“Well, mission accomplished, sir,” she laughed, then reached out and rubbed her hand against the back of his neck.
They drove like that for a while, Tate with her fingers in his hair, scratching up and down lightly. He kept twitching his head to avoid her touch, but eventually he gave in, like he always did. By the time they were entering Marbella proper, he was actually resting the back of his head in her hand.
“Tatum,” Sanders said, sitting upright. Tate pulled her hand away and sat up as well. “I, personally, feel that I have infallible judgement. If more people would just listen to me, I think things would run a lot smoother.”
“And modest. Don't forget that you're modest,” she teased. He took off his glasses and glanced at her.
“Modesty isn't necessary. I pride myself on being logical,” Sanders replied.
“Cut to the chase, Sandy. What's up?” she asked.
“I just wanted to say that, just so you'd know,” was his explanation. She snorted.
“Alright. So you're smarter than all of us. Awesome. I can moonwalk better than anyone I know, so we're practically equals,” she pointed out. He barked out a laugh.
And now I can die happy.
Sanders pulled up in front of a large building and asked her to step out of the car. Tate waited while he went and parked in some underground garage. She had thought she would be more jet lagged, but she wasn't. She was excited. It was late morning, and there were a lot of people walking around, sight-seeing. It made her itch to get moving and looking around. Finally, Sanders joined her, pulling their luggage behind him.
“Alright, let's go,” was all he said, surging ahead of her when she tried to grab her suitcase.
“So where is this yacht? Are we gonna stay on it the whole time?” she asked while they crossed the street.
“The yacht is in the marina right in front of us. How long we stay is entirely up to you,” he replied. Tate laughed.
“What if I get sea sick and want to leave an hour after we board?” she joked. Sanders snorted.
“Then I will fetch you a sick bag and you can learn to deal with it.”
Tate knew where they were, though she didn't tell him that. They were entering Puerto Banus – nicknamed “The Millionaires Playground”, because it was the marina of choice for many celebrities and wealthy people.
She managed to keep her composure while they walked amongst the rows of mammoth boats. She didn't see any famous people, but she looked as hard as she could. Tate came from a wealthy family, but she hadn't been around much opulence. Her father was a very conservative man – yachts on the Costa Del Sol weren't really his style.
She was trying so hard to see everything, that she wasn't paying attention to what was right in front of her. Tate was vaguely aware that someone was walking down the gangplank of a yacht a couple sleeves down from them. Though it was a beautiful boat, it certainly wasn't the biggest, so she figured whoever it was couldn't have been a celebrity, and she kept looking over the other boats.
Sanders actually tipped her off. His steps got tighter, his back straighter. It was like watching someone pull a string on a marionette. One right twitch, and everything locked into place on Sanders. It was a sign of some sort of distress. Nervous, or anxious, or upset, or angry. She wondered if they were finally at their boat and something was amiss.
“Sandy, I was just kidding, you know I'd love anything you'd -,” Tate started, turning to look ahead of them, following his gaze. Her voice died in her throat.
Eight weeks. Four days. Eleven hours.
She stopped walking.
Seven years.
Stopped breathing.
Not long enough.
“It took a lot of trouble to get you here. The least you could do is smile, baby girl.”
~3~
Before Jameson even left the hospital, he'd had a plan. She had said she wanted him to go away. To leave. To be gone.
But she never once said anything about not seeing him again. He considered that a loophole.
Sanders was waiting outside, as Jameson had expected. He would have known that it wouldn't end well. Jameson strode past him, heading straight for the parking lot. Sanders followed behind.
“Are you alright?” he asked. Jameson nodded.
“Of course. She asked me to leave. I left,” he replied.
“That's it?”
“There were a few more curse words, some screaming, but yes, that's pretty much it.”
“And you're just going to go?”
“What other choice do I have?” Jameson asked, glancing down at the other man.
“You could fight for her,” Sanders pointed out. Jameson laughed.
“Let's not get radical. Besides, you and I both know that wouldn't work. She wants me gone, so I'm going to go. I'm going to head back to Europe,” he said. Sanders narrowed his eyes.
“With her?” he practically hissed. Jameson shook his head.
“No, Pet's already gone, I kicked her out that night. I'm not going to Berlin. I was thinking Spain. We haven't done Spain in a long time. Sunshine is good for the soul,” Jameson explained.
“I am not going to Spain with you,” Sanders said quickly. Jameson laughed.
“Of course not. I need you here,” he replied.
“I won't work for you.”
“I'm not hiring you. But I will need you to do me some favors,” he told him. Sanders stopped walking.
“Last time you asked me to do something for you, someone very close to us almost died,” he reminded him. Jameson's smile vanished and he turned to face him.
“I am very aware of what I have done, I don't need you reminding me. Listen. I am going to Spain. I am going to be gone for a while. But when I call – and I will call – you have to promise me that you will do everything in your power to fulfill my wishes,” Jameson said. Sanders shook his head.
“No, I won't risk her -,” he started to argue, when Jameson held up his hand.
“Just trust me, Sanders. Surely one mistake won't erase a lifetime of you trusting me,” Jameson snapped.
“Seven years is hardly a lifetime.”
Jameson felt as if he had been slapped. He stepped up close to Sanders. So close, he had to tilt his head straight down to look at him.
“There is nothing in this world you could do that would make me stop trusting you. After everything we've been through, I thought the feeling was mutual,” Jameson growled.
Sanders stared at him for a moment and then sighed, his eyes sliding to the ground. Jameson let out a breath he had been holding and stepped away. That had actually made him nervous for a moment.
“I can only promise to do what you want if I deem it appropriate,” Sanders amended the promise. Jameson nodded.
“I can live with that,” he agreed. He started to walk away, then turned around. “Oh! I need one more favor.”
“Oh god. What is it?”
“I was wondering if you could call ahead and see to having the boat put in the water and prepped to sail,” Jameson told him. Sanders' eyebrows shot up.
“The boat, sir?”
“The boat.”
“The boat?” he clarified. Jameson smiled.
“The boat.”