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Camden laughs again. He wipes his bottom lip, smearing blood across his chin. “Didn’t think you were the type to get your hands dirty.”
“I thoughtyouwere the type who knew when to shut your mouth,” Crew snaps.
“I just had the balls to say what everyone else here was thinking.”
“That true?” Crew’s gaze lifts, roving across the assembled onlookers. Heads shake everywhere. A cruel smile twists Crew’s lips as he looks back down at Camden. “Try me again, Crane.Please. I’d love to make you completely irrelevant, not just mostly—the way you are now.”
Once that parting shot has made its mark, Crew turns and strides in the direction of the path that leads back to my parents’. After a minute of hesitation, I follow.
My mind is spinning in circles. Based on the whispers and side glances, I had some unintentional involvement in what just took place. I can’t recall the last time I spoke to Camden Crane. I have no idea what he could have said to set Crew off. I had no idea Crewcouldget set off by something about me. He was protecting me—defending me. And I have no idea at all how to process that.
The walk back is dim. My eyes adjusted to the brilliant fireworks and the glow of the bonfire. The weak moonlight is barely enough to pick my way along the boardwalk that weaves between stalks of beach grass. Salty air blows strands of hair across my face. I breathe deeply, trying to center myself.
I thought things between me and Crew would settle naturally. That we would find some routine that allowed us to reap the benefits of this arrangement without compromising our individual goals. But more and more, it’s feeling like things between us are being permanently decided. The disconnect between us feels like it’s hardening and callousing. The decisions we’re both making feel like they’ll matter—like they’ll define what the rest of our relationship looks like for however long it lasts.
When I reach the edge of the patio, I hesitate. I should slip inside and rejoin the party. Play the perfect hostess and give Crew a chance to cool off. I walk inside, but instead of following the sound of talking and laughter, I slip up the back stairwell that leads to the second floor.
The door to my usual bedroom is ajar, even though I’m certain I closed it before heading downstairs earlier. I push it open to reveal the room is empty and dark. But the bathroom light is on. I close the door behind me and drop my heels in a heap, announcing my arrival.
Silently, I pad across the jute rug over to the doorway that leads to the en suite. Crew is standing at the sink, washing his hands. The water runs pink.
I lean against the doorway, debating what to say. I settle on, “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” His tone is as short as his response.
I stay in place as he shuts off the tap and dries his hands, avoiding the cut on one knuckle. “You should put some hydrogen peroxide on that.”
He doesn’t reply. I shove away from the doorframe, walking over to him. Tension is still radiating off him as I brush against his arm so I can lean over and pull the brown bottle out of the cabinet. I grab a few cotton balls as well.
“Sit.” I nod toward the edge of the tub as I soak the cotton with liquid. The harsh chemical smell burns my nose.
Crew hesitates before he complies. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he perches on the marble. The bathroom is big—as large as the one in my penthouse—but it feels tiny with his presence. I study the golden hairs on his tan arms. The way his shirt pulls taut across his shoulders. The blue eyes that see more than I mean to show.
Satisfied the cotton is soaked, I cross the tile and crouch down so I can dab the ball on the split between his knuckles. For a few seconds, the only sound is our breathing.
Crew speaks first. “You know, I’ve imagined you in this position before. Never doing this, though.”
I meet his gaze for a minute. A few retorts are on the tip of my tongue. Some dirtier than he probably thinks I’m capable of. But I don’t want our first time to be like this. So I ask a question I’m pretty sure will douse any more innuendo. “Why don’t you like the Hamptons?”
“I like them fine.” His response is nonchalant. There’s emotion underneath it though, underscored in the way his jaw tightens and his eyes darken. This close, I can’tnotregister the subtle changes.
“Then why don’t you come here in the summer?”
“Who told you that?”
I keep dabbing. “Rachel Archibald. It’s a good thing we had a short engagement. If the number ofyou’re not good enough for himcomments I heard today are the amountafterthe wedding, who knows what it would have been like before.”
“Who said you’re not good enough for me?” Rather than gloating, his expression is more of a glower.
“I know what people think of me. I get everything I want without working for it, apparently.”
“You work hundred-hour weeks, Scarlett. Fuck anyone who says that.”
I don’t say what I’m thinking:you probably already did. I’m sick of the jibes.
He uses his uninjured hand to tilt my chin up. “I mean it. You’re Scarlett Ellsworth. You don’t care what anyone thinks.”
“I’m good at acting like I don’t.” More honest than I meant to be.
