had passed, the tears stopped, leaving me brittle inside.
Christopher's arms released me, his feet taking a solid two steps backward, removing the temptation of contact, his dark eyes shuttered, closed down, impossible to read.
But they held mine as his face fell into grim lines.
"It was always going to end."
With that, ripping out a piece of my heart I hadn't known had started to belong to him, and walking away with it, leaving me bleeding on the deck, hand pressed over my chest, unable to convince myself that the pain was just in my head.
It was something like twenty minutes later when Quin reappeared, suitcases that didn't really belong to me in his hands.
"Come on, Mills," he said, giving me a tight smile. "Let's go get you back home."
And with no other option yet again, I followed a man toward an uncertain future I wasn't sure I wanted.
FIFTEEN
Christopher
It was always going to end.
Regardless of the truth in them, I regretted saying those words. If not as they were coming out of my mouth, then the second I saw the impact they had on the woman who had come to mean a so much to me.
She looked... wrecked.
And that was after she'd already cried into my chest, soaking my shirt through.
There was no reason my words needed to add more hurt to an already painful situation.
I had no excuse.
Except that I was suffering too.
It was a shitty explanation, if you could call it one. Being in pain didn't excuse inflicting it on others.
All I can say in my defense was... this was uncharted territory for me. It was foreign soil in a treacherous land. And I was without a map or compass or a north star to guide me.
I fumbled around like the unskilled pioneer I was.
I didn't even say goodbye to her.
I'd gone inside, went into her room, put the suitcases on the bed, and slowly set to filling them.
It wasn't long before her boss—a man by the name of Quinton Baird— moved into the room with me.
"Allow me to give you one piece of advice, Mr. Adamos," he said, moving over toward the bed, hastily zipping the suitcases, hauling them off the bed. "If you ever lead that woman around by the neck like that again, I don't give a flying fuck who you are, what allies you think you have, I will make you suffer for it."
With that, he walked out, collected Melody off the back deck, and brought her with him toward his waiting car.
I didn't even say goodbye to her.
This woman who meant more to me in a few weeks than anyone ever had in my life.
"You just let her go?" Alexander snapped a while later when he came home to find her gone.
"Was I supposed to chain her to the bed, Alexander?" I asked, not caring what time of day it was, making a beeline for the liquor cabinet.
"Maybe fight for her?" he suggested, outraged at my lack of action.
"And what would be my argument?" I asked, pouring a drink, throwing it back. "Come live with me, give up your career, leave your friends behind, forget about your homeland, and come make me dinner, and warm my bed. Because I am selfish and want you to do that for me?"
"You could have at least told her you wanted her to stay."
"Accomplishing what, exactly?" I asked, pouring another drink. "Making her feel guilty for having to leave?"
"Maybe she wouldn't have left at all." His voice was getting higher, borderline squeaky like it often did when he was upset.
"Fairy tales are nice, Alexander, but real life isn't one. Real life makes love hard." Yes, love. There was no use even trying to deny it. I didn't have the energy to even if I wanted to. "It is never convenient and easy. And it doesn't trump everything else."
"Maybe it should," he suggested, face falling.
"Maybe," I agreed, nodding. "But it doesn't. I couldn't expect Melody to give up things that I am not willing to give up. That's not fair. So I wasn't going to make her choose."
"So, that's it? It's over? You're never going to see her again?"
"Her work might bring her to Santorini some day. Never say never. But, no, I am not going to seek her out," I told him, making my way toward him to go to the door.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not a fucking masochist," I told him, storming down the hall, dropping down into the bed we'd been sharing, smelling her on the sheets.
I couldn't