Page 53 of It's Not All Fake

“I’m sorry.” He looks at me apologetically. “Let me talk to her quickly,” he requests, seeking my understanding.

“It’s okay.” I nod, giving him a reassuring smile.

“I’ll be right back.” He stands swiftly to follow Robert inside the cabin on this level. They vanish, leaving me alone with the gentle sounds of the lapping water and my own swirling thoughts.

I feel a twinge of disappointment at Liam's abrupt departure. As overwhelming as our interactions can be—sometimes nearly unbearable under his intense gaze—they are also exhilarating.

I glance at the remnants of our meal—the pile of crab shells on the table. I don’t know how long Liam will be preoccupied, so I place my napkin on the table and stand up. No use in sitting here alone.

The phrase “I’ll be right back” is a promise I heard a lot from my father growing up, and he was never right back.

I head down the stairs to the lower deck, passing the kitchen and open-air seating area with gorgeous white sofas that cascade down to an inviting lower level with large outdoor daybeds. I float down the short staircase beside the built-in seating, each step illuminated from underneath, casting a romantic glow. A fire pit crackles with flames between two expansive daybeds, and just beyond, the infinity pool emits its own ghostly light into the night.

The setting is breathtakingly romantic, yet it feels almost eerie to be all alone here.

I walk to the edge of the deck, leaning against the glass railing where the light from the pool fades, and I’m cloaked mostly in darkness. I gaze out at the black waters, feeling the gentle sway of the massive yacht beneath me. The lights from shore are mere specks now, and I wonder how close we are to Catalina.

The night is exceptionally dark, and I realize it’s a new moon. My mother always believed the moon phases meant something. The moon controls the changing ocean tides, so I suppose it isn’t too far-fetched to imagine it might influence us humans too.

Liam has the most undeniable influence on me. I’m caught in his gravitational pull, and I don’t want to resist. But questions linger—the most obvious being, what the hell are we to each other now that we’re having sex?

I can feel the warring parts of my mind. Worries are bubbling up from my rational side, cautioning me. I’m going to get hurt.

But that pleasure-hungry part of me—wise in its own way—is telling me to calm the fuck down.

Why question this? It’s amazing, beautiful, and feels incredibly good.

Liam and I obviously care about each other. Why do we need to define this? I decide then that I need to stop being so analytical—a hazard of the job.

Strangely, Ashley, who is usually against defining relationships too soon, is my biggest critic on this. I’ve stopped asking her where things are going with the various men she sees. She’s often explained to me that defining things is like interrupting a great party—killing the music, turning on the lights—to ask if everyone is having fun.

Ashley insists I should end things with Liam, yet she thrives in undefined relationships. Maybe I should do as she does, not as she says.

Deep in contemplation, I gaze at the distant lights on shore and the stars above, their brilliance enhanced by the dark, moonless night.

“Chloe.” His deep voice is suddenly behind me, making me startle. I feel his hand gently touch my back.

I exhale sharply, my hand flying to my chest. “You scared me.” I manage a chuckle, turning to face him as I catch my breath.

He steadies me gently by the shoulders. “I’m sorry, I thought you heard me coming.”

“You’re too good at jump scares with all those horror movies of yours,” I tease.

He smirks, “You might be right.”

A light, warm breeze tousles a curl across my face, and Liam tucks it behind my ear. His fingers linger on my cheeks, sending a rush of pleasure through me. His gaze is intense, all-consuming, making me feel both vulnerable and cherished.

I hold his gaze, half-expecting a kiss, but instead, he smiles softly.

Leaning casually against the glass railing, he lets his other hand drift down, his light touch caressing my shoulder.

“You seemed lost in thought. What was on your mind?” He asks it like he already knows I was thinking about him.

But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “The moon,” I answer truthfully. I’m hyper-aware that his fingers are now playing absentmindedly with the ends of my long, curly hair.

“The moon?” He chuckles at my unexpected answer, looking at me curiously.

“It’s a new moon,” I explain, looking up at the heavens, and he follows my gaze. “My mom was into astrology, so I’ve always paid attention to the moon phases and such.”

---