18. Billie

CHAPTER 18

BILLIE

I decide to take us back first thing in the morning on the day my permit runs out. If we set off early and make good time, we should hit port early tomorrow. Quick is good. That means I can minimize the amount of time I have to spend with Jensen.

The worst thing about all this is the way I almost want to forgive him. The more I’ve thought about it, the harder it is to stay angry. Sure, it’s been awkward the last few days, but he’s been as polite and kind as ever. God, he’s even cooking without being prompted. Not so long ago, that was something I never thought I would see.

It’s like he’s been trying to get me to forgive him. And though all his efforts aren’t the reason I keep wanting to, I can’t pretend they’re not helping. But no — the real reason I want to forgive him is because I can’t quite reconcile that image of Jensen that everyone’s told me about with the one who’s been sitting right in front of my face for the last two weeks.

That Jensen is a party maniac, the kind of guy you hear a dumb story about and roll your eyes at. That Jensen is an idiot, a spoiled brat, a kid from a rich family who thinks he owns the world.

But the Jens I know? How can he be the same man?

I wake him up on the morning of our departure by knocking hard on his door a bunch of times. I open it slowly and peer around it to see a pair of groggy, puffy eyes staring up at me. “It’s already time to go?” he groans.

“Yes. Get your things.” He blinks at me until he comprehends then pulls the covers up over his head. “You’ve got five minutes or I’m leaving without you.”

I close the door behind me to give him some dignity as he gets dressed, then spend the next few minutes pacing the living room, worrying that I’ve forgotten something. I haven’t. I packed last night, and I’ve double-checked everything about four times now.

Passport, laptop, camera. Nothing else really matters.

To Jensen’s credit, he does emerge five minutes later, clean and dressed. I’m glad he didn’t have anything to pack because I don’t imagine he’s much of a night-before packer. I’m not sure he ever does his own packing at all.

“Morning,” he mumbles, looking distinctly like he hasn’t slept at all.

“You ready to go?”

He shrugs an affirmative. That’s probably the best I’m going to get, so I don’t bother pushing it any further.

“We have a little time for breakfast, if you want.”

“Nah, I’m not hungry.”

“Okay,” I say, raising an eyebrow and feeling like the mother of a petulant child. “But I’m not listening to you if you complain about it later.”

“Okay,” he says, not even putting up the slightest bit of fight, which seems kind of strange for him.

Actually, his whole aura seems off. Subdued, like he’s bummed out about something. Which is almost definitely wishful thinking on my part, but the idea that he’s sad to leave fills me with a kind of fond feeling.

And it lets me believe it might be me that he’s going to miss.

Without a word, I lead him out to the boat, my big rucksack slung over my shoulders and my small one strapped to my chest. I’m waiting for the comment, to tell me I look like a turtle or an idiot, but nothing comes. He just gives me a funny little smile and follows me.

Just like that, the connection between us has snapped.

When we get to the boat, I throw my bags on board, then gesture for Jensen to get on. He looks between me and the boat, then, with all the grace of a newborn deer, drags himself aboard. It’s all limbs and flailing, and when he finally flops onto the deck, he grins up at me like he just performed a great feat.

I shake my head at him and try my best not to smile back.

I nimbly climb aboard and begin raising the anchor. I did all my checks and inspections yesterday to make sure we were good to go, so I don’t have much to do today. “Make yourself at home in the cabin,” I say, gesturing to the small door that leads below deck. He gives me a dubious look.

This is not a big boat. I wouldn’t want to keep two people on here for any longer than a few days. It’s simply not designed for that. But one person can get along just fine.

I enjoy it, actually. Sure, it’s cramped and you can barely sit up in bed, and the control deck is only just covered from the elements, but on a good day, alone at sea, I can be perfectly content.

So, as long as Jensen stays below deck and leaves me to sail, this should work fine.

As long as I stop having thoughts about him down there, alone in my bed. The single bed, the one that is good for one person, but that would require snuggling up real close if there were two of you…

That part of all of this is over. I have to let it go.

It’s evening by the time I see Jensen again. I’ve been enjoying the day, snacking from the little lunchbox I prepared. The sun is just dipping below the horizon, making the whole ocean blush a rosy pink when Jensen pops his head out from the cabin.

“Stupid question,” he says sheepishly, “but what’s for dinner?”

I want to snap figure it out for yourself , but I don’t. “There should be some protein bars and snacks in my backpack. Feel free to look. Sorry — there won’t be anything better until we hit land.”

“That’s okay.” I’m expecting him to retreat back under the deck, but he lingers like he’s trying to formulate something to say. “Can I use your phone? Just to text my friend George. I feel bad; he’ll have been worrying.”

“Sure. It’s in my bag. You might not get signal, though.”

“That’s okay. Are we still on track to arrive by morning?”

“So long as we don’t hit any adverse weather, we should do.”

He nods once, then blurts, “Where are you going to sleep?”

I shrug. “I wasn’t really planning on it.”

“You can come down here if you want.”

“With you?” I say, my heart in my mouth. I should be dead set against this. Shouldn’t I?

But if that’s what Jensen wants, he doesn’t admit it. “Whatever. We can swap, if you want?”

This is the kind of moment you have in dreams, those dreams where the sun is setting and the thick light leads you to make foolish, foolish love, alone and adrift on the ocean. Our eyes meet, lingering, that magnetic pull almost drawing my body towards his without asking.

But we’ve been there. Whatever my heart wants, I shouldn’t listen.

“It’s okay,” I say, looking away. “I was planning on being here all night anyway. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh. Okay.” He hesitates a second longer, then slumps, as if he just lost his last chance. “Good night, then.”

He disappears before I can say anything to him.

I spend the rest of the night awake and alone, thinking about him.

The dawn comes and goes, and I assume he’s sleeping through it. I kind of want to go and wake him up, just so he can see how gorgeous the land on the horizon looks as the sun crests over it. But I also don’t think I can handle another conversation like last night again, so I stay put.

Jensen must sense some change in the waves beneath us because he comes out of hiding just as we’re coming into land. “Did you see the sunrise?” he asks, then shakes his head. “Of course you did. It was amazing, wasn’t it?”

I allow myself a smile at the idea of him staring out of the porthole. “Yes, it was. We’re about to weigh anchor.”

“Right.”

I force my face into a light smile, and with as little emotion as I can manage, say, “Well, then, you’ll be home soon. You can go right back to your life. You can forget all about this torment.”

“Yeah,” he mutters uncertainly, and I can feel another one of his moments of sincerity coming on.

Quickly, I say, “So I should check in with the port, let them know we’re coming. Make sure there’s a place for us.”

I duck back into the control deck and pick up the communicator. It’s a lie — they definitely do know I’m coming — but Jensen doesn’t know that. This felt like a solid, important reason not talk to him, even if it is a lame excuse.

But the tension was rising again, and it was getting too awkward to handle. Even now, watching him sit on deck, looking out at the sea is too much to handle. Everything about Jensen is too much to handle.

Reality is setting in, for both of us.

We are never going to see each other again.

I can’t tell if I should be heartbroken or relieved.

As expected, when we pull into the dock at San Juan, someone is waiting for us. I wave to him, and frown when he doesn’t wave back. He seems confused, or upset, which is weird.

And it all makes sense the second we step out onto the dock, as a million photographers and journalists descend on us.

Instinctively I cover my face, cowering behind Jensen who, by his own instincts, has reached out as if to shield me. I would have felt something about it if I wasn’t painfully overwhelmed by all the people here to see us.

Well, it’s all for Jensen, really. They have no interest in me, I’m sure.

Or at least they didn’t until now.

“How did they know you’d be here?” I hiss, leaning in to him.

He slaps both hands over his face. “God, Billie, I’m so sorry. They must have tapped George’s phone. I have no idea how else they would have found out.”

“Jensen! Prince Jensen!” the press clamor. “You’re alive!”

“That I am,” he grins, and suddenly I see him . This is the smooth, cool guy everyone thinks they know. No longer is he Jens, the sweet, bumbling man I’ve been getting to know over the last two weeks.

This is a prince — who knows everyone wants him.

“Jensen, how did you survive your ordeal? Are you okay? Have you got any comments?”

He holds up both of his hands, moving in front of me. “I’m okay, thank you. I’ll issue a full statement later on, but in short, I’ve been very fortunate to find a good friend who was willing to help me out. No further questions, please. We’ve had a long journey.”

To nobody’s surprise, that does absolutely nothing to stop the press attention. He looks back over his shoulder at me and quietly says, “I’ll get you out of this. Trust me?”

Frozen in shock, all I can do is nod. Because for all that’s gone between us, I am certain I can trust Mr. Media Scandals to get me away from all of this.

He takes me by the hand, and then rushes at the crowd, bulldozing his way through. The ranks of journalists and fans close around us, and I gasp for breath, feeling like I’m being crushed, but Jensen squeezes my hand as if to tell me not to worry. As if he’s telling me we’ll be all right.

In this moment, I let myself believe it.

He pushes us through the masses, and once we’re on the other side, he releases my hand and turns back to wave for the cameras. There he is, in prince mode again.

And here I am, standing next to him, getting caught on film.

I think I’m going to be sick.

My stomach churning, I turn on my heel, ducking away from the cameras and rushing in the exact opposite direction of everyone else. Jensen follows me, his footsteps heavy on the wooden jetty. “Wait, Billie, please. I’m sorry. Let me just?—”

“Save it, Jensen,” I hiss, doing my best to keep it together. I can just see the headlines — Jensen in a fight with his island girlfriend — and I want no part in it. “I don’t care.”

“Please, Billie, you know I never meant for them to find me. I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“I know,” I say, pulling back, worried he’s going to try and take my hand again.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he just sighs. “Okay… well, thanks for everything,” he says. “I’ll always remember this, and you.”

It should be sweet, but it sounds more like the kind of thing you say to your favorite teacher at the end of a class rather than something genuine and heartfelt to the girl you… fell in love with? Had a fling with? Used for a few days?

Whatever. My head is spinning, and I’m painfully aware of the journalists still watching us from a distance. I guess Jensen is too, because we’re both rigid, frozen to the spot. And I guess he thinks he’s protecting me, which should be sweet, in a way.

But the thing is, I don’t need protecting from anyone, and I definitely don’t need it from him. “Great, okay. Goodbye, Jensen. Enjoy the rest of your life.”

I make sure to bump into him with my shoulder as I pass him, and when he calls after me, I don’t turn back around. I clench my fists and I don’t look back.

I’m terrified that if I look back, I’m going to launch myself into his arms and do something stupid.

Instead, I march all the way back to the bus station, my mind reeling. On the boat, he seemed to be begging for attention, for one last chance, and then, all of a sudden, it’s like a switch flipped. Like he stopped caring at all.

I stand, pacing with my arms folded as I wait for the bus. When it comes, I board it in a trance, taking a seat and staring blankly out of the window. I need a shower. A long, hot shower and a long, deep sleep. Two things the hotel will be able to offer. I’ve stayed there before, so I know that for a fact.

And that really is the plan, and it’s all going so well — until I actually step into the shower and burst into tears.

Damn it. Damn him. Why can’t I get him out of my head?

This hotel can provide me with everything, it seems, except the one thing I really want. The one thing I’m never, ever going to have.

After all, I didn’t even get his number.