Chapter 30
Jade
The flight from Seville to Monaco is short—barely two hours—but it feels like crossing into another world.
I left Carlos at the Seville hotel this morning. We had breakfast downstairs, punctuated by small touches that felt like promises or apologies or both. On the street, our taxis running, he kissed me goodbye—quick and chaste because we were in public, but his hand lingered on my waist.
“Have fun with your friends,” he said.
“I will.”
“Tell them I say hello.”
I laughed. “They barely know you.”
“They will,” he said, and the certainty in his voice made my chest tight.
Now I’m in a taxi winding up the hillside toward the hotel, the Mediterranean sparkling below, and I’m trying to figure out how to explain Carlos to my friends when I can barely explain him to myself.
The hotel is gorgeous—all white stone and blue accents, perched on a cliff with views that go on forever. Tessa chose it, which means it’s both beautiful and well within our budget because she’s magic like that.
I find them on the terrace: Emma in a sundress and oversized sunglasses, Tessa in linen pants and a tank top, Sara in denim shorts and a bikini top like she’s ready to hit the beach any second.
“Jade!” Emma spots me first and jumps up, nearly knocking over her mimosa.
They swarm me with hugs and squeals and questions about my flight, and for a moment I let myself just be here. With them. My people.
“You look different,” Sara says, studying my face once we’re all settled around the table.
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. Relaxed? No, not relaxed. The opposite of relaxed.” She narrows her eyes. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened. I just finished a two-month presentation tour.” I take a long sip of the mimosa Emma shoves into my hand. “I’m tired.”
“Liar,” Tessa says mildly. “You’re glowing.”
“I’m sunburned from Seville.”
“Also a liar.” Emma leans forward. “Truth serum. Spill it. Now.”
I look at the three of them—my best friends, the women who’ve known me since we were all living in Austin’s suburbs, before they were even dreaming about living abroad.
They moved to Europe for adventure and self-fulfillment.
I moved for work. And now here we are, on our last weekend together before I move back to Austin.
“I slept with Carlos,” I say.
The table goes silent. Then—
“WHAT?” Emma shrieks.
“When?” Tessa demands.
“Finally,” Sara says with satisfaction.
“Wait, what do you mean ‘finally’?” I turn to Sara. “You knew?”
“I suspected. You’ve been talking about him constantly for weeks. ‘Carlos said this, Carlos thinks that, Carlos and I had the best presentation today.’” She grins. “It was very obvious.”
“It was not obvious,” I say, with great conviction.
Three faces look back at me.
“It was extremely obvious,” Emma says.
“I barely mentioned him.”
Sara puts her mimosa down. “Jade.” She gives me a stern look, like we know you and we see you.
I open my mouth. I close it. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means everything,” Tessa says cheerfully. “So when did it happen? Last night? Give us everything.”
So I do. They already know everything professional, so now I tell them about the personal, the things that I’ve been trying to pretend didn’t mean anything.
They paint a picture, though—the moments of connection, the way we started to understand each other.
And it ends with last night—with Seville—about him showing up at my hotel room door, about the research he did on the train, about waking up tangled together.
“He researched oral sex?” Sara asks. She makes a face. “On the train?”
Then I have to explain just how long it’s been since Carlos has been with anyone, and the situation with his late wife.
“Oh,” Emma says. “That’s sad.”
“It is.” I trace the condensation on my glass. “Carlos isn’t like any guy I’ve ever met.”
“I never thought you’d be with someone who didn’t match your energy,” Sara says. “I mean, in the bedroom, at the very least, but other places too.”
“Well,” I say. “I’ve always said it’s more about enthusiasm and open-mindedness. And Carlos definitely proved that.”
“Very thoroughly, apparently.” Sara smirks.
“I love him for you,” Tessa declares. “Jade, you have to keep him.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?” Tessa asks.
“Because I’m leaving. I have two weeks left before I have to report back for work in Austin. My assignment here is over.”
“So extend it,” Emma says. “Ask Rebecca for a permanent position.”
“It’s not just about the job. It’s—” I stop, trying to find words for the tangle of feelings in my chest. “I’ve never had a long relationship.”
“Yeah, because you had an amazing opportunity to move to China and Doug refused to go with you,” Tessa points out.
“Exactly,” I say. “And going to China was the best thing I ever did for my career. I don’t regret it one bit.”
“Do you?” Sara asks gently. “Or is that just what you tell yourself?”
I look down at my mimosa. I was angry at Doug for not supporting me, and then angry all over when I came back. He had moved on—engaged and in love, and the only man I’d ever loved had settled down while I’d been off having my own adventure. What would have happened if I hadn’t gone to China?
What would happen if I don’t go back to Austin?
“I don’t know anymore.”
“What does Carlos want?” Tessa asks.
“I don’t know. We said we’d talk after Monaco. Really talk about what’s possible.”
“But what do you want?” Emma presses.
That’s the question, isn’t it? The one I’ve been avoiding since I woke up in his bed.
“I want him,” I admit quietly. “But I’m terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Of choosing him and it not working. Of staying and getting bored, or him getting sick of my chaos. Of committing and then losing it all anyway.” I look up at them.
When I was eight, I almost lost everything.
My hair, my health, any sense of control over my own body.
It took away the expectations my family had for me, and in a way, their love too.
“Nothing is permanent. Everything can be taken away.”
The table is quiet. They know this story—they didn’t know me back then, but we’ve all shared the deepest, most painful parts of ourselves over wine and late-night conversations.
But I’ve never connected it quite like this before.
“So you make everything temporary on purpose,” Sara says. “So you can’t lose it.”
“Maybe.”
“Jade.” Tessa reaches across the table, takes my hand. “You’re stronger than you’ve ever been. You’re one of the most self-sufficient people I know. But choosing Carlos doesn’t mean you’re guaranteed to lose him. It just means you’re brave enough to try.”
“But what if it doesn’t work out?”
“Then you’ll never wonder if it would have,” Emma says kindly.
I think about Carlos asking me to stay in Seville. About the look on his face when I told him I had to go to Monaco. About the way he said “I do care” like he was afraid to say it could be more.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say.
“Yes you do,” Sara says. “You’re just scared to do it.”
“I’m allowed to be scared.”
“Of course you are. But Jade—” She squeezes my hand. “You’ve been keeping yourself safe for so long. Maybe it’s time to let yourself be happy instead.”
We spend the afternoon on a private beach inside a protected little cove, right off the promenade near our hotel.
Emma and Tessa go swimming while Sara and I stay on the lounge chairs, watching them splash each other like teenagers.
Emma’s wearing a two-piece, which I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear.
When I complimented it, she said Santo had bought it for her.
It was hard to tell in the Mediterranean sunshine, but I think she was blushing.
“How’s Chris?” I ask Sara. Our lounge chairs are owned by the restaurant behind us, the reservation another gift from Santo.
“Good. Great, actually.” Sara smiles. “He’s going to the recording studio a lot, playing for this band or that band.
And I guarantee you he’s already had fish and chips from that shop around the corner three times since I left.
” She laughs. Sara mostly eats vegan, and she and Chris have started cooking together, the kind of wholesome, healthy meals Sara’s known for.
Tessa and Emma come out of the water, laughing together, and join us. There’s still a bit of ice in their glasses, and they gulp the cool drinks down with satisfaction.
We talk about everything and nothing for hours until we get hungry, then we move to the sandy dining tables for dinner. We order too much food and too much wine and spend hours laughing about the past year.
Tessa tells us about spending time with Luc in Paris and how his grandmother keeps trying to teach her to make cassoulet.
Emma shares horror stories from her MBA program and whispers about how Santo makes her breakfast every morning without being asked.
Sara tells us about Chris writing songs for her, playing them in their living room at two in the morning.
“I can’t believe we’re all coupled up,” Emma says, slightly drunk on mojitos. “Remember when we were all single and bitter in Austin?”
“I was never bitter,” Tessa protests.
“You absolutely were. You were the most bitter of all of us, after you and James broke up.”
“Yeah, well he was an asshole who didn’t know how to communicate or you know . . . stay faithful to anyone.”
“But Luc knows how to communicate.”
Tessa’s smile goes soft. “He does. He really does.”
I feel it then—the shift that’s happened while we were scattered across Europe. We’re not the same women who left Austin a year ago. We’ve grown. Changed. Found parts of ourselves we didn’t know were missing.
And maybe I’ve changed too. Maybe I’m not the woman who needs to keep everything temporary anymore.
Maybe I could be the woman who stays.
“I think I want to ask Rebecca for a permanent position,” I hear myself say.
Three heads swivel toward me.
“Really?” Sara asks.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I need to think about it.” I take a breath. “But I also need to talk to Carlos first. Find out what he wants. If he even wants me to stay.”
“He wants you to stay,” Sara says with certainty. “Trust me. Men don’t research how to go down on you if they’re planning to say goodbye.”
“That’s actually a very good point,” Tessa agrees.
I laugh, but my heart is pounding. Because I think I’ve made a decision. Not the whole decision—not yet—but the first step.
I’m going to talk to Carlos. Really talk. And I’m going to tell him the truth: that I’m scared, that I don’t know how to do permanent, but that I want to try.
If he’ll have me.
Later, back at the hotel, we’re sprawled across Sara’s room in various states of exhaustion. Emma is half-asleep on the couch, lazily texting Parker, her youngest, about their latest journalism assignment. Tessa is on the balcony talking to Luc. Sara and I are on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
“For what?”
“For this. For always knowing what I need to hear, even when I don’t want to hear it.”
“That’s what friends are for.” She turns her head to look at me. “For the record? I think you and Carlos could be really good together. If you let yourselves.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You balance each other out. He’s all control and careful planning, you’re spontaneous and brave. He needs someone to push him out of his comfort zone. You need someone to make you feel safe enough to stay.”
I blink back sudden tears, and then let out an exaggerated sob. “Whaaaa. I’m going to miss this. These weekends. All of us together.”
“Me too.” She snuggles closer to me, and I put my arms around her. “But Jade—we’re not going anywhere. I’ll still be in London. Tessa in Portugal. Emma in Italy. And you—wherever you end up. We’ll still be us.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
It’s from Carlos.
Carlos
I hope you’re having a wonderful time with your friends. Izan and I are both missing you.
Attached is a photo: Izan sprawled on Carlos’s couch, looking tragic.
I smile, my chest warm.
Jade
Tell Izan I miss him too.
Carlos
What time will you be back? Come straight to my place?
Jade
My flight gets in at three. No checked bags, so I can be there by four?
Carlos
I’ll be waiting.
I set down my phone and stare at the ceiling again, my heart racing.
Sunday I fly back to Madrid. This week, I pack up my apartment. But first, I figure out what the hell I’m going to do with the rest of my life.
But tonight, I’m here with my friends. And I’m letting myself imagine a future where I don’t run.
Where I choose Carlos. Where I choose Madrid. Where I choose to be brave enough to stay.
“You’re smiling,” Sara observes.
“I know.”
“It’s a good look on you.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It really is.”