21. Corfu Town, Greece
21
CORFU TOWN, GREECE
Now
A lex shut the door of her hotel room behind her, slinging her purse onto the chair of the writing desk. Her whole body seemed to sigh, to expel the concentrated energy of the day in one long motion. Paul had finally gone back to the Verseau after lunch and a long walk, drawing out the delay as long as he plausibly could. But when her eyes darted to the small digital clock on her nightstand, it read 3:27 PM, far too early to start thinking about dinner. There was a full afternoon stretching out in front of her with nothing planned and no one to distract her.
Instinctively, she lifted her dress up and over her head, tossing it on the bed and working to unhook the precarious bra it had required. She rubbed the red indentation along her ribcage from where the underwire had pressed against her skin, remembering all at once why she didn’t usually wear that kind of thing. From the tiny armoire near the door, she grabbed an old Columbia tee shirt and a soft pair of running shorts, slipping them on and pulling her curls into an elastic band at the nape of her neck.
On the writing desk was her notebook and pen, and she flipped to an open page to jot down a quick note to self: Tell people you appreciate them more. Her mother’s words, and Paul’s, had settled over her like a thin film, full of implications she was only beginning to confront. And she shuddered to think of what was happening back on the boat, the clipped conversations between Guy and Paul after his lunchtime disappearance. It was an area in which she felt uniquely unequipped to help him, especially with his constant evasion of the deeper questions. But then, she thought, he probably felt the same about her and Danial, tapping on the glass of their insular dynamic from outside.
Eager for a distraction, Alex walked over to the nightstand, grabbing her computer and flicking it open. She pulled up her email inbox and immediately began sorting through the accumulated messages. It wasn’t a solution to any of her problems, but it was vaguely productive, ensuring her return to work would be slightly less daunting. She sat cross-legged on the starchy bed, setting her laptop on her thighs as she scrolled.
It was reassuring to see the buzzing activity of the team she’d left for this trip. They were very competent when left to their own devices, and she had the warm thought that she should let her chicks fly the nest a little more often. As she dragged the emails under various labels along the side of her inbox, a calm began to settle over her: things may have been going very wrong here, but back home, she knew what she was doing.
At the top of her inbox, a new email appeared, a personal note from Congressman Stephens. Her heart fluttered, as he almost never emailed her directly, and she immediately clicked to open it.
Subj: HCP video
Alex, love the video on Horace – awesome research.
My staffers and I met this morning to discuss turning this into a series on PE and labor rights. Do you have the bandwidth when you get back? Let me know if you want to hop on a quick call to discuss.
Carter
She expelled the breath she didn’t realize she was holding, marking the email as unread and sorting it into its proper folder. This was something she would have to deal with soon, possibly even before she got back, but not right now. She closed out of her email, shutting the laptop and placing it on her nightstand, turning off the small lamp perched next to it. Her body seemed to fall of its own volition into a sleeping position, willing her to take a long overdue nap.
After a few minutes, the air conditioner clicked on, creating a gentle humming sound that willed Alex further into sleep. She considered getting under the blankets, but her body already felt too heavy, eyes already fluttering to a close.
It was the second time in as many days that Alex awoke to a knock at her door. It sounded less angry but no less urgent, a regular rapping that might have been going on longer than she realized in her dream state.
“Coming,” she huffed, preparing herself to turn housekeeping away.
She pulled open the door unceremoniously to the sight of Danial, looking intense and exhausted as he stood in the hallway. For a moment, they only stared at each other, neither taking the initiative to speak.
“What are you doing here?” she finally asked, as much out of genuine disorientation as anything.
“You left,” he fished in his pocket, where he was carrying a small velvet jewelry box, not unlike the kind you’d keep an engagement ring in. “You left your necklace. In my cabin.”
“You’re… you’re here to give me my necklace?”
The two of them were inches apart, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He must have been sweltering in the Greek summer, with his featherweight cashmere polo tucked into his khakis. His black leather watch was secure on his wrist, ticking between them like a countdown to their next words. It only occurred to her then that she hadn’t engaged in her usual “pre-Danial prep,” hadn’t even showered since that morning. Her messy hair was wild around her face, the day’s makeup had mostly absorbed into her skin, and her outfit was barely more than pajamas. The connection between the blasting air conditioner and the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra only occurred to her then, and she adjusted her arms to better obscure her breasts.
“Can I come in?” he asked, his eyes focused on some point just over her shoulder.
Her eyes finally flitted up to meet him, and she was struck by the intensity of it. She could see the beads of sweat at his temples, the usual melancholy of his expression appearing almost vengeful while his breath came in heavy waves. It was almost too much to process, the vision of him in front of her after she’d finally come up for air from their last, horrible conversation.
“Can I come in?” he repeated, more an order than a question.
“I–”
Without a word, he walked so securely in her direction that she could only back away, allowing him into her room as he closed the door behind him.
“Do you have something to drink?” he asked, adjusting the watch on his wrist as she backed herself against the writing desk. He looked over at her, at the small patch of bare skin that had appeared above her shorts in her reclined position.
“Sorry,” she answered, quietly. “This isn’t the kind of hotel that does minibars.”
His eyes moved up to hers and rolled as he set her necklace down on a nightstand. “Oh, you’re so oppressed, Alex.”
Her heart jumped at the sound of her name in his mouth, still full of righteous frustration from the night before. He was like an animal padding around an enclosure, circling her. But this time, she would not make the same mistake, would not allow her naturally prickly energy to match his own.
“I didn’t say I was,” she clarified, crossing her arms over her chest to preserve whatever remained of her modesty. “I just don’t have anything to drink. And anyway, aren’t they waiting for you down at the harbor?”
He raised his wrist to check his watch, shaking his head. “I’m meeting them for dinner in an hour.”
His words settled between them, their implication unclear. Perhaps he just wanted to make her feel badly one last time, to diffuse some of the frustrated energy he’d doubtlessly accumulated while reading angry comments all morning.
“Well, I’ll let you get to it, then.” She tightened her arms over her chest, feeling tense. “I have to take a shower, anyway.”
“You have to take a shower,” he repeated.
She nodded.
“Just like that night at the karaoke bar, right?” He reached into his pocket, silencing the incoming call buzzing against his leg. “You just so happen to need a shower, and you have to tell me about it.”
She could feel him prodding her, and willed her tone to remain even.
“People shower.”
“Especially you, it seems.”
She paused, glancing at her laptop on the nightstand.
“Why are you here?” she asked, finally pushing back. “Didn’t I get a whole speech about how you’re done with me? ‘ For your own health,’” she added, dropping her tone down to an approximation of his voice.
“I know what I said, thank you,” he answered, and she could see the flitting intensity of his thoughts behind his dark, tired eyes. For a moment he stood in silence, observing her before speaking again: “Can I have some water? It was a long walk.”
“Sure.” She sighed, lifting herself from the desk. “One second.”
She walked around the corner into the small tiled bathroom, grabbing one of the two upturned glasses and running the cold faucet to fill it. The bathroom felt like a microcosm of her life: small and tidy and good enough for her, until a rich person was looking at it.
Her eyes darted up to her own expression in the mirror, ragged and still reeling from the whiplash of his knock on her door. And before she realized what was happening, Danial appeared behind her, meeting her reflection directly as his long arm reached around her to turn off the faucet. For a moment, there were no words, just the pointed expression on his face that told her the pretense was over.
“What are you doing?” she asked, mouth suddenly dry, still holding the glass and feeling pathetically attached to the plausible deniability of two minutes ago.
“You know what I’m doing.”
He pressed himself against her, the length of him bearing into her with an almost menacing intensity.
“Why are you doing it?” she breathed, setting the glass down and leaning against the counter for support.
In lieu of answering her question, his hands moved upward along the taut softness of her stomach, beneath her shirt and to her breasts, a quiet moan escaping him when they were finally resting in his elegant grasp.
“Do you know,” he continued, lips brushing her ears, “how long I’ve dreamed of touching you like this?”
There were so few ways in which Alex felt good about herself at this moment, so little relief from her constant disappointing of the people she loved, that to have this man want her in any way was a beautiful gift. She knew that indulging in it would be bad for both of them in the long term—and she suspected he did, too—but the temptation was too sweet to refuse, a bandage that could cover so many unrelated wounds, at least for the time being.
“No.” She smiled, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch, the back of her head resting on the crook of his neck. “Tell me.”
He took a moment to answer, considering the request before responding.
“I used to fantasize about it for hours every time we saw each other in school—I never got any work done if I was seeing you that day.” His words were almost mournful with desire.
“And yesterday?” she pressed on, her grin spreading across her face as she brought her own hands up to encourage him.
“I told you I wouldn’t be able to sleep until we finished what we started, and I haven’t. Not for one second.”
She met his eyes in the mirror, silently affirming their mutual, inescapable need. And he feasted his hands upon her, soft sounds of pleasure escaping his beautiful lips as he finally explored the reality of her body. She knew he was experiencing her as his younger self, because she was, too. In some ways, she would always view him like this, with the giddy recklessness of a girl finally alone with her crush. But as if stricken by an outside force, he suddenly stopped, taking one last, deep inhale from the tangle of her hair before pulling back entirely.
“Look at me.” He placed a firm hand on her waist and turned her to face him, close enough to nearly touch his nose to her own.
“I’m looking.” Her legs felt weak beneath her body, gelatinous under his exquisite hands.
He steadied his breathing, eyes searching hers for a moment before continuing.
“We can’t be together. In a relationship, I mean.”
Her heart fluttered at the sound of it, caught between breaking and swelling. She knew he was right, for more reasons than they would ever have time to fully unpack. Even their very obsession with each other was a sign that they were not meant for real life. But it also meant that they could sleep together now, because it was coming with an explicit promise to finally let each other go once it was over. His words fell somewhere between a threat and a prayer, quiet and full of painful necessity.
“I know,” she acquiesced.
He paused at her reply, betraying nothing in his expression.
Finally, he spoke: “You know, you’ve made my job very, very hard.”
“Is that what I made hard?” she purred, avoiding his intent and pressing her hips deeper into his own. His breath caught in his throat.
He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and bringing his voice to a whisper. “And I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do here,” he continued through gritted teeth, as if he were willing himself to follow his own rules. “But I can’t be with you.”
“I know,” she said, more confidently this time, taking his hands in hers to bring them back to her body. She wanted to drown herself in the temporary approval of his touch, silence all other noise with the sound of his want for her. “That’s okay.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to be,” he continued, lifting her shirt as she brought her arms above her head to help him. “It’s just, we can’t stop—”
“You don’t have to say it,” she insisted, jumping to sit on the counter and wrapping her legs around his waist. She knew what he meant: they could never be at peace together, always waiting for the next fight or betrayal.
Freed of her shirt, she migrated her hands to his belt buckle. “And I’m sorry for—”
“Shh,” he stopped her, “you don’t have to apologize. This doesn’t have anything to do with anything that happened outside of this room. But if we don’t do this,” he breathed, his words coming faster now, kissing a delicate line down the side of her neck and over her collarbone as she opened the front of his pants, “Just once, you know?”
His eyes flicked upward to meet hers, and she felt she might pass out, so heavy with desire for him, so desperate for him to continue. He moved his mouth over her breast, striking a jolt of electricity through the center of her.
“Just once,” she nodded, lifting her seat to help him guide her shorts down. “Or I’ll fucking throw myself off this island,” she laughed, ecstatic with impending release to the point of feeling insane.
“Don’t do that.” He smiled up toward her, the gratuitous expanse of it creasing little curves into his face. “You’re too beautiful.”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
“Oh, god,” he breathed, bringing his face once more against hers. “Please don’t ever question how beautiful you are to me.” His deep voice rumbled in his chest, and she pressed closer against him to feel it better.
Once again, his words of approval felt delicious, a meal she couldn’t help but overindulge in. He brought himself fully upright and pulled her onto him, so ready for her that she felt he might split her in two. Her chest jumped with a sharp, almost painful gasp. He was so generous, felt so generous within her, that she could only return his gratuitous affection. “And you,” she whispered, bringing her hands to each side of his face and insisting he meet her gaze, “You are incredible.”
He transformed at her words, sweet and unassuming and eager for her to continue. “Really?” he asked, slowing the movement of his hips.
“Danial,” she breathed, and he shuddered at the sound of it. “You know how incredible I think you are.”
There was a strange liminal space of verbal intimacy that their physical closeness provided, and Alex leaned into it. She relished saying the terrifying, honest words she could later pass off as sex talk, if needed.
“You still think that?” He closed his eyes again, brows knitting in pleasure. “I thought you hated me.”
“Stop it,” she answered, not quite denying it, bringing her mouth to his to quiet the both of them.
The words I love you felt like daggers rising up from the base of her stomach, threatening to derail this perfect moment as she nearly drowned herself with his kiss. Even in this altered state, she wouldn’t allow herself that level of exposure. He wanted to have her, to prick the balloon of tension that had been expanding between them for over a decade. And she could respect that, because she wanted it, too. But she wanted so much more from him, wanted everything she had written in that cursed letter at twenty-two years old. She wanted everything she knew wasn’t possible, so she contented herself with retaining the control that was constantly slipping through her fingers in his presence.
She brought her forehead to his once more, shutting her eyes tightly against him. “You–” she started, searching for a compliment that felt safe to offer. “You’re so—”
“Are you going to call me your friend again?” he panted, moving within her more forcefully. She dug her nails into the beautiful spot where his thick black hair met his long neck. “Look at me,” he commanded, and her eyes snapped to meet his, “Are you going to tell me how much I have to offer ?” His voice was jagged and low, sounding nearly furious.
“ I’m sorry, ” was all she could manage, delirious with the sensation of him.
“Is that still what you want?” he asked, repeating his own words from their lunch on the Verseau . His hands moved to her waist, guiding her rhythm. “To be my friend ?”
She shook her head, feeling tears of physical intensity sting the corners of her eyes. “No,” she said, the word heavy with remorse. “No, no, no,” she repeated.
“Good.”
At this, they had no more words, only the involuntary cries which surfaced at their movement. Her whole body felt weightless, electrified with pleasure and disbelief. And because she could not say half the things she actually wanted to, she enjoyed other forms of self-expression, repeating his name like an incantation at turns and whimpering at others.
She could feel him listening to her, using these sounds like a map to her body, doing more of what she loved. His hand had found its way to her, moving in deft rhythm with his hips, a beautiful concentration on his face. She smiled at the sight of it, at how similar it was to his expression over a chess board, the intensity of his need to excel. And he was excelling, filling her with waves of rolling pleasure that caused her thighs to tremble around him.
He could sense that pleasure rising beneath him, coming to an exquisite peak, and his eyes met hers with silent insistence that she reach it. She nodded in encouragement at the movement of his hand on her, leaning forward onto him. As they worked together to ensure her total satisfaction, Alex had the almost out-of-body thought that this was the most erotic thing she would ever experience, that any encounter after would be a shadow of this exact moment. And the thought of that—the perverse joy of knowing he had ruined her forever—sent her over the edge.
A cry she didn’t recognize escaped her, low in her register and decidedly un-performative, nearly agonized. At this, he wrapped his free hand in the curls at the nape of her neck and brought his mouth to her ear, slowing his movements to her fading voice.
“I know, baby,” he said. “I know.”
Baby.
Her heart pounded in her chest against him, as much from the sound of the word as the aftermath of her orgasm. She knew it was only the kind of thing you say during sex, when nothing really counts, but it still took her straight back to her former self. It pained her to think of that poor girl, the one who fell asleep night after night with her pillow between her legs, imagining it was Danial. The reality of him now felt so intense, and yet so temporary, that she ached with desire to prolong it.
“Don’t stop,” she insisted, guiding his head once more toward her breast.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his lips brushing against her skin. “You don’t need a minute?” He was already moving again, his body so eager at the permission that it outpaced his thoughts.
“Yes,” she affirmed, closing her eyes and nodding with delirious want. “I’m sure.”