Free Separation by Stylo Fantome

informed her. She wouldn't let go of his sleeve, so he just started walking forward. Tate was forced to follow.
    “What? That place looked amazing – where are we staying that's better than that?” she asked, her mind whirling.
    “The area we are going to is referred to as the Costa Del Sol , renowned for its boating. I thought a yacht would be more in order,” Sanders replied.
    Tate knew what the Costa Del Sol was; her father had never taken them there, but she was well aware of its reputation. She wondered if she'd even be allowed in the town, or if they would request bank statements first.
    “You rented a yacht!? For just the two of us? This is insane,” she repeated her earlier sentiment. Sanders finally managed to pull his sleeve free.
    “This is all very carefully planned, just for you. I would ask that you trust me on all things,” he said, cutting his eyes towards her.
    Tate pressed her lips together and glared at him, but didn't say anything else. Ooohhh , Sanders was a clever man. She trusted him implicitly, but that was also a scary thing. Tate never wanted to offend him by not showing her faith in him, so of course, she went along with anything he said. She would go along with him for now.
    But something was most very, definitely, off.
     
    *
     
    The plane ride was long, and she slept fitfully through most of it. They had to switch planes in Paris, and she seriously considered making a run for it. Or asking Sanders if they could just stay there. But as they walked through Charles de Gaulle Airport, Tate couldn't help but notice something.
    Sanders looked happy. Sure, he wasn't smiling, but he had a lighter step. His eyes didn't look so intense. If she hadn't known any better, she would almost say he seemed excited . While she loved Sanders with her whole heart, and knew that he cared a great deal about her, Tate couldn't fathom him being excited about taking a trip with her. Half the time, she almost felt like he stuck around to make sure she didn't stick her finger in a light socket, like a babysitter.
    “How many times have you been to Marbella?” she asked as they waited to board their flight to Malaga. From there, he told her that they would drive to their final destination.
    “Many times, though I haven't been there in over a year,” Sanders replied.
    “Do you speak Spanish?”
    “Enough to get by.”
    “How many languages do you speak?”
    “Enough to get by.”
    She punched him in the arm.
    Sanders had booked them first class the whole way, but the plane they took to Malaga was so nice, Tate almost wondered if she should take her shoes off before stepping inside. She sank into her cushy seat and sighed, rolling her head back and forth. When she opened her eyes, Sanders was staring at her.
    “You do trust me, don't you?” he suddenly asked. She blinked, and guilt washed over her.
    “Of course I trust you, Sandy. You're the most open, honest person I know. Sometimes, I don't feel worthy of your friendship,” Tate replied, reaching over and holding his hand. He squeezed her fingers back.
    “You are very worthy of it, but thank you. I am glad you trust me. Everything I have ever done has been to help you, since that night,” he assured her.
    Where is this going?
    “I know that.”
    “Good. Just ..., I just wanted you to know that,” Sanders stammered a little, and then looked away from her. But he didn't let go of her hand.
    Tate hadn't really slept on the seven hour flight to Paris, but she conked out for the first hour of their next leg. When she woke up, the flight attendants were bringing around drinks. At first they tried speaking to her in Spanish, then switched to English.
    “Would you care for some champagne?” the attendant inquired in a lilting French accent. Tate shook her head.
    “No, no thank you.”
    “And your husband?”
    Tate almost burst out laughing, glancing at Sanders. He had his head tilted back and his eyes closed, dead asleep. His arms were folded across his