37. Alex Sebring
Chapter 37
Alex Sebring
The early morning light filters through the drapes, casting golden rays over the room. Beside me, Magnolia sleeps peacefully, her breathing slow and steady. I stay still, watching her as if I can capture this moment and keep it forever. The way her hair spills over her shoulder in a messy tumble, the delicate curve of her lashes resting against her cheek—it’s a vision I want to hold on to even as the day threatens to take it away.
I wish we could’ve spent our last night at my place, wrapped up in the comfort of my bed, my space, my world—where I could pretend, even for a little while longer, that she wasn’t about to leave. But she needed to stay in the hotel, close to her coworkers, so she could meet them in the lobby when the airport transportation arrives.
Her mostly packed bags sit by the door, a silent reminder of what today means. My chest tightens at the sight.
My steel beauty. That’s what she is—strong, resilient, unyielding. But beneath all that strength lies a softness, a quiet warmth she shares sparingly. It’s that duality that has completely undone me.
She stirs, her lashes fluttering open, and her gaze meets mine, hazy with the softness of sleep. A drowsy smile tugs at her lips, and my heart clenches. How am I supposed to let her go?
“Good morning.” Her voice is still dazed by sleep.
“Morning, my love.” My voice is soft, but the emotion behind it feels immense. I brush a strand of hair from her face, needing to touch her, even in the smallest way. “Did you sleep well?”
“Not really.” Her hand slips into mine. “Too much on my mind.”
I nod, a sigh escaping as I look down at our grasping hands. “I didn’t sleep well either. Kept thinking about today… and all the things I should say to make you stay.”
Her smile wavers, her gaze dipping briefly before meeting mine again. “Alex––”
We lie there in the stillness, the ache of the day looming between us. Neither of us speaks as if acknowledging what’s to come will make it all too real.
Finally, I break the quiet, trying to lighten the mood. “Want breakfast in bed?”
She shakes her head, a faint, bittersweet smile curving her lips. “I’d love that, but I don’t have time.” Her eyes flick toward the clock on the nightstand. “I need to get up soon to get ready.”
Her words are like a chime marking the passing of the last moments we have together. They pull us closer to the goodbye I’ve been dreading since the day we met.
Magnolia shifts slightly, and looks at me with a quiet sadness I feel down to my bones. “I’m going to miss this––mornings… waking up next to you. I’m going to miss everything.”
Her laugh is quiet, shaky, as if trying to mask the emotion behind her words. “I didn’t think it would be this hard to leave.”
I reach out, my fingers brushing against her skin. “This doesn’t have to be goodbye. We can make this work. It could just be a… see you later.”
Her smile falters, her gaze dropping to the space between us. “You’ll eventually move forward with Soul Sync. The new Australian crew will find your match… your wife, Alex. Staying in touch would only make that harder for both of us.”
Her words hit me like a blow, sharp and final. I don’t have an answer for her—not one that will make this any easier. All I know is that the thought of her walking out that door today feels unbearable.
My chest is tight. I can’t breathe.
“I don’t know how to let you go. It’s worse than I imagined… so much worse.”
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and for a moment, she doesn’t speak. Then, slowly, she shifts closer, wrapping her arms around me. Her body trembles slightly against mine, and I realize she’s crying—silent, shuddering breaths that break through the stillness. I pull her tighter, my bare skin against hers, desperate to hold her together even as I feel like I’m coming apart.
Her forehead presses to mine, her breath warm and uneven. Neither of us speaks, as though words would only ruin this fragile connection. Her fingers clutch at my shoulders, her grip firm and unyielding like she’s holding on to something she knows is slipping away.
Finally, she pulls back enough to meet my eyes. “I have to get up.” Her words tremble as much as her hands. Maybe more. “The shuttle will be here soon.”
I nod, the ache in my chest almost unbearable, but I force myself to let her go. She slips out of bed, her movements slow and deliberate, like every step toward the inevitable is heavier than the last.
I follow her into the bathroom, leaning against the counter as she gets ready. My eyes never leave her, trying to commit every detail to memory. Pulling on my jeans and shirt, I glance at her, wondering how to make the most of these fleeting minutes.
The sharp ring of the phone cuts through the quiet. She glances at me, her eyes filled with sorrow, before turning back to zip her bag.
I answer the call, forcing a calm I don’t quite feel. “Yes, hello.”
“This is guest services. We’ll be up shortly to collect your luggage.”
“Thank you.”
I set the phone down, the ache in my chest growing heavier.
Magnolia’s gaze meets mine, her sadness matching my own. We’re running out of time, and it feels like the universe is mocking us, pushing us closer to what we can’t avoid.
Lightly coughing, I try to clear the lump in my throat. “I have something for you.”
I cross to where my jacket hangs over the chair. From the inside pocket, I pull out a small velvet box. Her brows knit with curiosity, her gaze drops from my face to the box in my hand. She doesn’t speak, her eyes searching mine as I step closer and hold it out to her. With a slightly trembling hand, she takes it, her fingers brushing against mine briefly before she opens the lid.
Her lips part, a soft gasp escaping as her eyes land on the delicate necklace inside. Three diamonds glimmer in the light, their placement both simple and striking.
“Each diamond represents one of the months we’ve had together. The smallest is for the first month, when we were getting to know each other. The second, a little larger, is for the second month, when I was falling in love with you. And the third, the largest––” I pause, meeting her gaze, “is for this last month. Because that’s when I knew I loved you.”
Her fingers graze the necklace, her touch reverent, as though she’s afraid it might vanish if she isn’t careful. She looks up at me, her eyes shimmering. “Alex… it’s beautiful,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Will you put it on me?”
I nod, taking the necklace from the box. The soft brush of my fingers against her skin as I fasten the clasp sends a jolt of something bittersweet through me. The pendant settles against her collarbone, catching the light just right, looking like it was made especially for her.
Because it was.
She turns toward the mirror, her fingers reaching up to touch the necklace lightly. Her reflection meets mine, her expression full of gratitude and something deeper—something that feels like a promise. “I’ll never take it off.”
When she turns back to me, her hand still resting over the diamonds, her lips curve into a trembling smile. “Thank you. This means more than I can say.”
I cup her face, my thumbs brushing over her cheeks as I hold her gaze. For a moment, we stand there, the world outside fading away. It feels like a piece of me will stay with her, no matter where she goes.
Magnolia wipes at a tear sliding down her cheek, her gaze drifting to the far side of the room. A small, bittersweet smile curves her lips, soft and fleeting. “I have something for you too.”
She crosses the room and fetches a neatly wrapped package, its edges precise, the paper smooth. Picking it up, she walks back and places it in my hands, a small laugh escaping her lips. “Don’t get too excited—it’s not gold or diamonds.”
I shift the gift in my hands, its weight solid, as I meet her eyes. “Whatever it is, I’ll treasure it because it’s from you.”
Her smile falters slightly, turning almost shy as she looks down. “Just… promise me you won’t open it until after I’ve gone.”
The words twist something deep inside me, but I nod, squeezing her hand gently. “If that’s what you want, I’ll wait.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with the unspoken. Then she steps closer, wrapping her arms around me, her warmth pressing into the ache already building inside. I pull her in tightly, my arms holding her as though I could shield us both from the inevitability of what’s to come.
“I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not ready.”
Her forehead presses into my chest, her breaths unsteady. “I don’t want to go.” The tremor in her words lay bare the truth.
“Then don’t,” I plead, the desperation breaking through, clinging to the hope that maybe she’ll stay. “Don’t get on that plane. Please.”
Her silence fills the space between us, an answer louder than words.
A knock at the door fractures the fragile stillness between us, and Magnolia’s grip tightens, her fingers clutching at my shoulders as though she could hold time itself in place.
I draw in a shaky breath, the ache in my chest growing sharper, heavier. I hold her closer, pressing my forehead gently to hers, desperate to carve out one last moment, one last breath of togetherness.
The knock comes again, more insistent this time—a cruel reminder that the world won’t wait for us. A reluctant sigh escapes my lips as I pull back, reluctant to let her go, even though I must.
Summoning every ounce of strength, I force myself to step away and open the door.
“Good morning… Mr. Sebring ?” The bellhop’s polite smile falters slightly when he sees me.
“Come in.”
The young man moves with practiced efficiency, collecting bags with a quiet focus. Each bag he lifts feels like a piece of my life being dismantled.
Magnolia stands a breath away, her fingers brushing against mine in a fleeting touch that sends a jolt through me. I glance at her, but her gaze is fixed on the bellhop, her expression calm yet betraying the sadness pooling in her eyes, the unshed tears she’s fighting to keep at bay.
I look down at her, searching desperately for the right words—anything to make this easier. My hand trembles as I reach out, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Remember. This isn’t goodbye. It’s just see you later.”
Her gaze meets mine, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. A fragile smile trembles on her lips. “See you later,” she whispers, the words delicate yet unwavering. They hang between us, a thread to cling to as the distance begins to stretch.
She turns to leave, her steps hesitant, then pauses, glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes meet mine again, the storm of emotions within her spilling into the space between us. “I’m not good at telling people how I feel. There’s something in me that’s broken when it comes to that. Or maybe I’m too stubborn to let myself be that open.” She swallows hard, her gaze faltering before lifting again. “But I hope my gift shows you what I haven’t been able to say.”
Her words strike deep, raw and honest, each syllable settling heavily in my chest. She gives me one last look, her eyes pleading for me to understand everything she can’t say. Then, the door closes behind her with a soft, hollow thud, the sound reverberating like the final note of a song lingering long after the music fades.
I stand there, frozen, staring at the spot she occupied only moments ago as though some piece of her still remains in the air. The silence presses in, thick and unrelenting, amplifying the ache in my chest until it feels unbearable.
My gaze drifts to the small, neatly wrapped package she left behind on the table. Trembling, I reach for it, brushing my fingers over the paper as though touching it might tether me to her. Slowly, I peel it open, deliberate and careful.
Inside is a journal, soft and weathered. My fingers trace the cover before I open it, my breath catching at what I find inside. The pages are filled with her handwriting—small, intimate notes scrawled in the margins, whimsical doodles, and playlists she’d titled for moments I hadn’t realized she’d marked as special.
Tucked between the pages are photographs—prints of moments she’d captured on her phone. Her laughter frozen in time, my smile mirroring hers, snapshots from places we visited, even candid scenes I’d forgotten. Each page feels like a window into her mind, her heart, her memories—preserving the life we built together in ways I never knew she was holding on to.
I flip through slowly, finding entries that begin on her first day in Sydney before we met, tracing her journey up until now. My thumb skims the edges of the pages, each one a bittersweet piece of her, a memory preserved. The deeper I go, the sharper the ache of her absence, yet the love she’s left behind is undeniable, woven into every detail.
I pause on a page where her handwriting curves softly in the margin, my chest tightening as I struggle to read the words.
Last night at the wedding, when Alex and Tyson had words, I saw something in him I hadn’t fully understood before. It wasn’t just anger—it was pain, raw and real. When he walked away, I could feel the heaviness of it, like it had settled into my own bones. I wanted to take him into my arms, pull him close, and tell him he didn’t have to carry it alone.
That’s when I knew. This isn’t a passing connection or a fleeting attraction. I love Alex. I love him in a way that makes his pain feel like my own, in a way that makes me want to fight his battles if it means he doesn’t have to face them alone.
Reading this journal feels like scaling a mountain, each page a step closer to truly understanding her. I want to know her thoughts, to hold on to the pieces of herself she’s entrusted to me. This journal isn’t just a gift—it’s a part of her. And I vow to read every word, savoring them like threads that connect me to her.
As I close the journal, my fingers caress its cover as though I can still feel her through it. The room feels both achingly full and heartbreakingly empty—alive with echoes of her laughter and the memories she’s left, yet hollow without her warmth, her voice, her presence.
The dark skyline stretches endlessly beyond the window, city lights glittering like distant stars. But all I can feel is the space growing between us. My hands clench, resolve hardening within me. This isn’t where our story ends—I can feel it in my bones. No distance can erase what we’ve built, what we’ve shared.
I set the journal down and take a steadying breath, my gaze fixed on the horizon as if it might offer a glimpse of her. The words leave me quietly, almost a whisper, but they’re filled with conviction, steadying me against her absence.
“This isn’t goodbye, my steel beauty.” My heartache is softened by determination. “It’s just see you later.”
Magnolia loves me. I feel it in every word she’s left unspoken and every moment we’ve shared. I believe, with all my heart, that the distance will only make her realize how deeply our love goes.
And that’s why I can let her go—for now.
* * *
Alex and Magnolia’s story continues in
American Beauty
Alex and Magnolia Book 2
(The Beauty Series Book 5)