Page 18 of The Four Engagement Rings of Sybil Rain

“Um, but you shouldn’t feel the need to get a martini just because I want one,” I say. “You should get what you want to get.”

“I know,” Jamie responds. “But right now, I want what you want.”

Images of exactly what I want flash like a neon sign in my brain, and I blush as Dani returns with our cocktails.

“Thanks,” I say to her. She gives me a little salute before crossing to the other end of the bar.

There’s an awkward silence as Jamie and I take tentative first sips from our martinis, careful not to spill the liquid that Dani has filled right to the rim of the glass.

I can’t help wondering what has happened to Genevieve.

I haven’t seen her since the snorkel boat, though that would make sense since I’ve been hiding out all day.

Still, my imagination has them fighting later that night.

Over me. Over why Jamie leapt off that boat to come after me.

Why did he jump, really? I’m dying to ask, but I don’t want to somehow tripwire the argument we already had about it.

Not when it feels like we’ve reached some kind of fragile truce.

Finally, Jamie breaks the quiet by saying, “I watched some of your social media content for that Flowies brand.”

I choke a little on my cocktail, olive juice going up my nose.

“You did?” It’s not at all what I expected him to say.

He nods. “I was curious after you mentioned them yesterday, so I looked them up. Obviously, I’m not their target demographic, but even I can tell it’s really good. You’re really good, Sybs.”

I swallow my next sip of martini, vodka and warmth sliding down my throat. “Thank you, Jamie.”

It’s not like I’ve been looking for validation from him.

I get that from my boss, from the followers, from my own sense of accomplishment after I nail an edit that goes on to get tons of engagement.

But still, it doesn’t hurt to know that Jamie sees that I’m good too. That he might even be proud of me.

“They’re so funny,” he continues. “That one where you’re in an Uber asking the driver to take you to all those different stops in a failed search for a lost tampon? Hilarious. And they’re honest. They don’t feel like an ad, you know? They just feel like… you.”

“That’s the goal,” I say with a shrug. But my heart is pounding, remembering how it feels to be seen by Jamie.

To be known by him. “I’ve been there for almost a year—kind of a record for me.

” I give an embarrassed little laugh. “But, um, I feel like I’ve gotten into a groove with the content creation. I really love the work.”

“Good for you, Sybs.” Jamie reaches a fist over to lightly bump my knee. Then he sighs down into his martini glass. “Honestly, I’m kind of jealous.”

“You should be.” I nod, adopting an expression of mock solemnity.

It’s a ridiculous notion, Jamie being jealous of my job given the success he’s had in his own, but I play along anyway.

“Everyone knows that the hallmark of a high-powered career is free underwear from your employer,” I say.

“But last I heard, The Kauffman Group was still just doing those complimentary travel mugs. Lame. ”

“Actually, we’ve moved on to tote bags.”

“Oh!” I throw a hand to my heart. “I had no idea. Well, that’s just one step away from Kauffman Group–branded portable chargers, so sounds like things are looking up!”

Jamie smiles, a soft one that crinkles the corners of his eyes. For a moment, I just smile back, wondering how, after everything, we came to be here, in this moment, joking together on an island in the middle of the Pacific.

“Seriously, though,” Jamie says, leaning his forearms on the bar.

“I think it’s really awesome that you found a role where you can shine.

Be yourself. Do things your way.” He starts tearing at his cocktail napkin.

“I don’t get to do a lot of that these days.

” As quickly as it came, his smile has faded.

“Your dad?” I ask tentatively. I know how complicated his working relationship with his father is.

“He just…” Jamie sighs, running a hand through his hair. “He likes things done how he likes them done. He never wants to try anything new.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” I say a little coolly. ‘Structure and order and certainty…’”

Jamie frowns and starts to twist a little on his barstool, turning to face the ocean—and away from me. “Fair enough.”

“Sorry,” I say. “I know you’re not like your dad. Would your dad have ‘jumped out of the damn boat’?”

Jamie grins. “Not a chance.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“I have been listening to my instincts more these days, instead of my father’s.

At least, I’ve been trying to. My family is great, but sometimes I feel like they have a very specific picture of who I’m supposed to be, what my life should look like—where I should live, what I should do for work, even who I should lo—” He cuts himself off, but the unspoken word lingers between us.

Even who I should love. Jamie swivels back toward me on his stool.

His eyes meet mine, and my pulse quickens. “I just wish—”

“What?” I try to breathe, but the air feels trapped in my lungs. Does he wish what I wish?

Jamie looks at me, fondness and something like regret in his warm brown eyes. “I wish I had started listening to my instincts sooner.” He pauses, his eyes studying my face.

“How come?”

“If I had, we would be married right now, Sybil Rain.”

The directness of it sends a shiver through me. Does this mean he regrets being with Genevieve? Or, is it possible, maybe, somehow, that they really are just colleagues like he said? I feel so overwhelmed and confused—and yet, full of want. I want this to be true. I want all of it to be true.

But his words also paint a different picture than the one I’d been remembering. In my mind, Jamie turning me down at the altar was him finally going with his gut and doing what he’d wanted to all along.

Now, however, it almost sounds like he let himself be convinced not to marry me.

Like ending things between us was never what he wanted.

And just the thought of that being possible nearly topples me out of my seat.

I feel a mix of everything all at once. The grief and heartbreak of having lost him hits me like a wave, yet there’s something else stirring within. This crazy spark of hope.

Another moment of silence as Jamie pulls an olive from its toothpick skewer.

I give myself one breath to indulge in looking at him the way I used to.

At the small scar over his left eyebrow he got from a friend’s lacrosse stick in eighth grade, the single dimple on his right cheek, the faintest ring of green around the brown of his irises.

I must look too long, because Jamie’s smile tips down on one side.

Then his eyes are sliding away from mine, down to my lips.

The way the heat moves through my entire body just at his glance is out of control.

“Can you even imagine it?” I ask him. “Us, being married?”

“Oh, I can imagine it. And I have.”

I swallow another sip of martini, feeling the burn not just in my throat but all the way down to my belly.

“If I’d listened to my instincts,” he goes on, his voice growing huskier, quieter, so only I can hear, “we’d be here right now on our one-year anniversary, sharing memories of our romantic honeymoon at this very resort.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of memories exactly?” I say, an eyebrow raised. “Us getting lost on a hike and arguing over which way to go?”

His lips tip up slightly at one side, and he blinks, as if trying to decide whether to go on. “I think we’d be laughing about how we very much got lost on purpose. ”

“ Really ,” I say with a smirk, playing along as I lean closer to him and drop my voice. “And what purpose would that have been?”

“Oh, you know, we’d heard of a particularly secluded vista—a spot where you can see the whole valley but no one can see you .”

I laugh. The martini glass is slick and cold under my fingers—I have to work to keep it steady. “Sounds dangerous.”

“It was,” he says, his voice still low and unwavering.

I clear my throat, trying not to break into a sweat from the rush of heat that has suddenly overtaken my body. I know we’re just bantering but… “And what else would we be remembering? Did we check out the waterfalls?”

“You could say that. We were grateful to them, anyway.”

“Grateful?” I set down the glass and brush a strand of hair out of my face.

“The roar of the current was loud enough to cover the sound of your voice as you—”

“Jamie!” I slap him lightly on the arm.

“Have I gone too far?” he asks quietly, his head dipped low, eyeing me from the side conspiratorially.

It’s almost like he’s asking something else at the same time—like by saying yes, I’m confirming that I’m taken, and by saying no, I’m signaling the truth, which is that the “squid man” I claimed to have brought with me here was in fact a complete fiction.

I cross and uncross my legs, trying to figure out what to say. Because I don’t want him to stop… but I don’t want him to know that. “Well, it’s your imagination,” I finally respond, as diplomatically as possible. “I suppose you’re just being honest.”

“That’s exactly how I feel,” he says, and something in his eyes is communicating more than just that.

“Okay, so is that all we’d be remembering? It sounds like our honeymoon would have been very outdoorsy.”

He laughs softly, the sound of it like a shiver against my skin. “Oh, no. We would have spent most of the time in our room.”

By now, I can feel how hard I am blushing. “Doing what, exactly?”

Now it’s his turn to blush. “I don’t know if I can say what we were up to out loud, Sybil. I wouldn’t want to offend anyone.”

I take a shaky breath. The way he’s talking, the tone of his voice, the intensity of his eyes, the closeness…

It’s almost too much. I feel heat forming between my thighs, coursing through me.

I’m afraid if he keeps going, the need will become too strong.

The need for him to touch me. To make good on these promises of things that never came to be.

I might do something we both regret. I might—

“So as you can see, Sybil,” he says, shattering the fantasy in an instant as he pulls back, “I very much did not listen to my gut. Like usual, I did what I thought was right…”

I swallow hard, struggling to find my voice. “Because of your family,” I fill in.

“No! Because of you .”

The shame that washes over me when he says this is almost unbearable.

“Because of what I did, you mean? How much it hurt you…” And it’s fair, even if that’s the only reason, even if he didn’t want to marry me just because of how I bolted on our wedding weekend.

He’s not wrong. It was hurtful and selfish of me.

I had my reasons, but that doesn’t make it right.

“No,” he says again, looking distraught. He swipes his hair out of his eyes and squints at me. “Sybil, you have it all wrong.”

“Then what—”

“I did the right thing that weekend because it was what you wanted,” he says quietly, no longer looking at me but into his drink.

“My family kept saying you weren’t ready to settle down, but I didn’t believe them.

Because every time I looked at you… I just saw love.

” Jamie swallows, like he’s trying to dislodge a lump in his throat.

“But then you ran, and I thought, maybe they’re right.

That’s what I meant when I said I’d been looking for a reason not to marry you.

Not that I wanted an excuse to end things, but that I’d genuinely been looking .

Trying to see what my family saw. Until that moment, I hadn’t found anything.

But suddenly, it was obvious. You wanted your freedom, Sybil, and when you love someone, you set them free. Right?”

I’m speechless, trying to figure out how to respond, when a new voice cuts through the heavy silence between us.

“Jamie! I’ve been looking all over for you.” It’s Genevieve, approaching us from around the bend in the bar.

I jerk back, sloshing the rest of my martini onto my bare legs.

“Oh shit.” I reach for one of the cocktail napkins on the bar and start mopping the vodka off myself. My cheeks heat with embarrassment.

Genevieve looks at me. “Hey, Sybil. Boyfriend still busy with the squids?” The sunniness hasn’t fully disappeared from her smile, but there’s an undeniable edge to her words.

She moves to stand beside Jamie, her hand resting on his upper arm in a way that reads as possessive.

“J, we need to go over those financial reports tonight. Are you up for it?”

“Uh, sure. Let me just close out my tab.”

“Oh no, you guys should stay!” I leap from my barstool and hold out an arm for Genevieve to take my spot.

There’s a gnawing feeling of guilt. I might be a bit of a flirt, but I draw the line at other people’s boyfriends.

With how he’s been acting, I’m leaning toward believing Jamie when he says they aren’t together.

But that doesn’t mean Genevieve isn’t hoping this trip will change that.

And besides, what did I really think was going to happen here? That Jamie and I would both just suddenly forget all the reasons we were wrong for each other, all the ways we hurt each other, and have his way with me right here on the tiki bar?

“Oh, well, if you’re sure…” Genevieve is already sliding between me and Jamie.

“Absolutely! I need to get cleaned up anyway.” I gesture down at my vodka-soaked legs. “Y’all have a good night!”

As Jamie turns away from me and toward Genevieve, I finally admit something to myself.

I thought whatever was zinging between Jamie and me couldn’t be more than residual lust. I thought that I’d swept up all the shards of my shattered dreams by now and pieced them back together into something new.

But now I’m not so sure, because there’s a sharp scrape against the inside of my chest, and it still feels like a broken heart.