by Azzi , Gina
“I am being honest with you. I was sick. I’m sorry if I wasn’t myself for a week. You know, I am allowed to get sick, to have an off day, to have a life outside of you.” She glares at me, throwing her hands in the air. Anger causes her cheeks to pink and it’s such a relief to see her show some goddamn emotion besides dejection that a swirl of relief runs through me.
“Talk to me, Zo. Please.” I stand from bed, grabbing workout clothes since Zoe seems hell-bent on sticking to the schedule.
“Just because you shared your life’s story with me doesn’t mean I’m obligated to tell you everything,” she snaps, swiping a pair of socks off my dresser. “We just started dating, Eli. I mean, is that even what we’re doing? No one knows about us. I’m like some dirty little secret you —”
“Is that what this is about? You want to go public? Because I’ll walk out of this hotel right now and announce to the entire production that you’re my girl.” I slap a palm against my bare chest, and Zoe flinches.
She falters, panic edging out her anger.
“Oh, so that’s not it?” I cock my head to the side, studying her as I tug on a pair of shorts.
The way her fingers grip the hem of the tank she slipped on, how her hair is tangled around her shoulders, her wide eyes, honey mixed with amber, they’re all begging me to — what?
“Last chance, Violet. What’s happening here?” I press, my hands curling into fists.
“I’m here to do a job, Hollywood. Stop questioning me on everything and let’s get going.” She blows me off, walking out of my bedroom. A minute later I hear the chime of the elevator ding.
“Motherfucker,” I roar to no one, pulling on a T-shirt. What the hell is going on? I think about skipping the workout, but that’s just stupid. I know Zoe is going to do it anyway and I might as well get a sweat in.
For starters, it’s part of my job. Yeah, remember that, asshole? The role of a lifetime? The one that’s going to change your career.
Except, instead of focusing on it like it’s my goddamn priority, I’m losing sleep over a girl I’ve known for a few months.
But she’s my girl.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I swear again. Lacing up my sneakers, I head toward the beach. If nothing else, maybe a workout will cool both of our tempers enough for a logical conversation.
The thought makes me chuckle. Deep down, I know there’s nothing logical about Zoe and me.
And that this is just the beginning.
* * *
“Again!”
Sweat rolls down my forehead, stinging my eyes as I narrow my focus on Zoe. She’s breathing heavily, her cheeks blazing red, her ponytail sticking to her neck.
Her tank top clings to her skin below her heaving breasts and in the small of her back.
“I said ‘again’, Holt.” Her voice cracks like a whip and I resume my position to start the circuit again. “Faster this time.” She manages to spit out before shouting, “Go!”
Swiping my forearm along my face, I start the double jump on the bosu ball before dropping into a burpee with a push-up. Zoe’s circuit is tough today, but not enough for her to be lagging the way she is.
Cutting her a quick glance, I take in the sheen of sweat coating her skin. It’s more than just exercise sweat. She looks pale, borderline sick. Overwhelmed and completely stressed out.
She is sick, dumb ass. She’s still taking antibiotics. She shouldn’t be pushing herself like this.
“Keep moving,” she mutters.
I’m not sure if she’s speaking to me or herself. She swears as the toe of her sneaker catches on the bosu ball and she stumbles. Automatically, I reach out to steady her but she shakes me off, dropping into a push-up.
Why is she so hell-bent on working out today? Why won’t she just talk to me?
“You got this,” she says again, more quietly this time. Her breathing is labored, her eyes unfocused.
When the timer rings, she resets the clock and turns to me, hands on hips. “Okay. Next up, we’re going to run suicide sprints before we jump into weights.”
“Violet, wait.” I hold out my hand. “I think you need a break. You shouldn’t be pushing yourself like this.”
“I’m fine. Let’s go.” She tips her chin toward the next station where she marked out the distance with cones.
Suicide sprints in the sand are no joke. Judging by Zoe’s inability to catch her breath, I know she’s not up for them.
“Did something happen?” I try again, grateful my concern is still overshadowing the anger building in my veins with every flippant response she tosses my way.
She frowns, her body tensing. Frustration rolls off her shoulders as she scoffs, “No. We’re here to work, Holt. So let’s get to it.”
“Cut the ‘Holt’ shit for a second and be real with me. You’re giving me fucking whiplash. Last week, you were talking about me being your boyfriend, and now you’re acting like I’m some kind of disease you have to put up with.”
Zoe flinches, stepping back, her hands going to the back of her head. Her skin is flushed, her movements jittery. “I, you…” she pauses, pointing to the first orange marker. “You hired me to do a job, and I’m trying to do it to the best of my ability. Just because we fuck on the side doesn’t mean we should slack off. Not me or you.”
I rear back as if she physically struck me. Her tone is hard, but her eyes are harder. Darker. Amber like whiskey and just as potent.
Anger beads in my bloodstream, exploding from my mouth in a string of swears. “Fuck on the side? Is that what you’re calling it now?” I step toward Zoe, trying to get a read on her emotions.
She shrugs, not backing down, not even dropping her gaze to the sand. “It is what it is.”
“Where is this coming from?” I demand, at a complete loss for the sudden one-eighty in her behavior. “It’s like everything was great one day and the next, you woke up with a completely different outlook, and I don’t know what happened.”
Which means, for once, I didn’t cause it. I don’t think…
“I’m just trying to reassert the boundaries we agreed on.”
“What boundaries?”
“You know, you fuck me while we’re in the Seychelles and we maintain our professional relationship.”
“Yeah, until we discussed making our relationship an actual relationship.”
“I can’t do that anymore.”
“What? Why?”
“I just can’t, Holt. I need us to go back to being professional.”
“There’s absolutely nothing professional about our relationship, and you know it. We blurred that line over two months ago. So what is it? The five-star life not to your liking?” I snap as my temper takes over. Waving my arm wide to encompass the hotel and beach we’re standing on, I glare at Zoe, demanding a response.
Zoe’s eyes narrow into thin slits, heat crawling up her neck and fanning out across her cheeks.
I swallow back the harsh words on the tip of my tongue, relieved to see her reacting.
Her hands are nearly shaking with fury. “Screw you, Holt.”
“Are you on your period or some shit?”
Zoe seethes, her hands clenching into fists, her jawline locking down.
Come on baby, give me something to work with here.
I glare at her, waiting for her to give me an in. A lie I can rip wide open and crawl into with her. Something to fight for, even if it’s just our own delusions.
Infuriatingly, she remains tight-lipped, her knuckles turning white.
“Fuck this.” I mutter, turning around.
“Hey. We’re not done yet,” she yells at my back.
Spinning around, I chuckle humorlessly. “Aren’t we, though?”
“Get back here, Holt. We have three more circuits.”
“Take the rest of the day, Zoe.” I wave without turning around and walk back to the hotel, adrenaline coursing through my veins like a damn drug.
I knew this casual, easygoing, live-in-
the-moment shit was too good to be true. She flipped her switch like all women end up doing, blindsiding me. And for what? What crawled up her ass and died?
That’s the million-dollar question.
Storming into a side door, I nearly collide with Harlow. “Damn, are you okay?” I reach out to steady her.
“Are you?”
“Fine.”
“You sound like a woman.”
“Leave it alone, Harlow.” I storm toward the elevators and sigh when she steps in after me.
The ride to my suite is silent. When the elevator doors ding open, I stalk into the penthouse, slamming my fist on the kitchen island before moving to the living room. Hopped up on adrenaline and anger, I have no idea what the hell to do with myself.
Harlow passes me a beer from the refrigerator. “Here.”
Dropping to the couch, I mumble thanks and close my eyes. My fist clenches the bottle, and some of the cold seeps into my skin, cooling my temper.
I feel the couch dip next to me. I turn to glance at my assistant-turned-friend-turned family. “Zoe’s shutting me out.”
“Me too.” Harlow murmurs. I can tell she’s hurt.
“Did something happen?”
She shrugs. “Not that I know of.”
“I mentioned giving our thing a real go. Like a relationship.”
Harlow’s eyes widen as she stares at me. “That’s huge for you.”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
“Zoe seemed all for it. Then she got sick, this ear infection bullshit, and totally flipped the script.”
“She’s not really talking to me either. I mean, she is, but it’s too polite, too formal.”
“Yeah.” I take a swig of my beer. “She’s suddenly throwing boundaries and a professional relationship in my face.”
“Hmm.”
I snap my neck back toward Harlow. “What the hell does ‘hmm’ mean?”
“She’s a smart girl, Eli.”
“Meaning?”
“You draw lines in the sand all day long. They crisscross each other, intersecting in random patterns, and it’s all okay as long as it works for you. For everyone else, though, they’re arbitrary. Seems to me Zoe’s doing the same thing, and you don’t like it. She’s protecting herself.”
“From what?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’d never hurt her.”
“Not intentionally, no. Or maybe I have it wrong,” she says slowly, tapping her fingertips against her mouth.
“What?”
“Maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe she doesn’t want to hurt you.”
I stare at Harlow for a long beat, the stretch of silence hanging between us like a thread. Then, I burst out laughing, snap the thread, and shake my head. “You’re the fucking best, Low.”
“I’m not kidding, Eli.”
“Yeah. Okay. How the hell could Violet hurt me?”
“You like her too much.”
“I don’t like anyone enough to hurt me anymore.”
“Then why are you drinking beer, silently fuming?”
Sobering, I clamp my mouth shut and stare back at the ceiling. “I hate it when you make sense.”
Harlow’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “So do I.”
We sit on the couch for a long time, watching the shadows on the wall shrink. Finally, she pulls herself up and shoots me a sympathetic look. “Just have a quiet night. Give her space, and don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Like stupid. Just hang in tonight and chill. Talk to her tomorrow.” She gives me one more knowing glance over her shoulder before slipping out of the penthouse.
Yeah right. Haven’t I already messed up enough for one day? As much as I appreciate Harlow’s advice, even I know I should call Violet. Check on her.
Her behavior today was so out of character. I shouldn’t have pushed her the way I did. Maybe she needs someone to be there for her, and I pushed her away when I should have pulled her closer. Haven’t I learned anything from Natalie? The entire time she was lashing out, it was because she was desperate for someone to care enough to rein her in.
Closing my eyes, I fall in and out of sleep until the chime of my phone wakes me several hours later.
I pick it up, certain it’s Zoe.
Instead, my stomach drops and I bolt to my feet, knocking over the bottle of beer.
Natalie: Hey Eli. I just landed in the Seychelles. Please, can we talk? Just hear me out…
25
Zoe
The moon casts a pale glow on the ocean as I wade into the gently lapping waves. The water, a vibrant green in daylight, is darker now. Inviting in its depth, comforting in its calmness. The hairs on my arms stand on end as a chill rolls down my spine, but the coldness is emanating from within, causing my blood to slow with chips of ice.
I’m numb. So numb that my pounding heart and dry eyes don’t register. I see only the moonlight, the way it glances off the tops of cresting waves. I feel only sand rising between my toes with each step. I sense only the caress of the sea as it swallows me, inching up my thighs, my bare belly, covering my breasts and the threatening secrets they contain.
I breathe in the salt and hold it in my lungs as I drag my body under water, exploding up into the air and shrieking. My hair, still thick and full, sticks to the tops of my back in wet clumps. A childlike freeness surrounds me and I laugh, running my fingertips through the water, floating on its gentleness.
Alone, with only the sea turtles and seashells to keep me company.
It’s liberating in a strange sense. My chest swells once more with the strength I’ll undoubtedly need in the long months ahead.
The sky is inky, swatches of darkness illuminated by single pinpricks of light. I lie on my back, floating aimlessly, letting the water fill my ears and lap over the top of my body. My breath enters and exits my lungs on tiny wisps, an echo I can hear below the waterline.
My body flushes hot and cold. My eyes sting and burn.
A shooting star arcs across the night sky and I gasp, my fingers pressing into my lips.
Did anyone see it but me?
The sea wraps around me like a hug, comforting and calming. My body shivers, my fingers trembling against my face.
I pushed him away.
Eli. I was callous and hurtful to force space between us. To make him leave before he has to.
God, what did I do?
For over two months, I encouraged him to drink my lies straight from my lips while I collected his truths like tiny pebbles. I saved them in the hallow of my belly until they swelled large enough to choke me, stamping out my ability to breathe freely, to think clearly. I let him carve a place inside of me that belongs to only him.
I knew better.
My hands clench, gripping at the sea even as the water seeps through my fingers.
Like Eli, I never should have tried to hold on to something so fleeting.
It’s better this way. I mouth the words to the moon, but no sound comes out.
His face, contorted in rage, flickers through my mind.
His eyes, oh. Bright and bleeding. Begging and open.
He trusted me. And I hurt him.
Maybe not as deeply as Natalie but hurt is still pain. What’s the use in arguing over its source to the one drowning in it?
I hold my breath and dip my head, letting the sea wash over my face. The moon grows hazy in my vision as my eyes burn from the salt.
A million pinpricks of light. Stars. Wishes.
You love him.
I love him.
I break the surface of the water, the realization slamming into me with so much force, I inhale the sea and sputter.
I pushed Eli away because I’m in love with him. Not just falling. Not just enjoying the moment. But so fucking in love with him that if I close my eyes, I can see the future he wants. The one with the house and the basketball team of kids that I�
�ll never give him. Too scared to admit that, I pretended I didn’t want it.
Didn’t want him.
But I do. Oh God, I want it all so badly it aches and breaks my heart to know I’ll never have it.
Eli should know the truth. He should know how I feel.
After all, didn’t I want this incredible bit of the human experience? To fall in love. To know what the entire point of living really is. And now, I have it, and I’m too scared to admit it.
I want to own my truth.
Shaking my head at the moon, I grin and say a silent thank you to the stars. I scramble to the shoreline, wrapping my naked body in a towel I swipe from a lounge chair. Then I pick up my wallet and phone from the sand and start for the hotel.
I need to get dressed.
No. I need to find Eli.
I slip into one of the robes folded neatly on the sun loungers next to the pool and jab my hands through the arm holes until I can pull it on. Tugging my hair out the neck, I grip the front of the robe tightly, slip my wallet and phone into the pocket, and beeline for the elevator.
I don’t want to feed Eli any more lies. I want him to know my truth. The feelings of my heart. The secrets of my soul. The truth about us.
Fishing his key card out of my wallet, I press P for Penthouse.
My nerves rattle around the entire elevator ride up.
I hope he’s happy to see me. I hope he kisses me senseless and makes love to me right on the marble floor of the foyer.
Moments later, the door opens and I step out into —
“Eli?” His name dies on my lips as I nearly collide with his frame.
He’s shirtless, the muscles of his chest and shoulders tense with disbelief. Sweats hang low on his hips, the drawstring sticking out of his pants as if he tugged them on in a hurry. The stubble on his cheeks is more pronounced, his neck straining, his jawline sharp enough to crack cement. But his eyes stare at me with so much hurt and betrayal that I feel fissures form in my chest, little pieces of my heart disintegrating with guilt. I open my mouth but before I can form any words, my eyes land on the other figure in the room.
