departure

The hotel lobby was busy with mid-morning checkouts. Paul wheeled Jackie's luggage toward the front desk, Gerry at his side. Other guests glanced their way—some with knowing smiles, recognizing them as newlyweds, others with simple appreciation for the attractive couple.

Paul felt their eyes like heat on his skin. He straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin, let his hips sway just slightly as he walked. The attention felt good. Intoxicating. Different from the way people had looked at Paul—this was softer, more admiring, tinged with desire and envy in equal measure.

As they approached the grand staircase leading down to the main entrance, Paul's heel caught on the edge of a carpet runner. He stumbled, balance thrown, about to pitch forward—

Gerry's hand shot out, catching his elbow, steadying him instantly. Paul's own hand found Gerry's arm in the same moment, gripping for support as he regained his footing.

They stood frozen for a heartbeat, Paul's hand resting on Gerry's bicep, Gerry's fingers gentle but firm around his arm. The gesture was small, instinctive—the kind of thing Gerry had done for Jackie a hundred times before. Protective. Tender. Automatic.

But Paul hadn't asked for it. Hadn't thought to grab for support. His body had simply known Gerry would be there, had reached for him with the unthinking trust of long familiarity.

Paul looked up at Gerry, seeing his own confusion reflected back. How much of Jackie remained in this body? Not just muscle memory for makeup and heels, but something deeper—instincts, reflexes, the unspoken language of a couple who'd been together for years?

"Thanks," Paul said softly.

Gerry's thumb brushed against the inside of Paul's elbow—a small, unconscious gesture of reassurance. "Always."

They descended the stairs together, Gerry's hand still steadying Paul's arm, Paul's fingers resting lightly on Gerry's. To anyone watching, they were the picture of newlywed devotion—attentive, protective, completely absorbed in each other.

Only they knew the truth writhing beneath the surface.

At the bottom of the stairs, Gerry reluctantly released Paul's arm. Paul felt the loss of contact like a physical thing—his skin cooler where Gerry's fingers had been, his balance suddenly less certain.

He pushed the feeling aside and smiled—Jackie's radiant, excited smile. "Ready for Hawaii?"

Gerry's expression was complicated, layered with emotions Paul couldn't parse. "As I'll ever be."

They walked out into the sunlight together, rolling their suitcases toward the waiting car that would take them to the airport. Behind them, the hotel doors closed on the wreckage of the wedding, on Jackie trapped somewhere in Paul's body, on the impossible situation none of them knew how to fix.

Ahead lay two weeks in paradise. Two weeks alone together. Two weeks to figure out who Paul was becoming—or if Jackie's body had already decided for him.

Paul slid into the car, smoothing his dress over his thighs with a gesture he'd never made before but that felt natural now. Gerry climbed in beside him, and the driver pulled away from the curb.

Neither of them looked back.