Chapter Twenty-Eight
Upon returning to the villa from the hidden beach, our skin glowing from the sun and our hair stiff with salt, Leo slipped into the bathroom to shower so we could get ready for the rehearsal dinner.
I kicked the sandals off my feet and sank into the corner of the bed when, without warning, a sharp feeling of déjà vu hit me.
Suddenly, I wasn’t in Belize anymore, I was in a softly lit hotel room in Paris, slipping off a towering pair of scarlet Christian Louboutins, wincing as I rubbed my aching arches.
Without warning, Leo’s warm hands slid around me from behind, his lips tracing slow kisses along my neck, sending a shiver down my body straight to my cramped toes.
I blinked, and somehow without moving even a single inch, I was now back in the villa, the ocean breeze drifting through the screen doors that opened onto the lanai. The shower ran in the bathroom, Leo’s off-key singing of Journey echoing at the top of his lungs.
Shaking off the feeling of reliving a moment I couldn’t quite place, I reached for my toiletry bag on the nightstand.
Carefully, I unwrapped the makeshift bandage, poured cool water over the wound, and smeared on a thin layer of Neosporin before sealing it with a wide Band-Aid.
When it was done, I set my foot down. But instead of the villa’s wooden floor, it met the velvety carpet of our Paris hotel room, where the windows framed a perfect postcard view of the city’s Haussmann-style buildings.
What the—
My eyes flicked up, and suddenly Leo was in front of me, unbuttoning my shirt with that slow, deliberate focus that made it hard to breathe.
His knuckles brushed my skin with every button undone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
Electricity fired between us with each careful maneuver, like the crackle before an impending storm, and I dizzied at the feel of his broad hands sliding across my skin.
I reached for him, inching closer across the cool sheets. My hand found the warmth of his shoulder. I leaned in, the space between us narrowing, ready for the kiss—
But the world tipped.
I tumbled off the bed, landing hard on the mahogany floor with a dull thud that knocked the breath out of me.
A beat of silence. Then from the bathroom, Leo’s voice (very real and very off-key) rose above the rush of the shower, still belting out “Don’t Stop Believin’.”
And I wasn’t in Paris anymore. I was back in Belize again. In our quiet villa. Apparently losing my damn mind.
What was happening to me? Sunstroke? Maybe we’d been out at the private beach too long. Dehydration?
Leo’s voice floated in from the shower. “You coming in here, or do I have to sing the whole setlist alone?”
I walked into the bathroom. “Only if you promise not to hit the high note in ‘Faithfully’ again.”
He stuck two fingers out from behind the glass door. “Scout’s honor.”
“Do they even have Scouts in South Africa?”
He peeked his head out and scoffed. “Do they have Scouts in South Africa? For the record, yes. And I have a sash full of badges to prove it.”
“What were they for? Loudest singing? Most dramatic shower performances?”
“They should have been, but no. Mostly knot-tying and first aid. Speaking of, how’s the foot?”
“Thanks to you, I don’t think it’ll be the cause of my untimely end.”
I watched him, water running down his broad chest in rivulets across his washboard stomach.
Soap bubbles clung to his shoulders and settled at the nape of his neck.
That familiar, unexpected stir of intimacy from before flared inside me.
The memory of his hands on my skin, his lips brushing my neck in Paris.
The ache settled deep, pulling me closer.
I slipped out of my clothes, dropping them to the cold tile bathroom floor and letting them pool at my feet before I stepped into the forceful stream of hot water, the steam billowing around us like a cloud.
Facing him, my breasts pressed against his chest, droplets still sparkling in the curls of his soft chest hair, and my arms wrapped around his waist. I smiled up at him. “Hi, you.”
“Hi, you,” he returned, his soapy hands making their way down my sides to settle on my hips.
He bent down to kiss me as I pressed up on my toes to meet him halfway, the sensation of his body on mine and his tongue sweeping across my lips caught like wildfire.
Never relinquishing the pressure of his mouth on mine, his body tightened against me, responding to every nibble and peck I pressed to his wet skin.
I couldn’t seem to get enough. I didn’t realize how hungry I was for the touch of someone whom I was starting to really fall for.
I was ravenous, and once the floodgates had finally opened, there was no stopping us.
The passion of our kisses intensified, and with wet hair and wet bodies, he turned the water off and lifted me out of the shower with such little effort I gasped into his mouth.
Kissing and giggling with each step, we flopped down into the cloud of tangled sheets, his weight pinning me to the mattress as each touch caused me to melt farther and farther into the soft down of the bed.
We were naked and panting and more full of desire than I’d ever remembered feeling for anyone .
. . ever. It wasn’t a matter of wanting him . . . I needed him.
He settled between my thighs, hovering over me as if waiting for permission. When I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer, he took the cue and pushed inside with a satisfyingly deep thrust, a cry rising from somewhere deep within me, one I barely recognized.
The steady rhythm of his rocking against me as my hands moved through his hair and down his back grounded me in the moment, allowing the rest of the world to fall away.
No more wedding nonsense. No more Matty bullshit.
No more overwhelming anxiety. Just the two of us, wrapped up in a moment that was completely ours, thoroughly enjoying the steadiness of one another, and I was certain I would be content to live like this for the rest of my life.
I mean, why had I been fighting him so hard? What was I so afraid of? Relishing how good this felt, his body, the closeness, the way everything else just disappeared. It was hard to even remember what I had been trying to protect myself from.
He breathed hard into my neck with an irrefutable groan of pleasure and my head rolled back into my pillow as I enjoyed every sensation of him, the push, the pull, the ultimate release, and finally the merging of everything I’d kept at arm’s length for too long.
Breathing heavily and indescribably sated, I sat up and reached for the sheet, wrapping it around myself.
Leo, also winded, propped himself up on a pillow, the smile on his face warm and satisfied.
“You know, the way the light’s falling across your face .
. . it reminds me of how you looked when the sun streamed into our hotel room in Paris.
That image lives in my mind like a sepia photograph,” he said, his words tender and sincere.
I wanted to say, “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember . . . any of it.” But that wasn’t entirely true anymore.
Ever since he’d come back into my life, I’d been catching flashes of that timeline . . . at karaoke, in certain glances, in the way his hand brushed mine, earlier in the villa . . . moments so vivid they felt like actual memories. They had to be.
And yet, logic whispered on repeat: You never went to Paris.
You chose your brand, your staunch beliefs, your carefully constructed fortress. You didn’t choose Leo.
A sharp knock broke me from my thoughts.
“Yoo-hoo, Ellie Belly, are you there?” Izzy’s voice carried through the door to accompany her knocking.
“Who’s that?” Leo asked.
“My mom’s best friend, Izzy.” I grabbed a robe off a hook on the bathroom wall, tying it around myself as I went to let her in.
“Oh, hey, so glad I caught you,” Izzy said, stepping inside with her usual breezy confidence.
“I’m just getting ready for tonight. What’s up?”
“Look at your tan! I’m so jealous. I just skip right past golden and go straight to lobster. Anyway, I thought maybe we could compare toasts . . .”
“Toasts?” For some reason my brain went instantly to the morning’s breakfast selection, wondering why the hell she would need a consultation on Belizean bread. Until she clocked my blank expression as confusion.
“For tonight. The rehearsal dinner. Your speech? I think your mom wants you to give a toast tonight at the dinner and then another at the wedding tomorrow.”
“Excuse me?!” She had to be kidding. This had to be some kind of joke. But when she met me with the same look of disbelief, perfectly mirroring my own shock, I had no choice but to confess. “Um . . . I didn’t write a toast. Let alone toasts plural.”
Izzy blinked. “But . . . you’re her maid of honor.”
Leo suddenly came up behind me and, like a well-timed and well-trained Jedi master of defusing tension, placed his hand on my shoulder in an effort to neutralize me before I went nuclear.
“Hi, I’m Leo. I don’t think we’ve met,” he said, extending his hand toward her.
“Izzy.” She gave him a lingering once-over, eyes narrowing slightly as if putting a face to the name, sizing him up. Maybe she was even comparing him to Matty? “El, your mother is going to be crushed if you don’t say even a few words . . . or at least offer her and Keith some well wishes.”
“The bachelorette party was one thing. Some phallic balloons and naughty games. But you can’t expect me to stand up in front of everyone and pretend that I think this wedding is a good idea.”
Izzy frowned. “I thought you liked Keith. He said you two really hit it off at zip-lining.”
My jaw clenched at the thought of cleaning up another one of Mom’s messes.
“Jesus Christ, this isn’t about Keith. It’s about her!
About Mom, making yet another mistake with no regard for the consequences.
Following her heart, not her head. Who’s going to make sure she gets up and goes to teach her classes on time when he walks out on her in a month or a year?
When it inevitably crashes and burns, who’s going to make sure her rent gets paid or that there’s food in the fridge when she’s too heartbroken to even get out of bed?
I’ll be the one helping clean up her mess.
And I’ve accepted that. But you can’t ask me to stand up there and cheer her on while she ruins her life . . . again.”
Izzy pressed her lips together and tilted her head slightly.
“You’re scared she’s going to get hurt again, and you want to protect her.
I do too. But sometimes . . . loving someone isn’t about standing in judgment or stopping them.
It’s about showing up, even when you know they might stumble, and hoping they learn to stand on their own. ”
My frustration took the form of tears stinging the corners of my eyes. “I’m tired of being the one who holds everything together when she falls apart.”
“Please, El, just be there. It’s that simple. Stand tall, raise a glass, fake a smile if you have to. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Oh, that’s all?” My sarcasm wasn’t even remotely veiled. “Don’t you think that’s a lot?”
“For your mom? No, I’m sorry, but I don’t think it is. I’ll see you tonight.” Izzy’s eyes softened. She gave me a small nod and started walking away, leaving me staring after her, gritting my teeth at the unfairness of it.
Stand tall. Fake a smile. That’s all I’m asking.
As soon as I closed the villa door, I cried, “Fuuuuuck! GAH! We’re just supposed to pretend next year won’t be the same damn mess with a different guy in some other tropical location?
Like she won’t be left heartbroken and crushed again by yet another man and another relationship she’s putting on a pedestal, like it’ll finally fix everything.
It never has. Not a single ‘this is the one’ relationship has ever brought her the happiness she’s chasing.
I just can’t. I can’t pretend anymore to celebrate this . . . this . . . train wreck!”
“Okay, just hear me out,” Leo said, voice calm.
“Maybe Izzy’s not wrong. Maybe it’s less about celebrating their marriage and more about just .
. . being there for your mom. And yeah, maybe she’s foolishly following her heart, but can you really blame her for that?
Love doesn’t always make sense. We know that.
Look at us. I’m from South Africa, you’re from New York.
We met in Greece. Now we’re in Belize. You couldn’t script this if you tried. ”
“We should start getting ready. I think I’ll go take a shower for real this time,” I said.
“I could help wash your back. No funny business, I promise,” he said, in what seemed to be a desperate attempt to try to get us back on the same page.
“That’s okay,” I said, forcing a smile as I turned away. “I’ve got it.”
I didn’t wait for a response. Just grabbed my things, walked toward the bathroom, and closed the door behind me.