That was it. From that day on, I was all in.
Chapter 24
Two Days Before the Hurricane
I knew the Ritz-Carlton property well. Beau and I had spent time here after we left California.
The lobby gleams, soft light bouncing off pale stone and soaring ceilings defined by elaborately carved archways. But it isn’t warm. It’s not supposed to feel cozy—it’s supposed to feel slightly out of reach. The marble arches and muted light convey a kind of hushed reverence that makes you want to whisper even when you aren’t sure what you’re feeling guilty about. Every smooth leather chair is placed carefully, like stage dressing for the theater of keeping up appearances.
And then, there he is.
Simon Avery is sitting in an oversize chair near the bar in the back. He looks comfortable. Like he’s been here all along, waiting with the patience of a statue. He’s wearing dress pants and a white button-down. In the middle of the Florida heat, he’s decked out in designer digs.
When he spots me, he doesn’t wave. Of course he doesn’t. Men like Simon don’t wave when they can command. Instead, he rises, and before I can decide whether I want to be touched, he reels me in, sliding his hand behind my back and brushing a kiss against my right cheek.
In California, I thought those vaguely European gestures he’d picked up at his East Coast boarding school were sexy. Now,they feel rote. The cloying scent of his aftershave clings to my skin as he lets me go, sharp enough to spark a headache.
“Este.” It’s almost gentle, the way he says my name. Almost.
“Ew. Stop it.” I bristle at the implied warmth. “I didn’t come here for that.”
“But you’re here.” His eyes drag over me, as sharp and measuring as always.
Standing beside him is like stepping into a wrinkle in time. His voice, his face, it all yanks me into the past with disorienting force. I can’t believe I’m speaking to him again. I can’t believe he still exists on this planet.
“You look the same,” he says, meaning it as flattering.
I search his face, hunting for the real reason he’s standing here, before I say, “What do you want, Simon? Why are you here?”
“There’s a bar this way.” He points toward a white-neon scroll of text announcing a restaurant. “It’s more private.”
He smiles faintly as I fall into step beside him. “Does Beau know where you are?” he asks.
“Does it matter?”
“It might,” he says, studying me, calculating, searching for a crack in my façade.
I want to ask how he found me. When we left California, I changed my number, leaving no forwarding address. No breadcrumbs, no trail. The only person who had my details was Gemma, and she only got them because we’d fallen back into each other’s lives one Instagram DM at a time.
Did Gemma tell Simon how to find me?Or was it the news coverage from last year that tipped him off?
“I didn’t realize you were in hiding,” he says.
He watches me for a reaction. If I know his tells, he knows mine.
“Beau and I wanted a fresh start. There was nothing left for us in California.”
“Nothing? You wound me.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes as we find a high-top and slide onto velvet stools. “How’s he doing, by the way? Looks like he took a beating in the news.”
“You would know,” I bite back.
His eyes go wide for a breath. “You’ve been keeping tabs onme.”
“You were kind of hard to miss for a minute there.”
His smile crooks, but it doesn’t soften him. “Funny, isn’t it? How fast something can crumble. One good push and the whole thing goes.”
This is the game. In a Simon Avery negotiation, no one says what they really mean. Discussion twists through detours and dead ends until the floor shifts and you find yourself boxed in.
