Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

16

The sea was vast and quiet, the surface warm under the sun but cool beneath, and I swam farther than usual. Farther from the yacht. Farther from him.

I needed distance. Silence. Something I could control.

I was floating on my back, eyes closed, when I heard the soft splash behind me.

“Pourquoi tu nages si loin, chérie?” (Why are you swimming so far, darling?)

I opened my eyes to see Charles cutting through the water effortlessly, eyes fixed on me. I gave him a small, tired smile.

“No reason,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Just needed some space.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Space from what?”

He stopped in front of me, treading water, his hand gently reaching for mine beneath the surface. His fingers curled around mine — warm, familiar.

He didn’t press further. Instead, he pulled me a little closer, and I let him.

His lips brushed my shoulder. Then my neck.

And for a second, I almost melted into him — into the comfort, into the lie of it all.

His hand slid up my waist, and I turned my face away just slightly — enough for him to notice. He paused. I felt him freeze, only for a moment.

But he didn’t say anything. Just slowly let go.

We swam back together in silence, neither of us acknowledging the shift that had just happened — the crack that widened ever so slightly between us.

Once aboard, he ran a towel through his hair, water dripping from his skin as if he was completely untouched by whatever was eating me alive from the inside.

“I think I’m gonna dry off and take something for this headache,” I said.

He nodded, distracted. “I’ll make us something cold to drink. Meet you up there?”

I smiled. “Yeah. In a few.”

I turned and walked back to the bedroom, towel wrapped around me, wet hair dripping down my back.

And then I saw it.

His phone. Lying there on the bed.

My heart stopped.

It was just there. Like temptation carved into glass and metal.

I stared at it, the ache in my chest louder than the thud of my pulse.

I stared at the black screen, his initials glowing faintly under the time, and for a moment, I hated that I knew how he customized even the smallest things. The wallpaper, the ringtone, the way his phone vibrated twice when it was something urgent. I knew all of it.

I stood there, frozen, towel clutched around me like it could protect me from the spiral already forming in my mind.

I wouldn't do it. I couldn’t.

His privacy was his. His phone was his.
Whatever this mess was — whatever I thought I’d overheard — if I crossed this line, I wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore. Not to him. Not to myself.

I turned toward the door.

One foot in front of the other.

I was almost out.

And then — buzz.

A single vibration.
Quick. Soft.
Like the universe was whispering, just once.

I stopped. My breath caught.

No way.

No way that was coincidence.