Jade (17 page)

I’ve been the queen of avoidance, even with Agatha. I’ve written to her, but I haven’t opened her messages. I don’t want to hear about life at the base camp after my departure. I dutifully send her notes about work, and life in Florida, and I even told her about how I’m happy I am to have Nathanael as a new friend, but I steadfastly left her mail sitting unread in my inbox. On a scale of 1 to 10, her anger must have reached 15, by now. I desperately want to read her messages.

Back at home, I get a chill. The air conditioning is going full blast, and Nathanael’s door is closed. We play tag with the air conditioning thermostat: he likes it in the low sixties, while I’m comfortable in the mid-seventies, except at night. I let him win at night when I wrap myself in my quilt.

I wonder how his discussion with Pamela went. I guess I’ll know tomorrow.

I grab a terry robe to avoid hypothermia, and turn on my computer. My email opens up automatically, and I see a new message from Agatha. It’s a few minutes old, and the title is “URGENT, please DO read this email”. It’s morning in Asia, right now.

Being a contrary ass, I open her email in chronological order. The first two emails are casual. She tells me about life at base camp; she’s been supervising while Cook gives first aid care, and she’s doing a good job. Agatha says that I’ve trained her well. She goes on about how Oliver’s crew got pissed at me when they found out that I had gone without saying goodbye. 

How funny that they would barely talk to me while I was around, yet get offended that I did not stand on ceremony with them before I left.

Agatha writes that when Oliver finally crawled out of the woodwork, he asked where I was. She truthfully told him that she only knew I was in Florida. 

Agatha offered to give him my email address, but he declined. Chanlina had probably already given it to him. Last week, Oliver taunted her: he offered to give her my address, and said that I was living in a very pleasant community in Palm Beach Gardens. 

Ouch, that must really have ruffled her feathers, especially since he wouldn’t say how he had gotten it. 

The cheery tone of Agatha’s emails starts to degrade, but she’s still being a good friend, because she lets me know that Oliver flew everyone to Bangkok to take some sort of official DNA test, and that no one won the genetic lottery prize. The happy father of Sirikit’s baby girl is not one of them. 

Oh my God, why didn’t I open these emails before? I’m an idiot.  

There’s more: to celebrate this good news, they all got smashed, and it took Liam two days to sober up. So much for him claiming all along that the father could not possibly be him, because he “never goes out without his raincoat.” 

I click on the last email, the one she sent while I was still in the pool. It’s a head’s up I would have received after the fact, anyway. 

Agatha says she’s emailing me against her better judgment because I so deserve what’s coming to me that she should let me deal with it. She writes that she’s been my friend for too long to not warn me that I’m in for a major surprise. 

When she nursed Liam out of his forty-eight-hour comatose state, he told her that her “dominatrix girlfriend was gonna get her ass kicked.” 

Funny: if there’s one thing I’ve never pictured myself as, it’s a Dom! Liam must still have nightmares about my bull sperm collecting method. I’ve traumatized the poor man. 

Agatha says that, even though Liam was not very articulate, he did convey that Oliver was “coming to claim what’s rightfully his”. Wow, that’s a mouthful. 

I breathe in deeply, and feel light-headed. An anvil’s been lifted from my chest. 

Now that I know that he’s not the father of Sirikit’s baby, I wouldn’t mind being claimed. Being claimed sounds exciting enough to overlook the fact that he’s married. How difficult can it be to get out of his marriage of convenience? I could actually be convinced that being married is not a black and white situation, and that he’s only a tiny bit married. 

I click “reply”, and write,

“Dear Agatha,

You’re the best friend in the entire world. I’ve been an idiot, and I want to catch up with you. Let’s set up a Skype appointment so we can talk. I’ll just have one question for you: didn’t James object to you nursing Liam? I can’t wait to hear from you. 

Kisses, Jade.”

I shut down the computer, and go to bed. As I close my eyes, wrapped up in my quilt, I’m making a list of the things I need to do tomorrow before I hit the pool. I need to shave, change the bed sheets, and talk Nathanael into taking Chanlina for a very long walk on the beach… 

But, then, maybe not. What am I thinking? It may not be the best idea to let Nathanael loose on Chanlina!

❦

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THE WALK TO THE POOL
is short: two minutes, at most. They are two minutes during which I hold my breath. Jet lag is on my side; he has to be there doing laps.

I push the gate open, and scan the pool: no one’s there. I’m so disappointed. How silly of me! It’s already been weeks; I can hold on a few hours more. Still, tension is building. I hate waiting, but I only have myself to blame. No one forced me to run away, like a thief, last night.

For now, I dive in and swim underwater for half the length of the pool. When I come up for air, he’s here, treading water in front of me. I open my mouth, and swallow half the pool. This is a bad case of déjà vu!

At least, this time, I don’t suffocate, but ask “Where were you hiding?” I reach out to touch him. My fingers only find water, though, as he backs away. 

“In the hot tub. Just like you, last night,” he growls.   

His withdrawal feels like a slap, and the way he looks at me makes me uneasy. 

His jaw is tense, as he asks, “Why did you run?” 

“I was scared,” I say. “I needed time to adjust to your presence in my new world.”

“Have you adjusted, now?”

“Yes. Well, maybe not. I’m not sure.” I’m stuttering, and I feel miserable. I’m making a complete fool of myself.

“Make up your mind, Jade.” His voice is harsh.

“I was caught off guard,” I answer, in a whisper. 

“It’s hard to believe that Agatha did not give you a head’s up.”

“I hadn’t been reading her emails.” He rolls his eyes at me, which annoys me. I try to explain, “I needed a clean break. I only went through them yesterday after I saw you and bolted.”

He’s staring at me, as if I’m deranged, and suddenly I’m not scared anymore; I’m angry. 

“Don’t look at me that way,” I’m yelling at him.

There’s an endless pit full of anger in me that I had been ignoring. Hell, I’ve been angry since I ran into Sikirit in the hotel bar. I’ve become angrier as the weeks passed by, and he never even bothered to reach out to me. All this anger has been simmering for weeks, just waiting to pour out. The last straw was that he didn’t even let me know that he was not the father of his wife’s baby. If he did not tell me, that means that he thought it was not relevant information to give to me.

That last thought brings me over the edge. I lose it, and I lunge at him.

“Why don’t you let me know what I should have done? And, while you’re at it, please let me know how I was supposed to feel when, week after week after week went by, and you never bothered to contact me!”

“Jade,” he says, grabbing my wrist to stop me from continuing to pummel his chest. He’s right to hold me; I think if he didn’t, I would scratch his eyes out, right now.

“Don’t ‘Jade’ me, Jade Master. I’d rather you tell me why you’re mad at me. What did I do that gives you a reason to be upset with me? You gave up any right to get mad when you ignored me for more than two months.”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry,” he says, but it does not register.

“You have no right to get mad at me; none!”

I’m about to say horrible things to him, when Nathanael’s voice booms over the pool. “Jade, the man said he was sorry. Give him a chance to speak.” 

I’m startled. Oliver and I both turn around to look at him, standing so very tall by the side of the pool.

“Who are you?” Oliver asks.

“The guy whose shoulder she’s been crying on,” Nathanael says. He stops to let the words sink in.

Oliver lets me go. I take a step back, rubbing my wrists, while the men have a staring contest. 

Oliver opens his mouth to say something, but before he can speak, Nathanael cuts him short, and continues. “I’m the man she’s been working with, the one she goes home with every night, the one she confides in, and laughs and cries with, but nothing more. She hasn’t even thought of having sex with me, because she’s still hung up on you. I’m her friend, so I’m asking you to do us all a favor. Since, somehow, you got dibs, why don’t you tell her where you’re at, so she can get on with her life?”

Oliver alternates staring at Nathanael to staring at me, and then he asks, “Jade, please, can we go talk somewhere private?” 

The emphasis is on “private”, but it does not deter Nathanael, who says, “Sure, you should have privacy. Why don’t you two go home, and I’ll stay here, at the pool.” 

I like that he speaks up for me, and I love that it pisses Oliver off. I’m so mad at him that I want him to bleed a little.  

I step out of the pool, and head home, wrapped in my towel with Oliver two steps behind me. I open the door, and it’s freezing cold inside. 

“We need to get out of these wet bathing suits,” I’m thinking aloud. 

He smirks like it’s the best idea I’ve had all day, but he does not say a word. I turn around to lock the door behind me, and face him. He’s crowding me, but I won’t be intimidated. 

“Let me give you a dry towel,” I say, and he follows me through my bedroom, to the bathroom closet. I throw a towel at him, and go in the bathroom to remove my bathing suit. I just have time to put on the extra-large t-shirt that serves as my nightgown, before he’s on me. He has stripped, and he’s pinning me against the bathroom door. His hands are on my shoulders, and his hips are against mine. He’s hard, and it throws me off track. I look up to him, and I want him so much that it hurts. I want his chest against mine, and his mouth on mine. I want him in me now, but it does not seem to be what he wants. It’s like he needs to fight with me, first.

He’s lost in his own mind. Endless seconds pass, and he keeps staring at me, as if he’s looking at me for the first time. My eyes flutter and close; I’m not good at this type of game. I don’t know how to play. I don’t even know what the purpose of the game is. Actually it’s plain and simple: I don’t want to play. 

The little patience I have left is quickly spent, so I break the silence, and ask, “Did you get a divorce?”

I see the shadow of a smile on his mouth. He wanted me to start. He looks into my eyes, and nods. 

“My turn,” he says. “Did you wait for me?”

I bite back with more questions, “Is this a game that we’re playing? Because, if it is, I’d like to know the rules. How many questions do we each have?”  

“No game, just a talk, my sweet Jade, and you did not answer my question,” his tone contradicts the affectionate terms that he chooses.  

I nod, and close my eyes, “Of course, I waited. For endless weeks, I waited.”

“Look at me, Jade; this is a yes or no question.”

I open my eyes, and blink several times to chase away the tears that are threatening to come out. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing what he’s doing to me. It’s nothing short of torture. I’m so turned on by his touch that if he so much as breathes on me tenderly, I will crumble.

With a jagged breath, I ask “What precisely do you want to know?”

Through clenched teeth, he says, “Did you let that guy touch you?”

“Didn’t you hear what he told you?” 

“I don’t trust the man; I want to hear from you.”

“He tried.”

“What do you mean ‘he tried’?”

“How much detail do you want?”

“Every single one.”

“What in heavens for?”

“Because my imagination is probably worse than reality.”

“I’m sure it is. It was nothing, really.” 

“I want to know every single hot and dirty thing he did to you so I can do it better, and erase him from your memory.”

My heart is soaring; I so love his jealousy. It’s my turn to hide a smile. He’s so hot when he’s mad, like this. 

“That shouldn’t be too hard for you.” I touch my lips with a finger, and say, “He kissed me once, and, while he did it, he had one hand on my hip, and the other on my breast.”

 Oliver stares at my lips, and asks, “That’s it?”

“No, there’s more,” I taunt him, because he’s tortured me enough, and now it’s my turn. 

“It happened in my bed, and, after I pushed him back, he fell asleep, nestled against my shoulder. The next day, he went back to bang our admin, who he’s been fucking silly since he arrived.”

His mouth remains open, as if the words he was about to say won’t come out. I push him away, and walk out of the bathroom. He follows me into my bedroom as I lock the door that leads to the living room. I lean against it, and then I march to him, pointing an accusing finger.

“You say you want to talk, then let’s talk. Tell me, Jade Master, what do you want from me? I want you; I want you so badly that, even though I’m quite literate, I can’t find the words to describe how empty I’ve been feeling without you.” 

I keep on walking until he’s trapped between the foot of my bed, and me. He can’t back up anymore; it’s my turn to crowd him.

“So, do you want to be with me, or not? Because if you do, I will probably be the happiest woman on Earth, but, if you don’t, then I want you to get your ass right out of here, and never come close to me again.”

This is exhausting. I’m totally out of breath. I push him away to the side and sit on the corner of my bed. I close my eyes, swallow hard, and wait for his answer.   

There are a few seconds of silence, and then Oliver takes a few steps. He does not go to the door, but instead, comes to me. He rests his hands on my knees, and his forehead on mine. He’s kneeling in front of me, and his erection is the first thing I see when I open my eyes again.