Page 53 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

“I guess he didn’t love me enough.” She states it simply.

“The guy obviously had a fucking screw loose. I mean, seriously. He needs locking up in a mental institution.”

She giggles, then scolds, “Stop it. Come on. Let’s get back to the hotel. I want to have a rest before the ball.”

Leaving the ocean behind us, we walk up to the road, dust off our feet, and slip our shoes back on. Then we walk the short distance back to the hotel. We don’t say much. I’m sure she’s thinking about her father. But my mind is still spinning from the revelation that Ian never asked her to marry him. How can you commit yourself to a girl for such a long time and never propose?

It occurs to me at that point that I’m kinda old fashioned. Lots of people don’t get married in this day and age. Ian might have been religious, but maybe deep down he was trying to make a break from his church, or rebel against his parents by not following the rules. Or maybe he just didn’t love Hallie enough to ask her. If so, why stay with her for so long?

I don’t think I’ll ever understand. Maybe it is old fashioned, but I see it more as an acknowledgement that, despite our attempts to civilize ourselves, we belong firmly in the animal kingdom. We have a deep-rooted urge to procreate and continue the species, which means that most people meet someone with the intention of settling down and having children. Not everyone, of course, and as a champion of free will, I have to acknowledge everyone’s right not to do that. But as a guy, when I meet a girl, I have to assume that one day she’ll feel a desire to have children. And therefore I owe it to her not to string her along, and if I do want to stay with her, to have a conversation early on about it all.

I glance at Hallie as we walk along the path to our suites. I’ve never really thought about marriage before, other than in abstract terms. I’ve never been out with a girl for long enough to consider asking her to marry me. Ginger was already married, and anyway, I don’t think I’d have considered proposing even if she were single.

But if I were to meet someone like Hallie? Someone smart, funny, innocent, and beautiful in body and spirit? Why wouldn’t I want to marry her and put a ring on her finger to let every other guy she met know she was mine?

Chapter Thirteen

Hallie

As we reach our rooms, we stop, and I look up at Fraser.

His blue eyes study me with concern. “Are you okay now?”

I nod. “I’m fine, thank you. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Ah, come on. I think we’re good enough friends that you don’t have to apologize for opening up a little. I’m glad you did. And I’m always here if you want to talk.”

I nod again, although I have no intention of telling him any more than I already have. I still can’t believe I revealed as much as I did. I managed to make it through a ten-year relationship without telling Ian anything about my father. I guess it might have been harder if he’d shown some interest…

“What time do you want to leave?” I ask.

He gives a small, resigned sigh that I obviously don’t want to confess anything further. “Two forty-five,” he says.

“Okay. Have a nice rest.” I go inside and close the door behind me.

I wait there for a moment, my heart racing. Will he knock on my door? Say it’s ridiculous fighting what’s between us, and ask to come in?

But he doesn’t. After a short pause, I hear his door open and then close.

I stare at the door for a moment, then walk slowly into the room.

After tossing my hat onto the bed, I go over and flop unceremoniously onto the sofa. Then I turn so I’m lying back, lift my legs up, and stare at the ceiling.

Maybe I imagined it—the connection between us. The magic, the chemistry, the electricity that shot through me when he kissed me.

But I remember his reply when I asked him why he lay awake last night. That he was thinking about me. That our time together was magical and amazing. And that he’s wanted me since the moment he met me, and all he can think about is tasting me and watching me come.

I shiver. I didn’t imagine it. He does feel the same way I do. The thought hurts my brain. It’s like advanced algebra, or quantum theory, or the stock exchange—I have real problems understanding it. Me? He likesme? Seriously? Why? I’m nothing special. But I guess there’s no accounting for why one person loves another.

Ooh, no, no, no, Hallie. I sit up hurriedly and shake my head as if I can dislodge the thought from it, the way a wet dog shakes himself to get rid of water droplets.

Love is not part of the equation here. I’m very clear on that. I don’t love Fraser, and he doesn’t love me—no more than one good friend loves another, anyway. I’m not even in love with him. I don’t think I am, anyway.

Am I?

I pick up my phone, open an AI app, and type in, “What’s the difference between loving someone and being in love with them?”

“The difference between loving someone and being in love with them often comes down to the depth and nature of the connection,” the app replies. “You can love someone deeply without being in love with them, such as with a best friend or a partner you’ve grown apart from romantically. Conversely, being in love carries that unique spark of romantic desire and emotional intimacy that sets it apart.”

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