The way he said it, I actually felt… scolded.
Then he kept going. “You doodle on everything. Whenever you’re stuck too long, you scribble. Romance novels make you smile like an idiot, and you can fall asleep anywhere. The only thing you love more than food is your family. And the only other person who loved my mom more than me and Morgan… was you.”
The words knocked the breath out of me.
“And you touch people when you talk. Constantly. I don’t even think you realize it,” he continued, his voice dropping. “Normally, you don’t mind being touched. Just… not by me.”
The last part slipped out like an afterthought. He had noticed. He knew I avoided his touch—and it bothered him. The realization warmed me in a way I wished it didn’t.
“Nothing to say?” he murmured. “Gotta admit, this might be my favorite look on you.”
The song ended. We were still frozen, waists locked, eyes locked, my tongue tied into knots.
“Wait at the exit,” he said, his voice suddenly tight. “I’ll take you home.”
And just like that, a switch flipped. He admitted all that, and now it was like the weight of it hit him. His jaw ticked. He was angry.
We finally broke apart, but didn’t make it far. Javi was standing in our path. Everyone in the ballroom was staring. Mystomach sank. That’s when it hit me that the voice I’d recognized earlier during the auction—it had been Javi.
“Van,” he said carefully, “I was hoping we could talk.”
Morgan saw the disaster coming. She cut through the crowd and ushered the three of us into a side room. Elliott lingered, his eyes fixed on Javi. His glare was murderous, we finally had something in common.
“I regret what happened,” Javi started. “She had a deadline, and I thought if I let her see your designs, she’d just be inspired. I never thought she’d pass them off as her own.”
I smoothed an invisible speck of lint from my pantsuit, then looked up at him with a smile as sharp as glass. “What makes you think I even care about that?” I asked softly.
“I’ll do whatever it takes for you to forgive me. What’s it going to take?”
“Whatever it takes?” I asked, sugar-sweet.
“Whatever it takes, baby.”
That last word was the match. My blood was kerosene. I lunged, fisting his lapels. “Okay,baby. For starters, forget I exist. Lose my number. Forget you’ve ever seen me naked. You want to make this work? Move. Another town, another state, another country—I don’t care, as long as I never see your face again.”
His eyes went wide. I didn’t even realize I’d let go until Elliott dragged me back, holding me against his chest. Javi stared at me one last time and walked out without a word. My body sagged, spent, but Elliott’s grip only tightened.
The walk to the car was a blur. I felt Elliott’s eyes on me during the ride, but I didn't look back. I leaned my forehead against the window, watching the city lights smear. I don’t remember getting to the house or getting out of the car.
When I reached my room, I collapsed on my bed. And for the first time in a long time, I sobbed—sobs laced with a rage that had nowhere left to go.
nine
ELLIOTT
I satat the bar Rob and I frequented, nursing the same glass of whiskey I’d had for the last half hour. My tie was undone, my top buttons were open, and my hair was a disaster from the number of times I’d run my hands through it.
That confrontation… it had been brutal. I had seen her angry before—most of the time at me—but that was something else entirely. It was raw. It was pure rage. With me, there was still some element of playfulness, like she didn’t fully mean thevitriol she spat. But that look she’d given Javi? That was the most hate I had ever seen her possess. I didn’t know she had it in her. For all the anger I’d harbored toward her for what had happened with the wedding gown designs, I hadn’t even stopped to think how she felt about it. I felt like a massive asshole.
I hated the feeling. I much preferred it when we were trying to eviscerate each other with words, beating each other metaphorically until we both called it a draw.
“I knew I’d find you here.” I recognized Rob’s voice as he took the seat next to mine. He had been at the gala, too; he must have just left. “I’ll have whatever he’s having,” he told the bartender.
“It’s Macallan,” I said.
“Put it on his tab,” he added. I didn't even have the energy to laugh.
“You guys are already all over social media.” Rob pulled out his phone and slid it over. A picture of me, Ness, and that pathetic excuse for a man filled the frame. I pushed the phone back toward him.
