by Sophia Henry
I reached into his swim trunks and tried to pull him out, but instead of letting me, he pressed his pelvis into mine. “Kristen,” he hissed against my neck.
“Please, Pasha. Do it.”
But he didn’t. He took my face in his hands and tilted my head up. I couldn’t avoid the pain, the hunger, the passion blazing in his eyes.
“Why are you so scared to be with someone?” he asked. “Why don’t you think you should have a happy life with a man?”
“I told you, I don’t have forever.”
“Who does?”
I shook my head, causing Pasha’s hands to drop from my face. “You don’t understand.”
“Help me understand.”
I slid across the wall, away from him, and took a few steps to get some distance between us.
“Are you running from me?” Pasha asked, fumbling with the front of his trunks, making sure everything was safely tucked inside.
“No,” I said. I turned to face him. “I don’t run from my problems. But I think this conversation has moved from fucking against a wall to sitting in a restaurant. Don’t you?”
Pasha nodded. He took my hand and we walked into the Lazy Lizard.
“I’m going to wash my hands. I’ll be right back,” I said. He nodded and we separated, each headed toward our respective restrooms before being seated.
I’d taken those few minutes to calm my racing heart and figure out how much I’d share with him. I didn’t want to be the girl who brought up ex-boyfriends, but my breakup with Evan was what had sent my dreams of having a future with a guy into the garbage disposal.
The worst part about being in this fake relationship was how real it felt, even from the start. I loved being in a relationship. I reveled in each kiss and every tender touch. I loved having someone there. I didn’t need it, but I loved it.
Pasha and I met at the hostess’s stand, then followed her to our table.
“Can I have a bottled water, please?” I asked the waitress when she came by our table for drinks. To my surprise, Pasha ordered water, too. I hadn’t seen him drink anything but vodka the entire trip.
I sat rigidly in my seat, scanning the menu for something to order, when Pasha pushed it down gently.
“Spill your story,” he said.
I set the menu down on the edge of the table. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me why you think you shouldn’t get involved with someone.”
“Evan, my high school boyfriend,” I answered. “We dated for a couple of years. We’d made plans to go to the same college. As lame as it sounds for as young as we were, I was prepared for a future with him.” I smiled wryly at the realization of how stupid and naive I sounded. “We weren’t going to get married out of high school or anything, but we talked about staying together.”
Pasha nodded but didn’t say anything, allowing me to continue.
“In health class during my sophomore year of high school, my teacher was covering disorders or something and cystic fibrosis came up. He mentioned that the average life span of someone with cystic fibrosis in the United States was somewhere around thirty-five years.”
“Shit,” Pasha whispered, and leaned back in his chair.
The expletive made me pause. Thirty-five was tangible. Real. Not far off. This conversation would be the end of everything with Pasha, just as it had been with Evan. Which was why I had to be honest. Pasha deserved to know the truth—the reality I faced every single day. I was lucky to have had the week with him before we’d gotten to this part of the conversation.
I nodded. “My thoughts exactly. When I heard that, I stood up so fast, I knocked over my chair on my way out of the room, sobbing—because I had never heard about a shortened life span. My parents are really great people,” I said quickly. Then I felt bad because it sounded horrible to say that in front of Pasha, as if I were rubbing my adoring family in his face when I knew he didn’t have the same. “But they never, ever told me that I wasn’t going to live as long as everyone else. They were honest but cautious with what they told me about CF. They wanted to make sure I had a positive outlook. We dealt with everything on a day-to-day basis. And I truly believed that I could live a normal life if I took the necessary precautions.”
“Living like a health nut?” Pasha asked with a small smile. I could tell by his gentle humor that he wanted me to be comfortable. He wanted me to continue to open up to him.
“And following my doctor’s orders.” I paused to allow the waitress time to set bottles of water and a bowl of tortilla chips on our table. “I don’t know if my parents were in denial or if they were trying to shield me from thinking about it. Because once you know something like that, it consumes you. You start thinking about it all the time.”
Pasha nodded as if he understood.
“Before that moment I’d honestly never thought about death. I’d thought about life and the things I had to do to stay healthy. I was diagnosed as a baby, so managing CF was all I’d ever known. Doctors were family friends. Hospital visits were commonplace. While we were dating, it seemed like Evan understood my routine, my medicines and treatments. When I spent two weeks in the hospital with a lung infection, he visited me every day. He brought me flowers and made sure my iPod was full of songs. Even after the freakout in health class, he calmed me down and helped me focus on life again. I think we were both young and optimistic.”
“So what changed?” Pasha asked. “If he knew and he was supportive then, what happened?”
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I bit my lip, willing them not to spill out. I shrugged. “I don’t know. Senior year? Graduation looming? The pressure of deadlines and decisions we had to make about our future?
“Evan waited until the week before senior prom to deliver the bad news. He told me he couldn’t go to prom with me, and he broke up with me at the same time. He spouted some bullshit about prom being a huge milestone in our lives. He wanted to look back on pictures and be happy.”
“What kind of motherfucking dickbag says that to anyone, let alone the girl he supported and loved for years?” Pasha’s voice rose in anger.
“He said he couldn’t be with someone he knew would die early. He couldn’t invest in that kind of relationship anymore. Couldn’t risk getting married and having kids with me, knowing I’d die before I got to see them grow up.”
“Jesus, Kristen.” Pasha sighed. His eyes were wide and his lips were a thin line of pity.
I kept talking, because if I didn’t, I’d break down. Facts were facts. I could handle facts. “It didn’t matter that he could have a fatal allergic reaction to shellfish or overdose on his own dickwaddery,” I joked to lighten the moment. But the tears welled in my eyes, ready to break free, as I recounted the story. That moment with Evan Papandreou had broken my heart and my spirit at the same time. He hadn’t wanted to deal with reality—that complications stemming from cystic fibrosis might shorten my life.
And I didn’t blame him.
“He had no right to treat you that way when you were so young. No one knows where life is going at that time.”
“He did me a favor,” I disagreed. “He made me realize that getting involved with someone was selfish.”
“Bullshit.” Pasha grabbed a tortilla chip from the bowl and popped it into his mouth.
“Why?”
“That’s bullshit. And it proves what a fucking idiot he was. Out of all the people I have ever met, you deserve to be happy. You deserve to have someone love you with every piece of their soul. You can’t worry about other people’s feelings. Worry about what you want in life. Worry about your own happiness.”
I shook my head. “That’s selfish.”
“So what?”
“How could I do that to someone?” My voice rose with my blood pressure. Why didn’t he understand? “How could I allow some guy to get invested in a relationship with me? How could I marry someone knowing that I couldn’t give him forever? There is no forever with me. There’s only right now.�
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“No one has forever,” Pasha said.
“You know what I mean,” I snapped.
“And you know what I mean. It’s stupid to allow an idiot to limit your happiness. Someone’s going to fall in love with you, Kristen. Someone who would rather take his chances and spend the next twenty years with you than not be with you at all.” Pasha reached out and brushed his thumb over the tears spilling onto my cheeks.
I closed my eyes, sniffing back snot. Then I started coughing. And coughing. Pasha pushed a water bottle toward me and I took a sip.
“I know many sick children. Kids with cancer. Other diseases. At first doctors tell these kids they will not live to be a certain age. Then the kid lives past that age. Years past. Because medicine changes. Technology changes. New treatments are always being discovered. Is thirty-five still the expected age? Or has it increased? Do you know anyone with cystic fibrosis who is older than thirty-five?” Pasha fired questions at me. His passion caught me off guard.
“I, um—” I stumbled for words. “Yes, I do know people older than thirty-five.”
“You are very healthy. You are aware. If you keep that up, there’s no reason you won’t live a long, happy life,” Pasha said. He folded his arms across his chest as if he’d won an argument.
“In theory, yes. But I can’t help it if something simple turns into a major infection that my body can’t defend against.”
“And I can’t help it if I choke on this chip.” Pasha leaned forward and lifted a tortilla chip from the bowl in the middle of our table.
“You’re making it sound so simple.” I shook my head. “Nothing is that simple.”
“We’re on the same page, Kristen.” Pasha dropped the chip back into the bowl and reached over the table to take my hand. “You want to live and I want you to live. In fact, I want you to have the best fucking life of anyone that ever walked this earth. Haven’t I proved that this week?”
I nodded.
“I don’t want you to think about thirty-five or twenty-five or one hundred and five. Fuck the future. Think about now. Think about today.” He lowered his voice. “Think about how good you’re gonna feel when I get you back to my room, strip off that sandy, wet bikini, and—”
“Are you ready to order?” Our waitress interrupted his plans.
“Just the check, please,” I told her. Pasha’s lips turned up in a knowing smile.
Chapter 19
DAY 6
CRUISING
—
Waking up next to Pasha on the last day on the ship was bittersweet. I felt so lucky to have met him and had this time together, but I didn’t want to let him go. I didn’t want it to be the end. But it was. The ship would dock in San Juan and we’d go our separate ways.
During our joint shower after our morning run, Pasha said he had something special planned. I trusted him enough to go along with anything he’d scheduled, since he hadn’t disappointed me yet.
He led me down the hallway of the ship with his hand intertwined with mine.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“Getting massages.”
I grabbed his hand with both of mine and stopped. “Are you kidding?”
“No.” His lips turned up in an amused grin.
“I haven’t had a massage in years.” I lifted our joined hands above my head and twirled around underneath. “This is so awesome.”
“Really?” he asked. “That’s unfortunate. I get one at least once a week. Sometimes more.”
“Once a week or more?” I asked. That seemed expensive—and excessive.
“It’s a necessary part of the job.” Pasha paused for a moment before adding, “It’s a huge stress reliever. I have lots of tension, you know?”
“Makes sense.” I nodded. “I like your style.” I pressed my palms against his chest and planted my lips on his.
I’d planned on just a peck, but Pasha wrapped his strong arms around me and slid his tongue between my parted lips.
“It’s hard to stop kissing you,” he whispered against my lips. “I always need to be closer.”
His words sent shivers through me, but the thought of being absorbed in complete relaxation while getting a massage held my interest more. “Give me an hour of bliss and I’ll get right back to you.”
“I gave you more than one hour last night.” He dipped his head and placed his mouth on my neck.
“So you’re that guy?” I teased.
He lifted his head. “What guy?”
“The bragger. The guy who has to let everyone know that you gave me multiple orgasms last night.”
Pasha didn’t hesitate with his answer. “Yes. I am this guy.”
Then he bent over, wrapped his arms around my knees, lifted me, and tossed me over his shoulder. The head rush I got from being carried through the hallway upside down was nothing compared to the feeling I had being with Pasha.
—
After listening to the massage therapist’s instructions on which way to lie down on the table, she left the room and I got undressed. I lay boobs down, as directed, trying to get my face in a comfortable position in the weird little headrest.
When my therapist returned, she fumbled around for a moment, then I heard a door slide open. Confused, I lifted my head and saw Pasha lying on his stomach on a table ten feet away, smiling at me.
“We’re getting a couples massage.” He winked before dropping his face into his headrest.
That’s when my therapist flipped on the calming music and got to work.
At first I couldn’t relax. Not because Pasha lay naked just steps away. Not because I’d glimpsed his tiny, Swedish-model-looking therapist. I mean, sure, tiny darts of jealousy flew out of every pore at the thought that another woman’s hands would be rubbing his body. But I couldn’t blame him for that.
I couldn’t relax because I’d have to say goodbye to him in a few hours, and I wasn’t ready for it.
The end had been on my mind ever since we started this charade, but this was our last day of sailing before we parted ways forever. And I had to admit, the thought of docking in San Juan and walking away from my fake boyfriend depressed me more than when my boyfriend of two years had ditched me. I didn’t want our time together to end.
Last night I’d dreamed of waking up wrapped in Pasha’s arms with a huge down comforter and soft white sheets tangled and twisted around us. In the dream, when I rose from the bed, I stood in front of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the warm glow of city streets at night. It was the exact view I’d seen in the photos Auden and Aleksandr had taken of their high-rise condo in downtown Charlotte. The same condos Pasha said he lived in.
Stop thinking. Just relax and enjoy. Because there’s nothing you can do about it.
My brain knew our shenanigans were only for the week. My brain tossed aside all the things Pasha had said about not being like this with any other girl. My brain knew the relationship was fake. So why didn’t my brain communicate with my heart?
Instead of letting me fall in love with a lie.
—
“Oh my gosh,” Kristen moaned as she lay satiated on the massage table. “My body has never felt so good.”
She still hadn’t opened her eyes, so she had no clue that I’d dismissed our therapists and now stood next to her table.
“Never?” I asked.
I reached out and caressed her face. I wanted to see her reaction when she opened her eyes and saw me standing in front of her—completely naked.
When her eyelids flickered open and she saw me, she let out a soft gasp.
“I need you now.” I grabbed her hands and pulled her into a sitting position. The sheet slid down her chest and pooled in her lap. I ripped open the condom I’d brought with me and slid it on. Then I swept the sheet off her legs and grabbed her hips before pushing into her.
Kristen threw her arms around my neck, bringing me closer and deeper. Her knees rose as if curling into me were a natural reflex, then she wrapped
her legs around my hips.
Instead of closing my eyes and enjoying how amazing she felt, I watched her. I wanted to remember how beautiful she looked with her eyes shut and her lips parted slightly as her breath came out in short quick puffs.
Suddenly her eyes flew open and she scanned the room before staring at me with large brown eyes. “Someone could walk in,” she said.
I’d made arrangements for extra time after our massages, so I knew no one would come in, but watching Kristen as she still gave me everything she had sent a rush of adrenaline through me.
“Fuck,” I hissed, tightening my grip and digging my fingers into the flesh at her hips. Then I leaned forward and placed my lips on hers. The intimacy of the kiss grounded me in emotion.
Being with Kristen messed with my head. She’d hijacked my thoughts and made me feel like I deserved to be happy. She made me want to swing her over my shoulder and take her home—into my apartment, into my bed, into my life. Every time I woke up, my heart raced at the thought of being near her.
And in just a few short hours, it would be over.
Chapter 20
DAY 7
SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO
After our massages, Pasha and I split up to finish packing, since the ship was scheduled to dock in San Juan around ten that evening.
When I finished, I went to Lena and Sia’s room to tell them I wouldn’t be staying with them tonight, as we’d originally planned when booking the cruise. Since our flight home didn’t leave until the next morning, the three of us had reserved a hotel room in San Juan for the night.
When I reached their room, I heard voices, so instead of knocking, I turned the knob and walked in.
“Hey, guys!” I said to announce my arrival.
When I looked up, the first thing I saw were olive-toned butt cheeks. A man stood naked with his bare butt clenched and his hips pumping into someone bent over the desk.
“Spiros!” I gasped. “Oh God! Sia?” I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the naked girl. She’d pushed away the hair hanging in her face to catch a glimpse of me, the person who’d interrupted their desk sex.
