Chapter 153 - The Last Soak (2/2)
The view from the jacuzzi was the first thing she enjoyed on her first day here. It was the very first time in her life that she got to enjoy something like it. She would never be able to afford to buy a luxury residential suite like this one, or even rent it for a night. And knowing that this might be her last few moments here, Claire feels the emotional gravity of the moment. She just lets herself sit in the tub, the sufficiently warm water just by her ċhėst, looking at the city's skyline through the glass wall. And before she notices it, tears stream down her face. She just lets it fall; anyway, no one would see it. Because no matter how much she steels herself, she just can't bear the thought of losing Gabriel. Is she really losing him? Half of her brain holds onto hope, while the other half bleakly accepts the worst, even trying to move on and imagine a life without him. And yet. No matter how she tries to take this with cold logic, her heart wants to burst. There seems no way she could face Matilde Tan again, after everything that she said about her. She had never had anyone demean and humiliate her like that in her life, and something tells her it wasn't the worst that Matilde could unleash on her—it felt like it was just an opening salvo. And Claire isn't sure if she has the liver to endure anymore of that.
That's why she had run back to this sanctuary, this little home that in the past few weeks she had grown to love as her home. Yet now, recalling Matilde's words, even this sanctuary makes her feel inauthentic, like an impostor, a nice thing that she doesn't deserve. And maybe Matilde was right—she has no right to enjoy of this. She's just some social climbing country girl whose only claim to these privileges is Gabriel's affection. Maybe Gabriel had just been blind. Maybe everything has been nothing but a big misunderstanding. Maybe there has never been love at any point in their all-too-brief relationship.
Music suddenly starts getting piped in through hidden speakers throughout the suite. Claire thinks it must be Dale—he knew what she needs the most right now. And yet, the music—a song by Johnny Mathis, ”Misty,” which happens to be her mom's favorite—only made her cry even more. If only she could turn back the time and NOT go to that fateful interview at Gabriel's office. If only the first company that interviewed her immediately hired her, then she wouldn't have found herself outside the TXCI building on that morning weeks ago, with her resume in hand. Fate could have spared her all this current sadness.
But then again, she wouldn't have met and known the real Gabriel Tan, and somehow, having that intimate knowledge of the man, for some reason, is worth all this pain. Or is it?
Claire isn't sure how long she'd been in the tub. At one point, she must have dozed off, like so many times in the past weeks. She dreams of church bells ringing in the distance. The church is on a hill, made bald by the summer, and there are a stream of people walking up the road toward the church. They seem dressed in clothes that don't belong in the current century. Like she's in the past, a maiden, wearing her Sunday best, going to hear mass on this much-anticipated day of the week, a Sunday. But something's wrong—no matter how much she walks toward the general direction of the church on the hill, she couldn't seem to reach it. She stays rooted on the spot, as though she's merely walking on an invisible treadmill. And she walks and walks and walks and walks—to no avail. She keeps looking ahead, squinting at the sun, trying to make out the outline of the church. And all she hears is the ringing of the bells—rising to a fever pitch.
She opens her eyes and realizes immediately that it has been the door buzzing. Someone's outside. And the way the door keeps buzzing, she could sense the urgency, even desperation, of the person on the other side of it. Claire's heart jumps—could it be him?
She rises from the jetted tub and wraps a towel around her body. For a moment she's torn between running over to the wardrobe and get dressed first, or just go and see who's at the door, with nothing but this towel wrapped around her. But the only one who made her scared about walking around half-naked in her suite was Miguel, and that problem seems to be no longer relevant.
Her wet feet leave damp traces on the carpet. Her heart is pounding in her ċhėst. She doesn't want to think. But her mind is torn between wanting this to be Gabriel and fearing this to be him, bearing bad news. But she's already drowning in sorrow, and even a glimpse of him—even if this would be the last time—would make her deeply grateful.
”Who is it?” she asks aloud, not bothering to peer through the keyhole.
But no answer. Something lodges in her throat—no answer means this is someone else and not him. Instantly a wave of sadness descends on her. If this is not Gabriel, then maybe she has lost him to his mother.
But the door buzzes again, compelling her to get herself together. She takes a deep breath. She turns the knob.
The man standing at the door looks every inch like he'd just come home from war. He looks weary, tired to the bone. And yet, as soon as he sees her, his eyes light up, he smiles like a kid who has just opened his gift on Christmas morning.
It's Gabriel. And the way he throws his arms around her in a desperate embrace tells her she has no reason to fear. That everything will be alright.