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“Give me a damn break.” He runs his hand through his hair, tugging a fistful. “I thought you were different, Briar. Turns out you’re just one of those people who tell everyone what they want to hear because it sounds good in the moment. At the end of the day, you’re nothing but a liar. A fraud. And if you ask me, that’s worse than being a pick-me girl.”
“Dorian, I—”
“Spare me.”
“No,” I say.
He huffs, refusing to look at me.
“You got to say your piece, now I get to say mine.” I hold my head high, despite every part of me crumbling inside. “You should know, I was going to wait for you too.”
“But you didn’t.”
With that, he disappears inside.
I wait, gathering my composure and blinking away the hot sting of tears clouding my vision.
“Briar?” a voice asks from behind me.
It’s Nicola. Wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a swimsuit cover-up, she tucks a hardback copy of Malibu Rising under one arm and pulls her sunglasses off her face.
“What was that about?” Her pinched expression tells me she’s not going to let this go without an answer.
“Dorian took me to see the lighthouse.” I force a smile, knowing full well she’s too observant to buy such a simple answer. “Something must have upset him. I’m sure you know how he is . . .”
Nicola squints before looking me up and down.
“It looked like you two were fighting,” she says.
“Mommy, Mommy!” Augustine skips up the circular drive in her soaking-wet Lilly Pulitzer swimsuit. Behind her are Dash and Remy, carrying pool floaties and cabana towels. “You said we could watch a movie after the pool.”
As if flipping a switch, Nicola’s sour demeanor turns saccharine sweet. Bending, she cups Augustine’s pointy chin and presses a slow kiss against her forehead.
“I did promise that, didn’t I, darling?” she asks. “Run inside and get changed. I’ll meet you in the family room.”
“I should probably go check on Burke,” I say.
“Yes.” Her lips press into a hardened line as she straightens her posture. “You probably should.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DORIAN
One Year Ago
“Now boarding United Airlines flight 1270 with nonstop service to Chicago O’Hare,” a woman’s semimuffled voice announces over the intercom.
“That’s me,” I tell Briar.
Our hands remain interlocked as we soak up these final seconds, a line beginning to form behind us.
I drag a final breath of her amber perfume into my lungs, wishing I could keep it there forever.
When I stepped off the jet bridge Saturday morning, a haphazardly packed duffel bag slung over my shoulders, the only thing I felt was antipathy at the fact that I had to travel thousands of miles to drink alcohol in celebration of my college roommate’s impending nuptials—something we easily could have done in the States over the course of a single night.
I never could have anticipated that three days later I’d be about to step back onto that same jet bridge with a gnawing heaviness in the pit of my stomach because I’m not ready to leave . . . this.
Her.
“I meant what I said.” I brush a strand of dark-blonde hair from Briar’s face before cupping her cheek and running my thumb along her rose-colored lips. “In two years, the tour will be over. I’ll be back in New York.”
I realize I’m asking a lot of someone I only met three days ago, but if I didn’t ask, I’d spend the rest of my life wishing I did.
They say fortune favors the bold.
I never fully appreciated that sentiment until now.
From getting stranded twice in one night together, to hooking up on a private beach and watching the sun come up together, to sneaking away between group activities every chance we got on Sunday and Monday, to now . . . it all seemed to happen in a vacuum.
A surreal daydream that started and ended in the blink of an eye.
Another announcement plays. “Now boarding all United Airlines flight 1270 passengers in zone two.”
I squeeze her hand in mine and kiss the top of her head. Her hair is still slightly damp from the shower we took together this morning.
“Will you wait for me?” I ask.
Her lower lip trembles, but she bites it away and replaces it with her gorgeous smile—one I’ll have permanently etched in my mind every time I close my eyes from here on out.
Hell, every time I open my eyes.
All I’ll see is Briar.
The next announcement comes over the speakers. “Now boarding zone three.”
“I’ll wait for you,” she says, her ocean-blue eyes filled with both excitement and bittersweetness.
My heart hammers as I study her. “Promise?”
Briar nods, rising on her toes and pressing her mouth to mine before throwing her arms around my shoulders.
“I promise,” she says.
Her words are music to my ears.
I play them on a loop in my head the entire flight to Chicago.
CHAPTER TWENTY
BRIAR
Present Day
“You can talk about her if you want,” I say to Burke. We’re seated on the back of a speedboat, en route to the mainland Saturday morning, when I catch him looking at photos of Audrina for the tenth time today.
