17. Aria #2
"What. Did. You. Say."
The words came out one at a time. Each one a blade.
Sebastian's jaw worked. He looked at the ceiling. The floor. The window. Anywhere but at me.
"I told him if he didn't sell to me, I'd go to his brother. Buy the restaurant out from under him." His voice was barely audible now. "Turn it into something he'd hate."
The words landed.
One by one, they landed, and I felt each impact like a physical blow.
He'd threatened an eighty-three-year-old man. Threatened to destroy his legacy, his family's work, everything he'd spent his life protecting.
And then he'd kissed me on the beach. Held my hand under the stars. Told me he wanted me. Made love to me like I was the only thing that mattered.
While this was hanging over everything. While he knew what he'd done.
"You forgot."
The words came out flat. Dead.
"What?"
"That's what you're going to tell me, isn't it?" I looked at him. Really looked. Searching for the man I thought I knew. "That you forgot. That so much happened between us that it just slipped your mind. That you threatened to destroy an old man's life's work, and then you forgot about it."
"Aria—"
"Did you forget? Or did you just hope it wouldn't matter?"
He didn't answer.
The silence stretched between us. Long. Terrible.
And in that silence, I felt something change inside me. Something that had been soft and open and trusting was slowly turning to stone.
"Was this the plan?"
"What?"
"Distract the competition." I heard my own voice like it belonged to someone else. Calm. Cold. "Make her think you actually care about her. And while she's falling for you, swoop in and close the deal."
"No." He stepped toward me. I stepped back. "God, no. Aria, what we have—what we had—that was real. That is real. I swear to you."
"Then why didn't you tell me before?"
He stopped.
"Why did I have to find out like this?" My voice cracked. I hated it. Hated that he could see what this was doing to me. "In front of him. Like a fool."
Sebastian's jaw tightened. The muscle jumped beneath his skin.
He didn't answer.
Of course he didn't. Because there was no answer. No explanation that could make this okay. No words that could undo what he'd done.
I thought about this morning. Watching him sleep. Telling myself the hotel would be in good hands. Telling myself I would be okay with losing because I trusted him.
I thought about every kiss. Every touch. Every whispered confession in the dark.
I thought about how easily I'd let my walls down. How quickly I'd handed him the keys to every vulnerable part of me.
And he'd used them. Used me. To win.
The tears were coming. I could feel them building behind my eyes, pressure and heat and the desperate need to break. But not here. Not in front of him. I would not give him that.
"We're done."
The words came out steady. Final.
"Aria—"
"No." I held up my hand. My fingers were trembling. I curled them into a fist. "You showed me exactly who you are. I should have listened the first time."
I turned. Walked toward the door.
"Aria, wait. Please."
My hand found the doorknob. Cool metal against my palm.
"There's nothing left to say."
I opened the door. Stepped through. Closed it behind me.
The hallway stretched ahead, empty and silent. I walked. One foot in front of the other. Past the photographs. Past the carved wooden figures. Past all the history I'd thought I was fighting to protect.
My face was neutral. Composed. My head was high.
I made it to my room. Closed the door. Turned the lock.
Then I slid down to the floor and let the tears come.
They started silent. Just wetness on my cheeks, dripping off my jaw, soaking into my silk blouse. Then the sobs came, wrenching up from somewhere deep, shaking my whole body until I had to press both hands over my mouth to muffle the sound.
I cried until my chest ached. Until my eyes burned. Until there was nothing left.
Then I sat there on the floor, back against the door, and stared at nothing.
It's going to be okay, Aria.
The thought floated up from somewhere. Automatic. Meaningless.
You're going to be okay.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand.
He's just another man. You'll be fine. You'll get over it.
I pushed myself to my feet. My reflection caught my eye in the mirror. Mascara smeared. Eyes swollen. Silk blouse ruined.
I looked away.
An hour later, my bags were packed.
I moved through the room without feeling anything, packing my things. The sundresses in the closet. The sandals by the door. The book on the nightstand with the pressed flower marking my place.
Sebastian's shirt was still on the bed. I left it where it lay.
I wrote a note for Mr. Kahale. Short. Apologizing for my abrupt departure. Thanking him for his hospitality. Meaning none of it and all of it at once.
I didn't write a note for Sebastian.
There was nothing left to say.
The car took me to the airport. The plane took me to New York. Ten hours over the ocean. Ten hours of distance growing between who I'd been and who I was now.
I stared out the window at the endless blue below and told myself the hollow feeling in my chest was just exhaustion.
It wasn't heartbreak.
It couldn't be heartbreak.
I wouldn't let it be heartbreak.