. Real. And I let her fucking slip through my fingers while I slept. Fuck. I run my hand through my hair. “We were playing games when we should have realized it was more. Last night was more.” Maneuvering around him, I head in the direction from which he came, ready to bolt to their door. “What room are they in?”
He’s already shaking his head before I finish asking the question. "They’re already gone.”
Stopping, I look toward the large exit doors, not ready to admit defeat. “I can catch up to them. How long ago did they leave?”
“At least an hour, probably longer.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Tatum said goodbye when it was still dark outside. I fell back asleep and just woke up. Figured I should get back to the room to pack.”
I look down at the tile beneath my feet, the same flooring that led Natalie away from me. Should I try the ferry? Maybe call the airlines at LAX? Will anyone give me information about another traveler?
I know the answer already.
When he moves out of the way of other guests, my attention drifts to his hand. And his phone, a new option coming into play. “You can text Tatum.”
His expression falls when he flips the screen toward him to look at it. “Yeah, it was kind of left back in the bedroom. We didn’t exchange details. It was . . .” he says, glancing toward the exit, “nothing more than a vacation thing.” Lowering his phone, he shoves it in his pocket. “I need to pack.”
When he turns to leave, I say, “Are you sure about that?”
He stops to look back. “Yeah, we have to check out soon.”
“I meant about Tatum.”
“Doesn’t matter, man. We live on opposite sides of the country, and I’m not the pen pal type.”
“We just move on like last night doesn’t matter? Like they don’t?”
His brow furrows, and he hits me with a glare. “Yes.”
Left standing there wondering what options I have, I sigh, wishing I could ask at the front desk about Natalie. But given she couldn’t even get into her own room last night, there’s no chance they’ll give me any information. That’d be a fool’s errand.
A fool. That’s what I am. A fucking fool for letting her go.
The walk back to the villa feels longer than usual, with my feet dragging beneath me. What can I do? There’s nothing left but to return to my life.
I let myself in, the door slamming behind me. The terrace would usually call to me, the ocean just beyond, but that’s not where I spent most of my time with Natalie. I walk into the bedroom and do a quick scan to find any trace of her. Anything that would give me a clue to who she was or even if she was real.
There’s nothing but a crumpled sheet. Standing there, I try to recall what sidetracked us from, as she put it, “properly introducing” ourselves. Frustration sets in when I realize it was me. I changed the topic by bringing up how much I liked our beginning. That still holds true, but I fucking hate our ending.
* * *
“How was Catalina?” my mom asks, stirring a cup of tea when I walk in the back door that opens into the kitchen. It must be two—her routine runs like clockwork. “I always find it so relaxing there.”
I close the door, dropping my bag on the floor, and go to her. I’m not sure how to reply. The truth isn’t something I’m ready to acknowledge, but I also don’t like to lie or worry her. Kissing her on the cheek, I say, “It was good.” I go with neutral, unoffensive, and generic.
Before I turn to head upstairs, she touches my cheek. “Well, that doesn’t sound like you.”
“Me having a good time?”
“No, the lack of emotion behind it. What’s wrong, darling son?”
Cookie Christiansen reads me like a book. I equally love and hate it. “Just a lot on my mind.”
Picking up her teacup, she takes a sip, then says, “That’s understandable. This is a big move. Are you ready?”
I lean against the counter. “I think I can handle walking across a stage.”
She laughs. “I meant the exam and coming to work for the company.”
“Do I have a choice on either?”
“Not according to your father, but at the end of the day, it’s about what you want.”
I’ve never understood her patience with him. Not that he’s horrible or anything like that, but they see life so differently. She’s about doing what makes you happy, and he’s about making money, which makes him happy. “You and Dad are so different. How do you make it work?”
She laughs, moving around the island to sit on a barstool. “We stopped trying to make it ‘work’ and made it ‘love’ instead.”
“Nope. Not going to have that conversation.” I pick up my bag.
Her laughter rings louder in the bright kitchen of my childhood home. I know I’m lucky, though. My parents are a rare breed. Still married. In love. Happy. “Oh, Nick. I’m not talking about sex, although that’s important as well. I’m talking about the little things. Changing your perspective. It’s not work to love each other, so that’s not a term we use. Loving each other is easy. It’s life that gets in the way. We hit a bump in the road or smash into a wall sometimes. We may be different and not always agree, but we do listen.” With a sweet smile, she adds, “Most of the time. But I’m okay with us being two beings with our own minds. What fun would it be if we agreed on everything?”
“I see your logic.” I kiss her head as I pass behind her. “You would have made a great lawyer.”
“I’ll leave that to you. I’m proud of my degree, but in practice, I’m glad I chose a different path.”
“You chose wisely.”
Just as I round the corner to head for the stairs, she says, “I had really hoped you would meet someone, Nicholas.” Although she can no longer see me, she knows I’m listening. “The new moon was in your seventh house.”
All right. She’s got my attention. Guess she’s rubbed off on me . . . just a little. Taking a few steps back into the room, I know I shouldn’t indulge in the New Age stuff she’s so into, but this time, my interest is piqued because of one thing— Natalie . “Oh, yeah? What does that mean?”
“New beginnings. The start of a fresh relationship. That phase ends today, though.” She eyes me as if she’s reading the book she personally wrote. Again, I know I’m lucky. It’s not just that my mom can read me. It’s that she made the effort and invested the time to get to know me, even through my lively teenage years, as she calls them. She never backed down from showing me love.
I wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Not that I’d expect you to meet your forever love on vacation , but you never know what can happen on an island paradise.”
Natalie happened.
My heart beats to life, a heavy thud felt in my chest. I avert my gaze to the leather handles in my hand. Suddenly, every scratch on the surface of the bag is the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen.
She takes a deep breath and releases an exaggerated exhale. “Destiny’s hand can’t be forced. Fortunately, there are many other phases of the sun and moon to come in your future. Focusing on your studies is probably best.”
“Yeah, probably.” I don’t know why my heart sinks, but its abrupt protest is felt. I trudge up the stairs and enter my bedroom. I have a good life and have been given practically anything I could ever want. But the one thing living in Beverly Hills, a bank account full of money, and endless business opportunities can’t give—a real life, one of my own choosing, one that comes with a genuine connection instead of professional agreements with strings.
Natalie was the opposite of that to me.
I don’t know her background and have no clue what she does with her life in Manhattan. I don’t know her last name or anything about her family. I know her, though—that connection to the person she is on the inside was constructed and the foundation laid down. But maybe that doesn’t matter, and I need to listen to my mother.
“ Destiny’s hand can’t be forced.”
Guess I’ll never know.