This Is Not How It Ends(47)

“You’re drunk, Ben. And you’re upset.”

“I am.”

We sat face-to-face. I thought about Philip and how far away he was. And I understood what was eating away at me—it wasn’t geography. It was this. Why hadn’t I shared this with Philip? Why was there this huge chunk of me he didn’t know, and why was I reluctant to tell him?

I thought about Ben, and how unfortunate it was for someone as kind as him to be alone. And when he leaned in, I didn’t back away. His breath was so near it coated my cheek, and a sound escaped from his throat, a sound much like desire. He hesitated, stalling, and soon his mouth was like a feather on my lips. Soft and not at all intrusive, opening wider to let me in. I didn’t stop him. His hands reached for my face and forced me closer. I felt a gentle stirring, his touch awakening me, breathing life into the shallow space that craved touch. I succumbed. I told myself that I was doing him a favor. That I was fixing his heart and making it whole again.

I’ll always remember that it was he who backed away first. It wasn’t me. A fact that would riddle me with pangs of guilt, which I carried for days.

“Oh God, Charlotte.” His hands came up to hide his face.

“It’s okay,” I said, though it wasn’t.

“Philip’s my friend.”

I turned it into something else. “You’re alone. And lonely. It’s not what it seems.”

But it was me who was alone and lonely. It was me falling into an abyss, unable to pull myself out. Our connection shouldn’t have mattered. It shouldn’t have made me happy, but it did, and I was horrified.

“You’re right,” he said, though he sounded unsure. “It was a mistake.” And I sighed, letting an ominous chill creep through me.





CHAPTER 20

April 2018, Back Then

Islamorada, Florida

I could have sworn I heard Philip say this was the perfect time, but for what? I was hardly listening, basking in the glow of the people surrounding us, searching the table and feeling blissfully lucky—to be loved by someone with such a generous heart, to have found someone who shared my dreams. And when I finally centered, I noticed the table had gone quiet. Despite the warm temperature, a delicate chill climbed up my legs. All eyes were on Philip, and me.

“. . . having you all here to witness this moment means everything to me, and hopefully to Charley.”

I was confused, but then I wasn’t. I knew it was coming to this. Our love was strong and pure and good. This was the next logical step.

“. . . anyone sitting at this table knows Charley. She’s light and fire wrapped around one beautiful heart. I wanted what I couldn’t have that day on the airplane. I wanted her. I still want her. Every day.” He turned to me and dropped to his knee. “If you’ll have me, Charlotte Miles . . .”

I was crying, and I was laughing, too. “Seriously, Philip?”

“I know. I know. Myers. Charlotte Myers.” There was a red box in his hands.

I was shaking, floating above the table, watching the reel unwind.

“Charlotte Myers, you were the most delightful seatmate I ever had. Here, look,” and he handed me his phone, “even Margaret agrees.”

It was a text. From Margaret. Flight 517.

He covered the phone before I could read the rest. “You’re the person I want with me on all my journeys. My seatmate. My love. The person who makes me laugh, sometimes at you, mostly with you. You’d be my greatest accomplishment. My love.”

He extended his arm and opened the lid of the box.

“Marry me, Charley.”

He reached for the ring and placed it on my finger. I was too stunned to speak. Tears mixed with joy, and I tasted the sweetness on my lips.

“Here,” he said, passing the phone back. The text from Margaret read: Say yes, Charlotte. Say yes!

“Yes! Yes!”

His lips landed on mine, and all I could feel was an excitement for our future.

The group applauded and gathered around us. Someone popped open a bottle of champagne and celebrated by spraying it over our heads. The liquid landed on my cheeks and arms, and Philip covered me in kisses, tasting the bubbly on my skin.

One by one, our guests approached. First, it was Meghan, who congratulated me for being the Amal Alamuddin to her brother’s George Clooney. Myka threw her arms around me and gave me a deep hug. And finally Liberty. “You deserve this, Charlotte.”

Philip’s phone rang, and I told him not to answer. “I’ve got to,” he said. “It’s Goose.” He smiled into the phone. “I did it, mate! I proposed.” His friend must have been sharing his good wishes, because Philip’s eyes twinkled when they landed on mine, until they shifted.

“I know you are, mate. I know.” The line went quiet. “You’ll find it, Goose,” he said. “You will. I promise. She’ll be one lucky lady. And you’ll be one lucky man.”

He ended the call, and I was too excited to catch the fleeting sadness. He threaded his arm through mine, pulling me close. “Say it again,” he said.

I squealed with happiness. “Yes.”

The word came naturally to me. I didn’t hesitate for a second. I could say it a thousand times, and it would never mean enough, never capture the depth of my feelings. A life with Philip was all I’d ever wanted. Our forever was about to begin.