Sweet Valley Confidential: Ten Years Later by Francine Pascal Page B

there before with Mike and so don’t want to go back.
    With all kinds of apologies on both sides, that little aberration was forgiven and we moved on to another luxurious Mediterranean port, which happens to be here, in Cannes. And that’s where my second wrong occurred; in fact, it was earlier today. But this time I was like really completely innocent. Almost. All I was doing was sunbathing topless on the deck at the bow of my own boat. Well, my husband’s boat. It so wasn’t my fault that the captain was gorgeous and happened to be steering the boat with nothing in front of him but empty sea and my topless body. For hours. What was I supposed to do? That’s where the sun was.
    Again, Regan didn’t take kindly to such attention directed at his wife. He summarily fired the captain and chewed me out with words a little too menacing for the situation.
    Later, in our cabin, he really carried on.
    I’m not a dummy, and I can see that this is on its way to becoming a very nervous-making, unbecoming habit. Something has to be done.
    Of course, I called my sister immediately. And Elizabeth, always a rock, settled it. Maybe it will only be for breathing time, but for now I am going home to Sweet Valley, to Elizabeth, as soon as possible.
    Unfortunately, Todd is there, and I can just imagine his reaction. But I need Elizabeth, and that comes first. I need her desperately, need her love, her warmth, and her total understanding. When Elizabeth puts her arms around someone they just feel safe. And if that someone is me, her twin sister, there’re no questions asked, no judgments made, just the bottomless love of a big sister. Only four minutes bigger, but very big to me.
    Besides, I’ll have like the whole transatlantic flight to worry about Todd. My first concern now is getting away from Regan, getting the Delta flight from Nice to New York. I figure if I can make an early plane tomorrow morning and arrive in New York by afternoon, I can be on my way to Los Angeles later that very afternoon. By nightfall, I’ll be safe, with Elizabeth, the dearest person in my whole life.
    I walk down the dock, determined to tell Regan I’m leaving him, and why. Yes, I’m younger, but I’m his wife, not his child, and I refuse to be treated like some kind of chattel.
    In fact, there are a lot of things I can say to him. Like that I understand that he is used to being in charge—well, so am I. And though I admit initially I was a little overwhelmed by his world and took a more pliant position, it is time that he sees the real Jessica. It’s a matter of self-respect. And more important, respect for the truth.
    The decision is made: I’m telling him right now that I’m taking a plane to the States first thing tomorrow morning and that’s that.
    I can feel the good feeling of the right resolution. I feel like Elizabeth.
    I pull myself up tall and start down the dock toward the boat. Unfortunately, my heel gets caught momentarily between the planks of the dock, which cuts the elegant walk, but I simply pull it out and continue on, head still high. Nothing can stem my determination, but I’m so busy arranging the presentation of my bombshell news that I don’t even see Regan until I like nearly bump into him.
    “I never saw anyone more adorable than you,” says my about-to-be-abandoned husband, his hands on my hips stabilizing my balance, his dark eyes alight with adulation. “I watched you walking down the dock and thought, You are the most precious thing in my life and I’m probably screwing it up.”
    Before I can answer, he says, “I behaved like a jerk. I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.”
    For the first time since we married, I know for absolute certain that I don’t love Regan. But discretion is the better part of valor, and truth can be overrated; there’s no point in putting yourself in a bad position just for a little self-respect.
    “Okay, you’re forgiven,” I tell him, and receive a big hug for my