Private 02 - Private Paradise

either that or cry. “One more. The biggie.” She paused for a moment, wondering why she was telling him all of this. She waved her hand dismissively. “This is stupid. You don't really care about any of this.”
    Sam leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Tell me. I want to know.” The way his eyes focused on her, full of what looked like sincere interest and sympathy, just like they'd been all those years ago, compelled her to keep talking even though it wasn't in her nature to share.
    After he'd dumped her, she'd convinced herself he'd probably come out of the womb knowing how to give that look, knowing on some instinctive level that women were more inclined to give it up for men who listened – or pretended to.
    Even knowing that, she still wasn't immune to it. Combined with the effects of the wine, it sent the sordid truth spilling out. Or an abbreviated version, anyway.
    “ His name was Greg. He was the chef at Holley Cay. He asked me to marry him after six months and I was over the moon, convinced I'd found someone who could deal with my dedication to my job and handle living resort life full time. Which, you'll soon find out, isn't all it's cracked up to be.”
    Sam nodded and indicated for her to go on.
    “ So I started putting together plans for us to get married during the low season.”
    “ Please don't tell me he left you at the altar.”
    Carla flashed him a rueful smile. “No. Thankfully things didn't get that far. As it got time to send out the invitations, he started acting weird. Distant, uncommunicative, I'm sure you know the drill.”
    She shot a look at him and saw that he had a slightly chagrined look on his face.
    “ Then one night I went to check something on the computer―the personal one I kept at my place, not the office one―and he'd left his email up.”
    Sam brought his hand up to his face.
    “ I didn't snoop! I swear! But as I went to close it I saw an email from the manager of Curtain Bluff.” At Sam's confused look, she clarified, “It's a resort on Antigua. I told myself there was probably nothing to it. Greg was―is―very talented, and people were always trying to woo him away. But I couldn't stop myself from reading it.”
    She reached for the bottle and refilled her glass. “And that's how I found out he had taken a position as the head chef and was expected to start only days from then.” She remembered the shock that had coursed through her, her heart pounding so hard she thought she was having a heart attack, her fingers going cold.
    “ When I asked him about it, he told me he'd regretted asking me to marry him almost immediately, that he'd realized he wasn't nearly as in love with me as someone who's getting married should be. So instead of telling me that and keeping me from mooning around this place like an idiot chattering about wedding plans, he quietly went off to find another job. He told me he thought it would be better to wait to end it when he could leave right away. Clean break and all that.”
    “ What a dickhead. That must have been awful.”
    Carla shrugged. “It was for a while. Not so much because I was so heartbroken. In retrospect, Greg was onto something there about being in love enough to get married. I'm not sure I was either Everyone knew what an idiot I was except for me."
    "No,” Sam said, sharply enough to make her meet his gaze. “They're the idiots for being stupid enough to screw up with you.” His hand was clenched so tightly around his wine glass she was afraid it might shatter in his grip, and his eyes were stormy with what looked like fury. On her behalf.
    She had no doubt if any of the men she'd mentioned walked into this room, Sam would deliver an ass kicking none of them would ever forget. The idea that he would be so protective of her and her feelings gave her a primitive thrill.
    “ Total, fucking, idiots,” Sam said. “And don't think I don't lump myself firmly in that category. I should have never screwed things up with you. I should have never let you get away.”
    Carla felt a weird twisting in her chest, tried to chase it away by reminding her that he'd been the one to push, that she hadn't been looking for the exit. When that didn't work she took another sip of her wine. “And think about what a disaster that would have been if you'd actually let me follow you to the Army.” Her laugh sounded forced, hollow.
    Sam took a drink of his own wine, contemplating her over the rim. “Or not. We