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No. The algo has spoken.
Love isn’t in the cards for me.
I need to do the right thing and release him. So he can be where he’s supposed to be. So he can live the life he’s supposed to live. Focus on whatever it is that’s occupying him.
I say yes to Lexi’s third suggestion, the one about deactivating his profile so Willa won’t notice it. But there’s really no need for her tips on hiding our relationship or creating a fake profile. Or going through the algo again, or my answers, or his, to see where we went wrong.
There must be something else, his grandma’s searches messing up the compatibility. Or one of us not being honest with ourselves.
It’s only a quick chat. A check-in before our real meeting tomorrow. The entire time, I stay in my head. I barely nod yes or no. I barely catch any of Willa’s words. Something about Xavier. The guy here with her. The guy joining us for dinner tomorrow.
He’s also her business partner.
He loves the app. He loves our pairing. He’s sold on Jake and Lexi, though she doesn’t explain why or how.
We have everything we want.
The funding we need.
The future.
Happiness for my sister.
Success. All the success I ever wanted.
And it feels completely empty.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Deanna
In the hotel room, River is stretched out over the bed, sketching the scene at the pool. The tall palm trees, the square hotel buildings, the sun shining off the bright blue water.
He looks good in shorts and a T-shirt. He almost looks like he belongs here, in Southern California, in my bed, in my life.
But we both know that isn’t true.
“Hey.” I barely force the words from my tongue. They’re too hard. Everything is too hard.
“Hey.” He turns to me with a smile. And then he sees my face and the smile disappears. His dark eyes fill with concern. His brow furrows. “You okay?”
I swallow hard. I haven’t had to do this much. Usually, guys end things when they get tired of me. Or when I end things, they’re happy for the excuse. Because they already know they’d rather be with someone else. Someone softer.
Lexi is a better match with him, of course. Not a fantastic match, only 75 percent, but better than I am.
But that isn’t what bothers me. No. None of it bothers me. There’s no reason to feel misery. There’s no need to fight reality.
He belongs with someone else. He belongs somewhere else.
It doesn’t matter how I feel.
“You should go back to New York.” I force the words from my tongue. “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon.”
“And for the rest of my life?” He tries to ease the mood with theCasablancaquote. Or maybe he tries to prove a point.
I don’t know anymore.
“I decide what I do,” he says seriously.
