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I place both suitcases down on a trunk at the end of the bed.
“I’ve never brought a girl here.”
“None?”
“None,” I confirm.
She glances at me and then at her suitcase. “Do I have my own room?”
“No.”
Her brows shoot up at my quick answer.
“I want you in here with me.”
I expect a fight, a look of defiance, a protest.
Nothing.
She walks over to me and unzips her suitcase. “One night. Then we go home to London.” She purses her lips. “And we carry on like before.”
“With you hating me?”
She stalls, her eyes flicking to mine. Then she rummages around in her suitcase and pulls something out. “We carry on,” she repeats as she drops the items onto the floor.
She steps into the monogrammed slippers, then unpacks her suitcase.
I fight away the urge to grab her and force her to look at me, to acknowledge that there’s no way in hell we can go home and just carry on like before. Like it’s no big deal. There’s no way I can go back to seeing the look of disgust in her eyes every time she sees me. I never realized just how deep her hate for me ran. Not until I’ve been gifted rare moments of it lifting like a veil this past week. Lifting for long enough for me to see her. To see the girl I hurt all those years ago. The girl I swore to my friend I would look out for. The girl who was never meant to be mine. Despite the way she fit inside my arms like no one else ever has as she slept last night.
I unzip my suitcase, unpacking in silence next to her, and when I go for a shower, I’m tense with anticipation, waiting to see if she follows me.
She doesn’t.
When I come out of the bathroom, she’s gone.
Chapter 18
Maddy
“Okay,fine.I’lladmityou can cook.”
Logan chuckles as I drop my fork into the pasta bowl and pick up my napkin, blotting away any lingering seafood linguine sauce from my lips.
The island is beautiful, the house, the beach… all of it. I took a walk by the water earlier while Logan showered. I needed air. Space. I called Chloe, but even listening to what she’s been up to couldn’t clear my head. It’s been full of the same one thing for days now.
Logan.
“I’m not just a pretty face, Mads.” He smirks.
I sigh. I gave up asking him to call me Maddy a long time ago. But now I know he calls me Mads because I always look angry when I see him, I kind of wish he’d listen. It reminds me every time he says it that he knows how deeply I’ve hated him over the years. How deeply I’ve blamed him for so much.
He stares up at the night sky, a glass of white wine balanced between his fingers. He’s wearing cream slacks and a white shirt with the top three buttons undone. It’s the most relaxed I’ve seen him since we left London. And I think I understand why. He had a video call meeting with the final investor earlier. It was a success. He has the funding now. Our trip’s over.
Back to London. Back to our lives.
Separately.
“Has your dad ever used money to manipulate a situation that you know of?” I ask suddenly.
