Page 74 of The VIP Package

“Looking forward to it.” She kisses me again, more gently this time. “I’ll text you Hayden’s number and you can decide whether to reach out.”

“That’s fine.” Sliding a hand to her cheek, I kiss her back with a tenderness that opens a raw wound inside me. When I draw back and look in her eyes, the knot in my chest squeezes tighter. “Thank you,” I murmur.

“For kissing you?”

“For sharing your feelings earlier. For having the courage to tell me what you want.” Starlight glitters in her eyes, or maybe sadness?

Perhaps I put it there by not responding like she’d hoped. “You are an uncommonly brave woman.”

Camille laughs. “I prefer exquisite.”

Turning her head, she kisses the hand that’s still touching her cheek. Then she steps back and leaves me cupping thin air. “Good luck with everything.”

“Thank you.” A breeze stirs her sundress, whipping the wispy pink cotton around her legs. “Have a good night.”

Have a good life.

The words nearly slip out, but I swallow them back. That’s absurd. It sounds like I won’t ever see her again, but I’ll be back in the morning for breakfast.

I’ll only be gone a few hours.

So why does this feel like goodbye for good?

“Sweet dreams, Camille.” I turn to my boat, climbing aboard without looking back. If I see her before I set out, I won’t have the courage to leave.

And I really do have work to get done tonight. That’s why I’m leaving. Not because her confession left me feeling like somebody flayed open my chest with a scalpel.

It’s not until I’ve steered through the channel leading out onto open water that I allow myself a glimpse back. She’s standing alone, her arms bathed in moonlight, waving from the edge of the water. There’s something so lonely, so unbearably sad in her posture, that I force my gaze back to the water.

It doesn’t ease the ache in my chest.

By the time I get home, I’m almost too groggy for work. But I power through two dozen emails and a backlog of documents requiring my signature.

It’s nearly midnight when I head to my room. I’m keyed-up and restless and not sure I’d sleep if I turned in now. Something weighs heavily on my heart. It’s not just Camille, or even the fact that imagining life without her feels like someone’s been rubbing my heart on a cheese grater.

There’s something else. Something I’ve put off all day.

Time to face it now.

Easing down gently on the edge of my bed, I stare at the blue and white picture frame. As I draw in a breath, my hands start to shake. They’re trembling still as I pick up the photo and polish the glass with my sleeve.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” My wife and young son smile up from behind dusty glass. “I know you can’t forgive me. I haven’t forgiven myself.”

Twenty years.

That’s precisely how long it’s been. Down to the minute, almost.

This is the grim anniversary of the day my whole life went to Hell.

Maybe I should have told Camille. She would have known what to say. How I should mark this macabre occasion.

Or maybe she wouldn’t have said anything at all. She might’ve just held me, letting the warmth of her body soothe the ache in my heart.

But I’m not accustomed to leaning on anyone like that. She came here to leave her own worries behind. To find gratification in a place devoted to her pleasure. She may not have gotten the full Crystal Bliss experience, but I hope I’ve provided some of the joy she’s given me. It’s a memory I’ll cling to for the rest of my miserable life.

“Enough wallowing.” I set down the photo and glance at the clock on the wall.

Midnight here means nine p.m. back in Portland. I’d normally never phone a professional contact at this hour, but Camille did say Hayden works day and night. If the man’s at his desk, he can answer the phone. If he isn’t, he’ll at least have my number to call at his earliest convenience.

---