Virtuous(81)

I’m giddy with excitement that I try to hide from them, lest they think I’m a silly nitwit. But when Flynn smiles at me, I realize I’m not hiding my giddiness from him. He sees right through me.

For the first time all day, he takes hold of my hand as we walk onto the warm sand and kick off our shoes.

“You can leave them there,” Marlowe tells me. “No one will touch them.”

I’m immediately in love with the feel of the sand between my toes, the scent of fresh air and other smells I’ve never experienced before. Overhead, seagulls dot the cloudless sky.

“You got a perfect day to see LA,” Marlowe says. “January weather can be anything from sixty to eighty. You got the better end of it.”

“It’s beautiful and such a nice relief from the freezing cold in New York.”

“I was there last week and froze my ass off. I don’t know how people can stand a full winter there.”

“You’re going to think I’m a total weirdo, but I love the winter in New York.”

“You’re right—you are a weirdo.”

I laugh as I fall a little bit in love with this incredibly successful woman who is so down-to-earth I feel like I’ve known her far longer than half an hour. She’s put me immediately at ease, and I appreciate that more than she’ll ever know.

We walk to the water’s edge, where I splash gleefully in the frigid water. It’s so cold, my feet quickly go numb. But I couldn’t care less about that as I gaze out at the massiveness of the Pacific. Light, rolling waves deliver the surf gently to the beach, another sight that leaves me mesmerized.

Flynn comes up behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders. “What do you think?”

“I’m in love—with the beach and with Marlowe.” I look back at him. “Thank you for this.”

“My pleasure.”

“This has been an incredible week, Flynn. Thank you for all of it.”

“It’s been just as incredible for me. I should be thanking you.” He wraps his arms around me from behind, and I lean back against him, enjoying the sun and the water and the rare feeling of serenity that has been so elusive in my life.





Chapter 17





Who am I kidding thinking I can end this thing with Natalie after the weekend? Every second I spend with her has me wanting a lifetime of her sweetness and infectious joy. Watching her dance in the ocean for the first time packed an emotional wallop for me, knowing I had done that for her. I had given her a wonderful new experience.

Now, holding her in my arms as we look out on the endless blue ocean, the thought of not being with her anymore makes me feel sick and sweaty. The fear reminds me of the aftermath of the knife attack in London last year, as if something has changed that can never be undone.

I’m tormented by the raging internal debate about what’s best for her versus what I want more with every breath I take. I want her—desperately and fiercely. Talking to her about my hunger foundation and hearing her thoughts fed my soul, which has been hungry for a woman who feels the same compassion I do for people in need. I’ve had too many vapid, gold-digging, career-climbing women pass through my life not to recognize a true gem when I find one.

And Natalie is the most flawless of gems.

She tuned right into my disquiet this morning, calling me out on the fact that something is different. She pays attention to me—the real me—in a way that no one else before her ever has, even the woman I married.

When Natalie has had her fill of the freezing cold Pacific, we walk up to join Marlowe on the towels she’s spread on the sand. The warm sunshine beats down on us, but the cool breeze coming off the water makes for a comfortable temperature.

I enjoy watching the two women talk to each other like old friends rather than new acquaintances. I love that Marlowe is so warm and unaffected by her massive fame. We appreciate that in each other, and though we were together a long time ago for a brief time, we quickly discovered we’re much better friends than lovers.

I wonder if Natalie would be annoyed to learn that Marlowe and I were once more than friends. No one really knows that. It happened early in our careers, long before we were stalked by reporters. We went to great lengths to keep our relationship private, but a few people found out about it anyway. The paparazzi speculate endlessly about what really goes on between us.

“What’re you thinking about over there, Flynn?” Marlowe asks me.