you love. And for ice-cream sundaes after, okay?” I can hear how desperately Connie is trying to make my return less painful.
“That sounds great.” My response is only half honest.
We say our goodbyes, and I inhale deeply before I tug the door open. Nate is relaxing in one of the plush teal velvet bucket seats, one leg resting on the other knee like a bored celebrity. His eyes are fixed to his phone, so I ignore him and stuff my toiletry bag into my bulging case. Sweat pricks at my armpits and my upper lip despite the air-conditioning.
It takes so much force to close the case that I'm out of breath by the time I'm done. All I need to do now is check the room and my travel documents and get my purse packed for the journey. There's a hollow and shaky feeling in my chest and heat on my cheeks that is only partially related to how hot I am. Doing this with Nate's eyes on me is just the final humiliation.
“Natalie. Just sit down for a minute,” he says, waving to the matching vacant chair next to him. “You look like you're struggling, and we should talk. This is all very hasty.”
“I'm not going to sit down.” I glance around the room, spotting my phone charger and my camera's charge pack on the ornate desk. Two things I'd be lost without. There's a bottle of water there too, and I snag it for my purse. By the time I'm done here, I'm going to need a quenching drink – something to wash away the bitter taste in my mouth. The room's phone starts to ring, and I know it's reception notifying me of the arrival of my airport transfer. Nate's expression darkens as he realizes this whole situation is about to come to an end. He's about to lose control. All of his pretense at calm is wiped away that second, and I get a glimpse of how he really feels. It isn't pretty.
After I've told reception I'll be down in a minute, I feel even more frantic. While Nate was all smooth words and relaxed gestures, I was okay. Now, something in my gut is telling me things could get ugly.
I toss the strap to my purse over my shoulder, grab my camera bag, and heft my suitcase onto the pristine white tiled floor. It makes such a loud thud that Nate's shoulders rise and his face contorts.
“NATALIE.”
My heart accelerates, the pounding echoing through the emptiness behind my ribs. My feet propel me toward the door, not looking to see if Nate has stood from his chair. I fumble with the handle but manage to get it open and shove my case into the corridor. Two businessmen are walking past, and I'm grateful to fall behind them, hoping that Nate won't make a scene when he has an audience. At the elevators, I chance a look back at the room and see the man who's been my life for too long standing with his arms folded, watching me walk away.
How many hours did we spend together, hours that I will never get back? How can someone who was everything to me yesterday be nothing to me today?
As the elevator doors close, all the effort it took to hold myself together suddenly feels too much. My shoulders slump, and my chest hitches, squeezing a sob from my throat that elicits glances from the others standing around me.
Shit.
I can't make a scene. I don't want people's eyes on me, or their pity. It's just another layer of humiliation. Another deep breath forces down the swell of misery and disappointment.
I can do this. I can make it home.
And once I'm there, I'll have to force myself to move on because there really is no other way. Who knows what lays in store for me?
A blank page.
It's a scary thought. But I know one thing for sure. No man is ever going to have the chance to make a fool of me this way again. My shattered heart is getting put into a metal box and locked away. I won't be an idiot twice.
2
There’s a pristinely uniformed limousine driver waiting for me in the airport with my name in ornate cursive. Natalie Monk. As soon as I read it, I remember how Nate used to snigger any time someone would call my name. Funny that I was never conscious of it before, but now it feels weird to see it