Page 38 of The Heart You Kept

What are the chances that I meet my dream man in a place like this?

I’ve cried for over an hour.

I know that there’s no future for us…hell, he’s probably married or something.

Men like him are never single.

With a connection like we had I get the feeling he would have asked to see me on the outside if he didn’t already have his life set out in front of him.

He’s with someone for sure.

The scenery flies by and I remember the sex and the wild lovemaking, the tender showers and the way he looked after me, and my eyes well with tears anew.

The way he made me feel.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Such a loser.

I drag my hand down my face in disgust, only I could catch feelings in an anonymous kink club?

Two hours later I sit at the airport bar by the window.

I’m on my second glass of wine, because as the saying goes, if you can’t be happy be drunk.

I’m on the very last terminal and I watch a big plane pull out to take off and a sleek black private jet parked on the tarmac comes into view.

Wow.

There must be someone famous in town.

There are people refueling it and a truck is delivering produce. Imagine being that rich that you had your own private jet. I see the captain and the three flight attendants board; it must be leaving soon.

It’s the weirdest day, I keep flicking between present time and memories of the weekend. I feel like I’m between worlds, I want to stay back there with him but I’m being forced and dragged to be in the present.

It doesn’t seem fathomable that I will never see him again.

My heart aches at the depressing thought.

I sip my wine and look down at my phone and scroll through for a moment. I glance back up to see two black SUVs pull up beside the black jet. I wonder if it’s a sportsperson’s jet or maybe a pop star or something.

I watch as a bodyguard gets out and opens the back door of the second car.

I knew it was someone famous.

I grab my phone and flick open the camera; nobody is going to believe me when I tell them I saw Taylor Swift if I don’t have a photo.

I smile as I wait for the person to get out, and then when they do my face drops.

Dark suit, sunglasses, and perfect posture. Dark just-fucked hair, and I would know that physique anywhere.

My Mr. Doe.

He walks up the stairs of the plane, the pilot is waiting at the top, he shakes his hand as he walks past him. With my heart in my throat I watch on as he disappears inside. The men in suits who I’m assuming are the bodyguards carry the suitcases onto the jet and eventually the door is shut.

My mouth falls open and I glance down at my phone, damn it. I was so gobsmacked that I forgot to take a photo.

The bodyguards from yesterday…they weren’t from the resort at all.