Chapter 35
SWAYZE
Iallow myself one last look at Mia’s unguarded, tear-streaked, sleeping face before I leave her a note and force myself to walk away for the last time.
She’s still in her bridesmaid dress with my suit jacket wrapped tightly around her, her hands holding it to her face.
Part of me wants to kid myself into believing that means something. That she’s holding it there so she can smell me, but that’s bullshit.
Haven’t I fooled myself enough?
Didn’t I say, coming into this, she’d either break my heart or break my dick?
Joke’s on me. She’s done both.
There’s no way I can stay here and pretend for another two days. How can I fake the smiles, holding and kissing her, like my heart isn’t trampled and bleeding under her feet?
I might be gone for her, but I’m not a fucking idiot.
Enough is enough.
I just wish I understood. How could she look me in the eye and tell me last night was fake?
She said she was mine. Looked right into my soul when she did. No one else was around. She wasn’t screaming to prove something to the asshole next door.
It was just us.
But clearly, I’m wrong. Obviously seeing things that aren’t really there.
Transference? Isn’t that what they call it?
I carefully walk toward her nightstand and stick the Post-it to her phone, my eyes not straying from her face. The urge to touch her is so strong my hand ghosts her jaw but I can’t bring myself to do it and risk waking her up. This is tearing my heart in two as it is.
Once I’m in the cab, I’ll send a message to Nick and my parents explaining why I’ve left. I need to get some distance from her so I can figure out what to say.
Distance.
That’s a laughable concept when she lives with me. In my house. It’s not like I can kick her out. I’m not that guy.
So now what?
I guess I can sleep on the pull-out in my office for a few nights and try to get my head on straight. Shove all these feelings for her back in the box I never should’ve opened all those months ago.
I’m an idiot.
My Uber arrives—thank fuck the app works over here too—and I load up my luggage and ask the driver to take me to the airport.
There’s a flight leaving in four and a half hours, so at least something’s gone my way tonight. I haven’t even bothered to change out of the clothes from the wedding because I don’t want to wash away the scent of her yet.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head back on the seat, lost in thought. Her face flashes through my mind, every moment we shared replaying in slow motion.
Our pool breakfast, the beach dare, her excitement at the clone Wolff—the only part of me she apparently wants to keep—her face last night, when she told me she was mine, this morning in the mirror.
Fuck. I could’ve sworn I saw love in her eyes when she looked at me.
Okay, maybe not love, I’m asking too much after what she’s been through when she’s more broken than she lets on. But I thought it was real.
Real feelings, working towards a real forever.
At least I was.
Jumped the gun again, Wolff.
How am I supposed to stop loving someone I’ve loved for as long as I can remember?
Should I move out? Maybe I should just rent somewhere else temporarily and leave her the house, at least until things get easier. I could crash with Lucas, but he’s a nosy shit and won’t stop asking questions until he gets the whole sordid story.
Fuuuuuuuck. Our families.
God. How do I tell them?
Maybe I should let her do it. It was her idea to fake all this bullshit in the first place.
And for what?
Mario was there. He could’ve protected her if the douche came near her.
I’m sure he’s gonna have questions too. He caught me walking back to the room, and even though I made up some crap about having a migraine and needing a lie down, it was written all over his face that he called bullshit.
He’s a good dude and I hate lying, but what’s another lie to add to the ever-growing pile?
Swiping to my photo app, I see a bunch of photos Nick took of us when we were posing for the photographer.
I stare at us immortalized on my phone screen, but it's like I’m looking at someone else.
That isn’t Mia and me.
There’s no way it can be because that couple looks madly in love.
The cab pulls to a stop at the red light and I glance up, catching the driver's eye in the mirror.
“Excuse me, can I ask you something?”
“Yes sir, how I help?” This big, burly Greek man answers in broken English.
I lean forward, showing him the phone screen.
“What do you see here?”
Fucking hell. The dude’s looking at me like I’ve grown two heads. I wish I had. That would be preferable to the devastation I’m drowning in right now.
I thought I’d hit rock bottom, but nope. Officially hitting new lows asking a stranger to comment on my non-existent relationship.
“Is you and your wife, yes?”
He looks at me quizzically, clearly puzzled about where I’m going with this.
No shit, my guy. You and me both.
“She’s not my wife.”
“Ah, your ayabi… your love, yes?”
“Do we look in love?”
I meet his eyes in the mirror and his bushy brows creep up to meet his hairline.
“Of course. I’m old, not blind.” He chuckles to himself, shaking his head.
“I love her.”
“Yes, yes. I see it.”
“She doesn’t love me.”
“What? No! Not possible. This photo is today, yes?” He nods towards my clothes. Smart man.
“Yes, it was taken today.”
“Then is not possible she doesn’t love you. Whatever you did, say sorry. Fix it.” The old guy actually looks invested now.
I was invested too.
But it didn’t do a damn thing.