Two burly security guards come and stand beside me. “Is there a problem here, sir?”
I look between them as I gasp for air. “My girlfriend.” I pant, and point to the flight. “Need . . . to . . . stop . . . her.”
The guards exchange looks and with an eye roll, one of them says, “Leave now or you will be escorted from the building, sir.”
Deflation fills me and I drop my shoes and belt and put my hands on my knees as I try to catch my breath.
Fuck it . . . she’s gone . . .
But where to? I glance up and see the flight destination.
Honolulu
Flight 245
American Airlines
I stand with renewed purpose, put my shoes on, and roll my belt into my hand. “Thanks.” I march off. Fuckers.
I dial my security; he answers first ring. “Hello, Mr. Miles.”
“Hi, have someone meet the plane, she’s landing in Honolulu, American Airlines flight 245.”
“Got it.”
“Do not let her out of your sight! I want an address.”
KATE
The transfer car pulls up in front of the villa, and the driver turns in his seat. “Here you are, Miss.”
I peer out as relief fills me; looks okay. I always have that panic moment when I see a place I booked online.
I pay him and he takes my suitcase from the trunk.
Thank God I arranged all this last week.
When I hadn’t heard from Elliot, when he was with her . . . the thought of seeing him at work was mortifying. I booked this holiday to give myself some space. I didn’t tell anyone about it except Brad. Not even Daniel and Rebecca. If they didn’t know where I was then they couldn’t accidently tell anyone, and thank God I didn’t. I had no idea how much it was going to be needed.
I’m on Lanikai Beach, Kailua, on the island of Oahu, Hawaii.
The sound and smell of the ocean overwhelms me, and I wave my driver goodbye and walk up the steps.
The keys are in a lock box and excitement fills me. A hot shower . . . and some sleep.
I’ve had a horrendous trip, and to be honest I was half expecting the Miles jet to pull up alongside us and hijack my plane, and for Elliot to board mid-air and drag me off.
To get here alone and safe is a relief. The key turns and I walk in and gasp.
Oh my God. “So beautiful.”
It’s a little villa, in the shape of a hexagon, on the edge of a cliff. Huge windows with views of the sea are everywhere you look, and palm trees are on the edge of the waterline.
This place looks straight out of a movie.
I smile, lock the door behind me, and look around: one bedroom, a small, tidy bathroom, and an octagon-shaped living and kitchen area with light timber floors. Through large timber French doors is a huge deck, and I walk out to feel the sea breeze on my face.
“Wow.” I smile into the view, stare out for a while, and then my mind goes to Elliot back home . . . and I can almost feel his panic. I know he’ll be worried.
But I can’t think of him right now. For once in my life, I have to put myself first.
I understand what he told me yesterday, that he loves me and that he didn’t do anything with his beloved artist. And maybe if he had come straight home after he saw her I would have forgiven him and moved on.
But he took a week to convince himself that he wanted to be with me. To talk himself into his so-called happiness. If he loved me as he said he does, there would have been no soul-searching to arrive at that decision. He would have come straight home . . . to me.