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Jett doesn’t say another word. He grabs his jacket and storms out, Paul following with an amused glint in his eye. The room feels emptier without Jett, even with Brooke chattering away beside me.
I stare down at my untouched plate, Paul Knight’s presence engulfing me like a suffocating fog.
Paradise is gone.
Chapter 45
JETT
These last few days—the ones we should have spent on the island—have been pure torture.
Instead of soaking in turquoise waters with Cari, and watching my daughter chase sand crabs, I’ve been trapped in the office with my father. Every second feels like having my nails ripped out one by one.
This man has a gift for draining the very life out of a room. It’s unbearable at the best of times, but now? After the days Cari, Brooke, and I shared, and the days we were looking forward to, his presence is like an army tank, heavy and dangerous, running roughshod over all the happy memories we’ve made.
At night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his intrusion. Of course, Cari and I haven’t risked being around each other since he arrived. The house has eyes, ears, and secrets to guard. But I miss her. I miss the way she fits so perfectly next to me, the way her presence soothes the sharp edges of my life. What we had—what we were building—feels like it’s been stolen.
God, I hate my father so much. This man, who cheated on my mother—his wife—and seemingly had no qualms about having a mistress, went on to have not one, not two, but three children with her. Now he has the audacity to ruin my plans, to sneak up on me to see what I’m up to. A man who wants me to have an arranged marriage for business reasons.
Who the fuck does he think he is?
What happens when Cari and I return to the office?
Who are we there? Can we go back to being a boss and a PA, sliding into those roles like nothing has happened? But even there, our time is limited.
We’ve been so wrapped up in each other here, unraveling feelings and unearthing truths, that the versions of us in New York feel like strangers. I don’t even know how to be that ruthless man anymore.
My father leaves tomorrow night, but it’s too late. This disruptor of peace and anything that is good has already ruined the fragile, fleeting time I had left with Cari and Brooke.
CARI
Jett’s father is gone, but it doesn’t feel like he’s really left.
His presence lingers in the air, like a ghost hovering just out of sight. I don’t think I’ve taken a proper breath since he arrived.
The black SUV disappears down the driveway, taking him to the airport. Only when it’s out of sight does Jett reach for my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine. His touch is warm, steady, but I feel deflated.
It’s late on Sunday evening, and I feel sad knowing there are many unspoken words between us. Weneedto talk, but the thought of what lies ahead makes my chest ache. We’re heading back to New York tomorrow, and the day after that we’re both back in the office. Everything we’ve avoided discussing looms in front of us.
I’ve done my best to keep Brooke occupied. Trips to the beach, play dates with Zara, anything to keep us distracted. But the weight of Paul Knight’s presence—oppressive and suffocating—has been impossible to ignore.
Dinner is quiet, aside from Brooke’s cheerful chatter. She talks about everything she loved on this trip, her excitement about going home, and her sadness at leaving Zara behind, and casually mentioning that Zara now has a baby brother whom she wants to play with. She’s an innocent ray of sunshine, blissfully unaware of the tension between me and Jett.
“We’ll come again next summer,” Jett promises her, his voice soft but resolute.
The words hit me like a sucker punch. I won’t be here. By next summer, Brooke will barely remember me, and Jett—he’ll move on. He’ll have another PA, another companion. It cuts deeper than I expect.
***
The stars are out by the time Brooke finishes her bedtime routine. I tuck her in with Elephant, brushing a kiss over her forehead as her sleepy voice murmurs, “What are we doing tomorrow?”
“Going home,” I whisper, smoothing her hair. She nods, her eyes already fluttering shut. I linger by her bedside, memorizing the moment.
When I step out of her room, Jett is waiting in the hallway. His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up, and his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He looks exhausted—like a man fighting a battle no one else can see.
“We should talk,” he says, his voice low.
I nod, but I don’t know where to start. Words feel heavy, unwieldy, and I’m not sure I have the strength to say what I need to. To ask for what I need.