Buying the tavern was merely a business opportunity meant to expand Max's profits and control of Nassau beyond the brothel. She harbored no secret aspiration that Eleanor would return and they would run Nassau as a united front. She would prefer for Eleanor to never return, though the desire did not stem from vengeance or anger. It was solely to protect her own heart. She no longer loved Eleanor. This lie became easier to believe every time she reminded herself of it.
Max knew that she would never again declare her love to someone. Never again be left on her knees, begging to be chosen over an island of sand and pirates. She now knew the stinging humiliation of rejection, a life lesson that was seared into her heart. It wasn't a lesson she would welcome a second time. She would not appear weak again. That was not a lie she had to sell to herself, perhaps the only truth she had.
She refused to love Anne. Anne's devotion to Jack was absolute, no less than Eleanor's to the island. Max was the second choice for both women, a truth that hurt greatly. She enjoyed Anne's company; the quiet moments they shared, the safety she felt in her presence. It would be easy to open herself to Anne, but Max was careful to avoid doing so. Full exposure was off limits in their relationship. Vulnerability was not a trait she could afford to show, not even to Anne. Others, both merchants and pirates, were undoubtedly ready to take advantage of such a flaw, foolishly believing they could take over Nassau. While Max had no loyalty to the island, and therefore no investment in it's well being, she did relish her position of power. She was now a woman to be respected, bearing no resemblance to the whore she left behind. Men that previously paid her for services now used their best manners when speaking to her. She appreciated the irony.
Nassau was not easy to power. Honesty was difficult to find, and loyalty nearly impossible. Max now understood the weight Eleanor must have carried. She could even understand Eleanor's betrayal of her. Unfortunately, understanding was not the same as forgiving. Max would not forgive. This lie was nearly as believable as the first.
Max daily reminded herself of these beliefs. That she didn't need love, and certainly didn't need Eleanor. She was able to convince herself, ignoring the protests of her heart, more often than not. She was equally able to convince herself that they were in fact beliefs, not lies.
The moment Eleanor walked into the tavern, flanked by Soldiers, Max could no longer accept the lies. Forgiveness was possible at the mere sight of Eleanor, and worse, so was love. Unable to restrain the gasp that tore from her mouth, Max slowly rose to her feet, resisting the desire to run to the woman. Forcing her facial expression to one of indifference, she walked into the tavern's office, seating herself behind the desk. Sitting in Eleanor's chair of power while Eleanor stood before her was another irony she appreciated.
Eleanor glanced around the room, visibly uncomfortable. The arrogance she strode into the tavern promptly vanishing once they were alone. Max silently watched Eleanor's eyes dart around the room, enjoying the awkwardness Eleanor so rarely displayed. After a deep breath to calm her shaky nerves, Max invited Eleanor to sit, noting the hesitation in which Eleanor complied. It boosted Max's confidence slightly. Maybe she could lie to herself after all.
Their conversation was outwardly professional, the subtle insults and stinging comments left unaknowledged by both women. Max was simultaneously proud and affronted that Eleanor chose to speak to her as a business owner. She worked hard to be seen as a professional and strong woman, especially by Eleanor, but discovered that it hurt to have their intimacy so blatantly disregarded. The hurt developed into an intense disappointment in herself for allowing the feelings to materialize. Wanting to be treated as a professional equal was yet another lie she told herself in regard to Eleanor. She much preferred to be treated as a companion.
As the conversation ended, and both women stood, Max broke her resolve, no longer able to pretend she did not care. Hearing Eleanor admit that she ordered Max's death along with Jack, Featherstone and the others would surely cement her hatred. The negative answer surprised her. She truly thought Eleanor was callous enough to want her dead. Masking the shock, she held her chin high while Eleanor countered with her own question about the night she was abducted. Max definitively answered no, she did not tell Hornigold of Eleanor's whereabouts. Her voice cracked on the one syllable answer and Max internally cursed her lack of self-control.
As the days passed Max allowed her guard to slightly lower in Eleanor's presence. She didn't dare entertain the possibility of more than a tense friendship, but her determination to hate Eleanor was slipping. The lies were harder to believe, the emotions harder to deny. It was easier to love Eleanor than hate her.
The afternoon Vane stepped off a wagon, dangling by a rope, Max knew she was wrong. She couldn't love Eleanor again. Eleanor's expressionless face made clear her ability to be cold, vengeful and untrustworthy. It was then, witnessing the unwavering exterior, that Max admitted loving Eleanor was dangerous, both emotionally and physically. Eleanor may have spared her from death once, but Max couldn't count on it a second time. Max would undoubtedly be on that rope should she ever stand in Eleanor's way. She could no longer lie to herself. Removing her eyes from Eleanor she walked back into the tavern, knowing it was necessary to let Eleanor go. No more lies to guard her heart. It had to be true, final. She could not love or trust Eleanor.
It would break Max's heart for the second time, but she had to save herself.