Chapter 4
My name is Tessa Carlyle and I single-handedly messed up my marriage.I stare at my reflection in the mirror; I”m bedraggled after a restless night where visions, teetering between dreams and nightmares, flashed through my mind. I”m not sure if I slept at all.
During the night, Graeme”s attempts to soothe my grieving soul over the eight years we tried to conceive, haunted me in black and white. He was always there. Without fail.
When he stood at my door last night, I saw, for the first time, the subtlety of his own distress. Graeme is in mourning and has been for a very long time.
I failed him. I am the heart of his loss, and his heart beats only for me. How have I never realized this?
Because I broke him. My slow sabotage of our marriage is all too clear now. I stopped giving him chances. I cut him off. The monthly disappointment became so unbearable, I rather not risk having a chance at all.
No sex = no pregnancy = no hope, no loss.
The third party in our love triangle isn”t another woman or another man. It is the child Graeme and I will never have.
This child we tried to make for years with our first attempts in this very room. And then who I avoided making at all costs.
For something that didn”t exist and never would breathe air, it was a brutal, destructive force.
I still love him. Only Graeme. Only and always Graeme.
And this day might be the last day I”ll ever get to spend with him. My last chance to get out of this godforsaken hole I dug myself in.
With a deep breath in and a slow breath out, I focus.
My name is Tessa Carlyle, and I have one day to fix my mess.
I have one day to seduce my husband. I have one night to get him back. I”ll worry about what comes next tomorrow.
Opening my eyes, I groan. No magic make-up trick is going to hide the dark circles under my eyes. The tropics aren”t make-up friendly in the first place, and we are spending the day in sunshine, wind, and humidity.
How to seduce your husband au naturel? The thought makes me chuckle. I”ve not tried any seduction games in decades.
I apply some foundation, try to conceal the tire skids under my eyes, brush on some mascara, and finish with a pastel pink lipstick.
Instead of the work-orientated shirt and slacks I”ve packed—screw business, screw Florian, and screw my reputation—I slip on a string bikini and a sleeveless summer dress that just begs to be ballooned in the wind to show off some leg and butt. Almost forty but still fabulous after all—no babies have ruined my toned and fit figure.
The breakfast buffet is my next stop. I”m supposed to meet the rest of the team after breakfast at eight.
I hook my beach bag over my shoulder, with my camera and other essentials: water, sunglasses, sunscreen, and a warm top for just-in-case. Sunhat in hand, sandals on my feet, with new determination in my step, I somehow feel lighter than I have in years.
Am I happy? Honestly happy? No Graeme Carlyle, I”m as unhappy as a pig in the desert. I need rain and mud and mess—and you are all of it in one neat, sexy package.
My thoughts run along the same motivational vein all the way to the breakfast buffet when Sally bursts into my world like a fat bug on a windscreen.
”Tessa! Morning! How did you sleep?” Sally scrutinizes me from top to bottom, as she does every day at work. ”I didn”t realize we are dressing so informal.”
I”m pulling every boss-privilege I have today. The poor woman wore slacks, a neat, freshly ironed work-shirt, and have clearly straightened her humidity-crazed locks to smoking point. Is that a whiff of burnt hair?
”You look great, Sally.” Someone needs to stick to the agenda here and there’s no way either Florian or Sally can know this whole day has become one ulterior motive for me. ”Let”s have some breakfast. I”m not sure where we”re having lunch, so pack some fruit to take along if you have space in your tote.”
While we pick at the extensive buffet, I can”t help but zone out at Sally”s ooh”s and ah”s about the food, her room, the toiletries! The fluffy shell pink towels! The garden, the pools, and everything else that Sally”s explored since we arrived at Le Paradis.
My sole focus is Graeme, and how I”m going to make every single part of him buzz for me by the end of the day so that he can”t abort our trip to suite 69 as he did last night.
As we sit down at a four-seat table—should Graeme or Florian join us—Sally lowers her voice to a whisper. ”So, what do you think of Florian? He”s gorgeous.”
”And married,” I interject. ”Learn from him whatever you can. You can put this project on your résumé, and it will shine like the first neon light in Vegas to any future employer.”
She frowns at this. Has my mind run so far away with me that I already see myself setting up shop in San Francisco? ”Just kidding, Sal, only make sure you keep track of every project you”re involved in. You never know when you need to referto something.”
Sally nods, swallows a sip of orange juice, and leans into me. ”And what about Graeme? He could eat you at dinner last night. Stripped you naked with his eyes so many times I blushed.”
There’s hope! Please stay in my court today.”He”s only ogling the ten kilo”s I”ve gained since he saw me last.”
”What?” Sally”s eyes saucers, making her look five years younger. ”Ten kilos? Were you a stick-insect or what?”
Pretty much. ”Only overly conscious of my looks and that the camera adds, like, ten kilos?” Oh Instagram. What I didn”t do for you. From now on, I”m doing everything for Graeme and to save the one thing that really matters.
”So you and Graeme worked together before? I thought I got some vibes from you two.” She loads a forkful into her mouth and gives me some reprieve.
Time to kill the conversation. ”We started out together at the same architecture firm ages ago.” I pick up my phone and scan it for messages and emails with no focus whatsoever, but it spares me any further interrogation. Sally, with the hunger of the careless, grazes through the rest of her breakfast in relative silence.
When, half an hour later, there”s still no sign of Graeme and Florian, I suggest we move to the lobby as our transfer meets us there at eight. I”m flapping my floppy sunhat against my leg in nervous agitation when Florian and Graeme walk in from different directions.
”You”ve had breakfast?” Florian asks with an acknowledging nod.
”The buffet was delicious,” Sally fills everybody in.
Graeme avoids looking at me, but he has to at some point. He also has dark circles under his eyes, similar to my own I tried so hard to conceal this morning. I bet he only had a coffee in his room, not being one for big breakfasts.
Eventually, he looks up at me, as I”m openly staring at him, trying to connect with his mind. His gaze lingers for a moment on my face in mute acknowledgment, then idles down to the fuller swell of my breasts and curve of my hips. His careful inspection is wrecking me slowly because I know he”ll love this dress—the little front tie, cute and inviting, the blue and white gingham screaming sun and summer.
As his gaze travels up again, he pauses for a moment on my lips, and he licks his own. Bingo! Where the eyes go, the body will follow.
”Some mornings I prefer room service,” Florian says. ”It”s less complicated. We’re all good to go?”
”Yes,” I say at the exact time as Graeme, and he smiles at me. It”s weak, but it”s there, and it”s like all the gods in the universe have blessed this day.
We walk out to the lobby, Florian pairing off with Sally, Graeme shortening his strides to match mine, as he always did.
Florian and Sally are through the glass doors and the door attendant helps them allocate our transfer. There’s a five-second window in which I have a moment alone with my husband.
”Graeme.” I hold back to make him pause on this side of the door.
He looks down at me, his hand on the door handle. ”Yes?”
This is it. Strategy #1. ”Please...let’s go back to that one summer, ten years ago? Make love to me one last time, and you can have your divorce papers. Sign and sealed.”
His face, up until now that familiar blank canvas, shows a small crack.
For a long moment of torture, he says nothing. ”You think that would solve our problems, Tess?”
I have no truthful answer for him, so instead of lying, like I did last night with his happiness question, I say nothing and only slip my room”s card key into his shirt pocket. ”Maybe, if for one day, we can forget everything and just...” I brush at my hairline in a nervous gesture. ”I don”t know. Just...carry on here, in this place, on honeymoon, as if ten years didn”t happen?”
He scoffs and looks away. ”What do you want from me?” he asks then, sterner than I”ve hoped for. The doorman is on the other side, hand on the handle, pulling, but Graeme strains back.
”An affair. With you.”
Graeme”s eyebrows shoot up at this and he loses his grip on the door. The doorman opens the door wide, and Graeme raises his hand to indicate I should walk out first.
As he follows his lips twitch. ”And there I thought we aren”t seeing anybody else.”
There”s no time to answer, with the doorman showing us to our transfer about twenty yards away, where Florian waits for Sally to clamber in.
”So this is your plan?” Graeme chuckles as we walk towards the others.
”Yes.” It”s better than no plan. And after last night”s kiss, I wanted—needed—more. ”Don”t laugh.”
His chuckle deepens. Is the notion brewing in his head?
”And today is one long playdate?” he teases me.
At this, I laugh. Playdate? Oh yes. Graeme was always a fast learner.