the son.
I heard that somewhere, once upon a time.
I never took it to heart.
But now . . .
Now I have this woman sitting in the car beside me. Her shirt askew, her cheeks still flushed either from the sex or from the sun, her blonde hair back in a wet, tangled braid. She’s smiling to herself, arm out the car, tapping to an imaginary song. I have this woman, and I have to wonder if this is what I’ve been missing out on my whole life.
Not that it’s too late. I’m only thirty-one. I just feel I’ve done so much damage to so many people’s lives that I was set to follow in that path, my father’s footsteps, until the day I died.
Gabrielle has changed everything. I just don’t know if it’s too late for me to change.
“Are you hungry?” I ask her.
“I wouldn’t mind a bite to eat, sure.”
After we fucked on the beach, we went back in the water to cool off, clean off. It was fun, I have to admit, just splashing around with her, like a couple of teenagers. Occasionally I would be able to kiss her, other times she’d act shy. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking about what she told me; then I thought about the way she dived off the cliff and sank to the bottom of the sea, and both those things had me hitting the brakes when I got those vibes.
Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m doing with her. This is brand-new territory for me. I’m the type to sleep with his maid, but I’m not the type to give a shit about her, and with Gabrielle, it’s completely different. I give a shit. I care. I want more of what happened back there, not less. I don’t want us to go back to the way it was, but it’s going to get messy going forward. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to hide our relationship.
Because that is what this is, what this could be, anyway. I meant it when I said she was mine. She is mine, and I am hers, and perhaps this is completely out of character, but I don’t want to share her with anyone else, and I don’t want to be with anyone else.
For the first time in my life, I’m a one-woman kind of man. Maybe this is my new character.
It’s hard to say, when most days I don’t know who I really am.
Since the only food at the house is what we scarfed down for breakfast, we stop at a tapas bar in the nearest town. We both order small glasses of white wine and patatas bravas and chorizo and sit on the patio overlooking a small square. Mallorca in the summer is busy everywhere, but it’s a nice change of pace from the remoteness of the villa.
“So, since you’re the big fancy CEO of the Dumont label,” Gabrielle teases, “how about I test your knowledge about clothes.”
“A game? That’s fun,” I say, popping a spicy potato in my mouth. “What do I get if I win?” I wag my brows at her like a sleaze.
She laughs into her wine. “You’ll get something. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Is this for every time I get it right? You’re going to run out of body parts to suck.”
Her cheeks flush bright red, and she turns her head away from me. After a moment, she looks back, trying not to smile. “Okay, it’ll be out of five.”
“Fine. But do you know enough about fashion to know if I’m right or not?”
“We’ll see,” she says and then nods at a woman walking past the restaurant. “Her. What label is her bag?”
“Easy,” I say, having noticed the distinctive chains and faux leather finish. “That’s Stella McCartney. High-end vegan shit. What a waste of a design.”
Gabrielle rolls her eyes. “Fine. You won that. How about that man there in the suit. Name something he’s wearing.”
The man is wearing a light-tan linen suit. I have absolutely no idea who makes it, but the belt is a no-brainer. “Gucci belt.”
“Okay, I suppose that was easy.” She looks around the restaurant and then lowers her sunglasses when she spots something. I turn to look at a fiftysomething woman and her husband having sangria. They’re both dressed nicely, though the man is more on the touristy side. Dear God, I won’t get this one right.
“Them,” she says, nodding at them. “Anything.”
I flip my aviators down over my eyes