Page 55 of Waiting for You

"The shark phobia. The hatred of the beach."

"Just a few things," I repeated.

We kept walking, our footsteps echoing on the stone path.

"Did you two have a romantic past?" he asked, blunt.

My step faltered, just enough to catch myself. He'd delivered the question so plainly, but the word that hit me was past. The finality of that tense, the single word that took everything Xavier and I had ever shared and compressed it into something finished, categorized, filed away in the archives.

I stared at the dark stone path stretching ahead of us.

"Yes," I finally whispered. "We did."

THIRTEEN

SLOANE

I woke up consumed by what Andrew had asked me.

I couldn't tell him no. I couldn't stand in that dark estate corridor and pretend the best years of my life had never happened. But the second he used the word past, something in me snagged on it and wouldn't let go. It wasn't the question, or his voice, or his face. It was that one devastating word, the finality of its tense. It made everything we'd been past, settled, done, filed into a category.

He hadn't pressed for a detail, and I hadn't offered one. We retreated to our suite and went to sleep. Now I lay paralyzed in the early-morning quiet, staring at the ceiling, while the word still hung heavy in the room.

I'd never planned to tell him about Xavier. I didn't think the disclosure was necessary. We were friends now, or working toward a platonic truce, and Andrew knowing my history didn't serve the fake-dating arrangement or protect anyone. But he'd asked, and I'd handed him the truth.

The arrangement between us was never built on loyalty or love or anything that demanded secrecy. He wanted the keys to my father's empire, and I was the fastest path to the boardroom. I'd walked into this transaction with both eyes open, and those were not the conditions under which lies were required.

But they were also not the conditions under which I'd ever wanted to live, no matter how financially safe the contract felt. I wanted love. I wanted loyalty, understanding, the intoxicating gravity of being wanted back just as hard. And I was never going to get those things with Andrew Maxwell. We were hunting different targets. He was after generational wealth, and I was after love.

I stared at the ceiling fan.

At breakfast, Violet slammed her hands on the table and announced that today's activity was jungle zip-lining.

The table cheered. I shot a look at Xavier across the mahogany. He was already staring at me, with his chin lifted, his dark eyes sparking with mischief.

This wasn't the beach. This wasn't deep water. This, we could conquer.

"This is our chance," I announced, pointing at him.

"Finally," he agreed. "Yesterday was the beach, and we hated every second of it. This is our chance to actually enjoy something."

"We provided critical moral support from the boat," I corrected.

He flashed a brilliant smile. "We supported."

Eliza glanced between us, missing the inside joke. "You both enjoy zip-lining?"

"It's the one physical activity we have in common that we're both good at," I explained.

"It makes your heart race," Xavier added, turning to her. "You forget everything else for a few seconds. Clears your head."

Eliza stared at the tablecloth. "I've only done it once," she admitted. "I didn't get the hang of the mechanics."

"I can walk you through it," Andrew offered. "If you have questions on the platform."

She looked up in surprise. "You've done this a lot?"

"Enough," he shrugged. "The mechanics are easy. It's mostly about the moment you finally let go."