An hour ago, the blonde I remembered draped all over Elliott during the hike had knocked on my door to drop it off. Apparently, he’d left it in her room because he’d told herthis—my room—was actually his. Touché, Satan. Now I was in Morgan’s suite with the offensive garment, holding it withtwo fingers as far from my body as possible, as if STDs were airborne.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Morgan said. Always the optimist.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s something. I just don’t want it in my room.” My head still pounded, but the pain was being overridden by a surge of pure, hot adrenaline. I wanted to find him and strangle him with my bare hands.
“Well, why don’t you find him and tell him that?” Morgan offered.
“Because I’ve already looked everywhere. He’s probably in some other blonde’s room by now. He’s likely going to work his way through every blonde in this resort and send them each to my door with a different piece of his wardrobe. He’s an evil-genius whore.”
“He was pretty upset when I ran into him earlier,” she said quietly, dropping that kernel of information like a casual lure. Morgan had never been good at playing games; only Elliott and I excelled at those. She was fishing. “What happened between you two?”
“We got into a fight, I guess. He was being weird. Usually, he lets things roll off his back, but this time he got his panties in a wad.”
“You guys always fight, though. What made this time different?”
“Honestly? I don’t know.” I paced the small rug in front of her bed. “If anyone should be angry, it should be me. He called my mom, Morgan. She’s probably worrying herself sick in LA, and I don’t appreciate it. He crossed a line. I know my mom adores him, but that doesn’t give him the right to weaponize her against me. And he talked to my sister. Why? Why is he suddenly so concerned with my life? Hefiredme.”
“Maybe you should talk to him.”
“No. Just please... give him his jacket,” I said, turning to leave.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice laced with the kind of uncertainty that comes from watching a train wreck in slow motion.
Hell, I didn’t even know how to handle this, and I was the one in the conductor's seat. “Yeah, I’m okay. Get some rest, okay?” I rubbed her belly in passing and pasted a fake smile on my face. She could see right through it, but in the world of Vanessa Miranda, it was the thought that counted.
“Van?”
I turned with my hand on the door handle. “Yeah?”
“It’s okay, you know? To let someone in. To let someone shoulder the burden with you.”
I looked at her, and for a second, the fake smile slipped. If she only knew that the last time I’d let him in, he had left my heart so mangled it was still hanging by threads and ligaments. He had rejected me so thoroughly that even now, I had an Elliott brand PTSD from it. Trust had always been a steep climb for me, but after what he’d done, the mountain had become a vertical cliff. I’d even started guarding myself against Morgan—the person closest to me.
The damage he did hadn't just left a scar; it had changed my DNA. I didn't even know if Morgan realized how much of "Old Vanessa" died that night ten years ago.
I knew what she was getting at. I knew why my relationship with him was a constant, jagged edge. It was because the feelings had never actually left; they’d just curdled. Hate and love aren’t opposites—they’re neighbors. They stay warm with the same fire.
It was just easier to stay at war. For both of us, peace felt too much like a surrender.
thirty-two
ELLIOTT
It wasthe night of the bonfire. The wedding party and a swarm of other guests were scattered between the infinity pool, the fire pits, and the dark stretch of the shore. The sky was a bruised portrait of red, orange, and pink hues—it looked like something ripped right out of an influencer’s feed.
The glass bottle of beer was sweating in my hand, but I was just holding it for the sake of having something to do. I had nointerest in the party. I was too busy calculating how this week had spiraled from bad to an absolute disaster.
It was true—I had sent the blonde to her room on purpose. I’d wanted to hurt her with a fraction of the sting she’d caused me. Maybe this was what we were doomed to; maybe we’d never get past this stage of mutual destruction. All I knew was that nothing could stop me from thinking about her. Whether I was waking up or closing my eyes, Vanessa was at the forefront of my mind, a permanent fixture I couldn't evict.
I was sitting in a chair a ways off from the bonfire when I noticed movement at the edge of the infinity pool. Normally, I wouldn’t have looked twice, but it only took a few seconds for me to realize that the brunette with her hair in a messy bun was her. She was leaning her arms against the ledge, the water concealing everything but the string bikini tied at her neck.
I didn’t know when she had slipped into the water, but I mentally kicked myself for not noticing sooner—especially when I saw some frat-type from Richard’s corporate office start to approach her.
I didn’t think. I stood up immediately, abandoned my beer, and waded into the pool. I heard a few words exchanged before the guy caught the look on my face and swam off in a hurry. I didn't slow down. I swam up directly behind her, caging her against the edge with my arms.
I could tell by the way she tensed that she knew it was me. It was a surge of pure relief when she didn’t immediately try to dive away.
“What do you want?” she asked. Her voice was soft, sounding more defeated than I was used to.
