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It’s completely silent. And everyone knows that silence is deafening.
She isn’t actually sure what to expect.
Maybe some shouting.
Maybe crying.
She wouldn’t even be that surprised if he cracked a joke.
But he does none of that. He’s just sitting beside her, looking at his knees. Almost as if he hasn’t even heard her. Almost like he’s ignoring it.
“Bobby,” she says quietly, hoping he’ll at least look at her.
“I was actually thinking, lass, maybe I should make some brownies. The mood’s been a little bittersweet, what with us leaving later.”
“You won’t have time. We have to leave soon. They’re going to be waiting for us.”
He looks up at the terrace camera, trained on them. “Will they air this?”
She shrugs, biting her lip.
“Maybe if I get my dick out they won’t be able to.” In another situation, she’d think it was a joke. But she’s never heard Bobby speak with such venom before. Never . It drips off his tongue and his words burn where they land.
“I think it’s too late.”
He runs a hand down his face, trying to compose himself.
And here’s the thing with Bobby. He may not seem like it to viewers, but everyone on the inside knows he’s always playing the game. It’s not malicious, but he’s always making sure he’s coming off well to the public.
If she’d thought about it, maybe she wouldn’t have done this now.
Thinking hasn’t been her strong suit in the villa.
He trains his eyes on a spot on the floor, the spot MC was laid in just hours before. He’s calculating his next move. Figuring out how to respond best. Measuring up what will get him the best response.
“I think Chelsea will be done with breakfast soon,” she says.
But there’s another thing about Bobby. His fatal flaw. His hamartia. The one thing that he can’t laugh off or pretend to be fine about.
When he feels, he really feels.
So when Bobby loves… it's a big deal.
MC knows this better than anyone. Has felt the way his heart beats when they’re in their own world under the covers, the reckless smile he wears just for her, the way he holds her close. None of it’s for show, it’s all for her. Because he loves her. He’d told her just a few days before.
She said it back. She lied.
So it doesn’t matter what he’d planned, how he’d wanted to play off this last day for his character arc—he’s too fucking broken by what MC has just told him. And staring at the spot of the terrace where he knows another man was making her moan the way he had done almost solidly for the past month—well, he breaks down.
The tears start to well up in his eyes before MC can even notice. Before he can even notice.
And then his head’s in his hands and his shoulders are shaking and he’s letting out snotty gasps.
Her heart breaks. Not in two. No, that would be too clean. It’s like someone’s smashed it with a hammer and there’s debris cutting up the rest of her internal organs, her veins, her skin.
Everyone says time in the villa is a bit like a vacuum. An hour is a day, a day is a week, a week is a month. It’s why it’s so easy to fall so hard so fast. It’s why Bobby’s in pieces right now.
It’s why MC felt like it had taken her years to get what her heart truly wanted—after all the looks, the comfortable silences, that one, brief kiss…
“I’m so sorry.” She’s crying now, too.
But it’s like her voice must rip at something inside of him, and he just cries harder.
She can’t help him. She can’t comfort him. She can’t do anything. Because it’s her fault he’s like this. She did this to him.
She decided to fuck Noah the night before.