"I've been counting down the days and the nights since you last said that you love me." -
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- Antoine
After calling Elliott so much that her voicemail grew full and texting her until I concluded that she'd probably blocked my number or put me on do not disturb, I'd given up. Not on her—just on contacting her.
The moment Rosalind spotted me sitting outside of her sister's bedroom door, the two of us to somehow find ourselves engaged an argument in which she had said all kinds of things—how I wasn't good enough for Elliott, how the two of us clearly weren't meant to be and that the only reason Elliott loved me was due to the fact that she wasn't smart enough to move on—and I concluded that I couldn't stay any longer. That being said, it wasn't Elliott that'd caused me to pack my things and go, but Rosalind—who had even convinced her parents to hate me.
And so Christmas day was lifeless and insipid, I felt devoid and alone, especially having received no word whatsoever from Elliott but instead long, boring phonecalls from my family. Sure, I could've told Maud about what'd happened between Elliott and I, but she was already bothering me enough about the fact that a woman had accused me of fathering her child, as were my parents and brother.
Just thinking about it made me cringe. If only Elliott would let me speak, I thought, so she could know the truth—then she would forgive me—but instead she'd chosen to be stubborn and unforgiving.
"Okay, that's it—we're sick of you moping around like a sad puppy, Antoine. So what, Valentine basically dumped you and you're about to be the father of a child that's not hers?" Robert crossed his arms. "You're acting depressed and its making me feel depressed."
"So, we have a solution." Marco made jazz hands. "Robert and I are going to Mykonos, and you're coming with us."
Scowling, I looked up at Robert. "And why would I do that?"
"Because, as anti-relationship I am, I think the only way to get the better Antoine back would be for you to find Elliott and catch her where she can't avoid you. And if you were actually willing to follow anyone other than the NBA, you'd know that, judging by her Instagram, she's in Mykonos herself."
"What?!" I sat up, my lips parting. Quickly, I took Marco's phone out of his hands—I had to see for myself whether or not he was telling the truth—and sure enough, he was; when I looked on Elliott's Instagram I saw a long awaited new post:
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@valelliott : Mykonos 🌞
"And," Marco snatched his phone form my hands, licking his lips. "You'd better find her, because its only a matter of time until an island boy sweeps her heart away."
