Behind me, boots thud softly against the dock’s planks. Then his voice—familiar enough to hurt.
“I’m glad you came.”
There’s warmth in his tone, teasing and light, as if this is just another morning, just another conversation. Like we haven’t been dancing around each other in this endless push and pull that’s left me aching and raw.
I don’t turn around.
My eyes stay locked on the water, on the fractured reflection of the castle shimmering in its depths. The wind slips around me, and the distant crash of the sea feels louder than it should—like the ocean’s trying to drown out everything I don’t want to say but have to.
My fists clench at my sides. Every emotion I’ve swallowed down for the past decade is stacked, one on top of the other, until they’re too heavy to carry.
“What was the point?” My voice comes out quiet, but sharp enough to cut. “Sleeping in the library. Not coming back to the room last night. What message were you trying to send, exactly?”
I turn to face him, bracing for his smirk, for the deflection, for another round of whatever passive-aggressive game he thinks we’re still playing.
But he’s just…standing there.
A picnic basket hangs from one hand, a rolled blanket tucked under his arm. The breeze ruffles his golden hair,and his eyes—his blue, wide, confusingly soft eyes—look almost startled. Like I’ve caught him off guard. Like he doesn’t know how to play this particular game because he never agreed to it.
“I—” He blinks, and his smile tilts, uncertain. “That wasn’t meant to be a message. I didn’t want to wake you.”
His voice is too gentle. His words too careful. There’s no sharpness, no familiar edge of condescension or control.
I falter. Just for a second. Because this isn’t how Alder fights. He throws jabs, backhanded comments, guilt-laced apologies meant to keep me tethered. But this version—the one standing here holding a picnic and a blanket—he’s not playing defense. He’s not playing at all.
“I just thought…maybe we could spend the day together.” He lifts the basket slightly in an awkward peace offering.
And suddenly I don’t know what to do with all the fire I brought with me. I crossed this dock ready to rage. Ready to demand apologies, answers, accountability. But instead of a storm, I’ve run headfirst into sunlight.
I cross my arms. “Why, Alder? So you can play the part of the charming, brooding lord with a picture- perfect brunch spread and sweeping gestures and hope I forget everything that’s happened?”
My voice rises, sharp and cracking around the edges. “What, were you planning to distract me with champagne and ocean views and just…reset us? Pretend last night didn’t happen? Pretend the last ten years didn’t happen?”
He opens his mouth, but I steamroll over him.
“I can’t do that anymore. I won’t go on like nothing’s changed.”
“Gemma—” His voice is soft, caught between caution and concern.
“No,” I snap, shaking my head. “Don’tGemmame. Last night I was trying to tell you something real. And you—” My voice cracks, and I hate it, but I keep going. “You brushed it off like I was being dramatic. Like I was imagining things.”
His brows knit together, but I’m already on a roll, fury and heartbreak burning through me.
“I gave you honesty. You gave me avoidance and hands that wouldn’t stop touching me even when I was begging you to listen.”
“I didn’t mean—” he starts.
“You never mean to!” I explode, throwing my arms up. “That’s the problem, Alder. You never mean to hurt me. You just do. You say something shitty, or you don’t say anything at all, and then I’m left making excuses to convince myself that I’m not naïve or dense for still hanging around.”
He flinches at that, and I almost feel bad—but not enough to stop.
“You always do this,” I say, voice lower now, biting. “You show up with your charming smile and your credit card, and you expect that to be enough.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
“Well, too bad,” I snap.
I step closer, my heart thudding, every nerve in my body electric with hurt and want and a decade of unspoken things.
