“I don’t want to go home,” I say quietly, staring at the glowing blue pool, the dark sky with endless stars above us.
Pascal reaches for the wine from the small table in between us and nods, having a sip of the cold, crisp chardonnay. “I know.”
It’s ten o’clock at night, and we’re lying on the lounge chairs by the small lap pool at the side of the house. We’re covered up by towels from the slight chill that comes off the sea some evenings, but we’re both completely naked underneath. We’ve been here in Mallorca one week now, and we’ve lapsed into just being naked around each other all the time. It’s absolutely freeing, being able to do this with someone, plus we’re screwing twenty-four hours a day. It’s just a lot more efficient this way when you don’t have to worry about taking off clothes and putting them back on again.
Tomorrow morning, we go back home.
Home, even though it’s not my home.
I’ve been dreading it. It’s been a wonderful cocoon being here with Pascal. My nightmares have ceased; I’ve even been able to sleep. I know the life we’ve built here this last week isn’t a real one, but it’s the one I want, the one I never thought I’d have. Having someone by my side who cares for me, has my back, makes me feel the kind of pleasure and bliss that should be downright illegal. He’s my eternal high.
When we leave, I don’t know if what we have will last. I’m not sure how it can. How can I be free around Pascal when his father watches me like a hawk? How can I feel comfortable when I still live in that house, when I have to get my mother out, when I still might have to do the unthinkable?
Yes, unthinkable.
But I’m still thinking about it, here and there.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do.
“I wish we could stay forever,” Pascal admits, staring at me with kind eyes. “And I really mean that. I mean . . . I really do. I’m not looking forward to going back any more than you are. But I have to. Like it or not, if I don’t run the company, someone else will have to, and I don’t feel like being replaced right now.”
“Do you love the job that much?”
He shrugs, pressing his lips together in thought. “I don’t know. I don’t think in terms of love.”
Oh.
“I just know it’s mine. And it’s my job to do. You have to understand, my whole life has been gearing up to this, to being in charge of the Dumont label.”
“But is that what you want or what your father wants?”
He has a look that says, Shit. He hadn’t considered that. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment. “I never thought of it that way. I just knew it was something I wanted.”
“But maybe you just wanted power and approval. Maybe it’s not actually the job that you do.”
He puts his wine down and sighs, leaning back in his lounge chair. “Maybe. But then what the fuck do I do? I don’t even know what I want from life, I’ve either been told what to do or I’ve had something to prove.” He glances at me, frowning. “If this isn’t what I was born and raised for, why did I do so many horrible things in order to obtain it? If I throw away my career, it means all the people I’ve hurt have been for nothing.”
I swallow hard, feeling his anxiety rolling off him. It’s never easy to question yourself. It’s why I don’t make a habit of it.
If all I thought I was isn’t who I’m supposed to be . . .
Who am I?
My obsession with Gautier has been my whole life. If I were to drop it, if I were to let it go, I’m not sure I’d even recognize myself.
“I know how you feel,” I tell him quietly. “When you’re afraid of really looking at yourself. What if you don’t like the person you find?”
“All I know is that I’ve found you,” he says. “The rest doesn’t really matter.”
“But . . . ,” I say and pause because I really don’t want to approach the subject, I really don’t want any truth or reality. I want to keep this life here on this island going forever. But I know it’s not possible. Not even a little. “What’s going to