Hot tears stung my eyes. My chest ached with the familiar weight of a boundary being trampled. I headed straight for the door, but he blocked my path.
“Please, let me explain.”
“No, I won’t let you explain. There’s nothing you could say that would make this okay. It’s hard enough to letyouin here, Elliott—and this is your house. After everything I’ve been through, I thought you’d understand why I needed that privacy. I trusted you.”
He let out a short, cynical laugh. “That’s a lie, and we both know it.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t trust you. But have you given me a single reason to?”
That one landed. I saw it in the way his jaw tightened. He was the one who had showed up at my house uninvited and practically blackmailed me into this thirty-day arrangement. Just replaying the history made my blood boil.
“Please, Elliott. I just need to go.”
Whether it was because he saw the desperation in my eyes or realized he’d already lost this round, he finally stepped aside.
* * *
I didn't speak to anyone for days.
The night I left, I’d called the only person who could ground me—Morgan. I wandered aimlessly through Elliott’s neighborhood until she found me. She sat me down, let me cry into her lap, and stroked my hair. Even with a wedding to plan and a baby growing inside her, she put her world on pause for me. It only made me cry harder.
When I could finally breathe, she explained what she could. She was my confidante, but she was his, too. They were siblings, and after the trauma they’d shared, their bond was a fortress. Nobody could touch it, not even me.
“I can’t say much about Emma and Elliott,” she told me, choosing her words with agonizing care. “But I can guarantee you have nothing to worry about. I swear it.”
Only then did I feel a flicker of relief. Morgan wouldn't lie to me about something like this. She reassured me that Emma wasn’t another Ava—she was just a "fan." I had a hard time believing that, mostly because taking a compliment felt like pulling teeth for me. Another wonderful Miranda family trait I’d inherited.
After that, I locked myself in the studio and worked nonstop for three days. I barely ate; I barely slept. Whether it was the date with Julián or the fallout with Elliott, it fueled me. Designing was the only way to quiet the noise.
He’d asked for ten gowns. I designed fifteen.
Now I was in editing mode, making sure the collection felt cohesive. All that was left was fabric shopping and chainingmyself to the sewing machine. That was the part I actually enjoyed—the construction. The designing? That was brutal. The second-guessing and the imposter syndrome were constant shadows.
We hadn't spoken since the night he brought Emma home. I’d frantically searched for her online—Emma, a high-end denim designer with billionaire status. Her jeans supposedly gave everyone a perfect ass, which explained the two-hundred-dollar price tag. Not that I could judge; I’d already ordered a pair.
But then the realization hit me like a bucket of ice water.Oh my God. Was I designing a wedding dress for her without even knowing it? Were they more serious than anyone was letting on?
It hurt more than her touching my sketches ever could. I hated that I cared, but I did. I pushed the feeling down, refusing to dig deeper.
Elliott and I kept a wide berth. Even poor Steve didn’t know where to land, choosing “neutral zones” like the kitchen. The poor dog had more anxiety than I did. I made a mental note to sneak him treats; he’d already gained a few pounds since I’d moved in. If Elliott noticed, he hadn't said anything. But what did he expect? I was my mother’s daughter. Feeding people was our love language.
The ice-out wouldn’t last much longer, though. Cabo was coming.
I hadn't even booked flights. The thought of celebrating love while barely keeping myself together felt impossible. I’d pushed it to the back of my mind, which meant I still hadn’t paid for a thing. Either Morgan or Elliott must have covered it, and I needed to find out so I could pay them back.
And tonight… it was my birthday dinner. I was officially twenty-eight.
I sucked my teeth, staring at my reflection. Age was a construct. At heart, I still felt like an acne-prone, hormone-fueled, flat-chested, fourteen-year-old. And honestly? I hoped I stayed that way forever. Life was too short to stress about the inevitable. If I was happy, if I had a job, and a good book to disappear into, then it was a life well spent. No matter the number.
twenty-one
VANESSA
I’d hadevery intention of inviting Elliott to dinner with us. Actually, that was a lie. My mom had made me promise I’d bring him when I came out to the house, but I wouldn't technically be lying when I told her he never came home. I was too chicken to break the freeze-out first, and honestly, a night without him—without worrying about running into him around every corner—was exactly what I needed.
I debated taking Steve with me, but that would have meant texting Elliott. Despite all my jokes, I wouldn't take his baby anywhere without permission. You don’t mess with people’s dogs; that was just a line you didn’t cross.
I couldn’t decide on a restaurant, but nothing sounded better than my mom’s cooking. It beat any five-star Michelin place. There was just something aboutmamás—when they made you food, it always tasted better. Maybe it was all the love injected into it.
