Connor moves then, coming up behind me with a plate in hand. He leans close to set it down, his fingers grazing my shoulder so lightly it could be nothing. But I feel it everywhere, an impossible spark that shoots through me.
“Here you go, baby,” he murmurs, soft enough that it could pass as casual but not soft enough to miss.
I freeze, smile pasted on, praying no one saw or heard—until Nicole’s eyes flick up, sharp and glittering, watching.
My throat tightens, but I laugh at something Elle says, too bright and too late. Connor catches my gaze and holds it for half a breath too long. It’s enough.
For a few hours, plates circle, glasses clink. Banks launches into a story about losing his wallet on the subway, and Amelia nearly chokes on her fig tart, laughing. Elle eggs him on, fanning herself dramatically. The mood lightens, but it feels thin, stretched like fabric that could tear with one wrong tug.
Elle sets her glass down with a little flourish, the sun catching the rim, and claps her hands once. “Okay, new game. No one leaves this table until they share their favorite part of the trip so far. And no repeats, so be creative.”
A chorus of groans rises from the picnic table, good-natured but dramatic, the sound drifting out over the wide sweep of sky and down toward the lake. Elle, of course, looks delighted. She waves the complaints off like the benevolent dictator she is. “I’llstart,” she says, then pauses, eyes sparkling. “Actually, no. I’ll go last. Camila, George—you don’t get to play. You just got here.”
Camila laughs, leaning back on her hands on the picnic blanket next to the table, her bracelets catching the sun. George mutters something low, jaw tight. Jack’s head snaps toward him, sharp, his reply too quiet for me to listen to but edged with warning. The tension slices through the edges of the group, a private argument wrapped in hushed voices—stop making a scene—until everyone else looks down at their plates and pretends to be absorbed in bread and cheese.
Banks doesn’t even wait to be called on. Still chewing, he raises a hand and points at the spread in front of us—platters of cheeses, cured meats, bread still warm from the oven. “The food. Every single meal. I mean”—he gestures with a hunk of bread—“this is the best picnic I’ve ever had in my life. No contest.”
A ripple of laughter moves through the circle. Amelia leans forward, giggling before she even speaks. “The spa. Obviously. Those facials? I’m still glowing.” She fans her cheeks, nails glinting a fresh pale pink. “Also, the shopping.” Her grin is wicked, like she’s in on an inside joke I’m not privy to.
Sterling stretches out on his elbows, tan arms gleaming in the late-morning light, and smirks. “The hotel gym’s pretty great. Haven’t missed a single day, thank you very much.”
Cash groans, tossing a grape at him. “Of course you’d say that.” He waves his phone like proof. “Mine’s the Wi-Fi. Strong enough to stream football in the middle of the Alps? That’s a gift from the heavens.”
The laughter this time is louder, looser, folding into the warm air.
Elle, queen of the circle, points across with a perfectly manicured finger. “Nicole. Go.”
Nicole sets her wineglass down carefully, like the moment requires gravitas. “The house,” she says smoothly, voice softand deliberate. “Obviously. It’s spectacular. And thank you to our generous hosts.” She tilts her chin toward Elle and Jack, gracious, but then her gaze flicks sideways—barely a beat, but enough that I feel it—before returning to her glass. “Feels like the kind of place you’d want to share with someone special, doesn’t it?”
The words hang there, sweet on the surface, but my skin prickles under them. I smooth the hem of my dress over my knees, focusing on the fabric instead of her tone.
Elle, unbothered, barrels on. “Connor?”
He shifts slightly where he’s sitting, gaze tipped out toward the mountains. “The waterfall.” His voice is even, but something in it carries.
A soft hum moves through the group—impressed, curious, maybe a little envious. Elle grins. “Good one.” Then her eyes land on me. “Manu, your turn.”
The air sticks in my throat, just for a second. I force my voice to be casual. “The fondue. It was… unexpected.” My cheeks burn anyway. Out of the corner of my eye, Connor doesn’t move, but I see the subtle tap of his finger against his knee, steady and restrained.
Across the table, Nicole scoffs—audible, sharp, meant to cut.
The smile slides right off my face, and my skin burns even hotter. “I’m sorry, did I say something that offends you?”
Her head jerks up, brows arched like she’s the one being attacked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I say, voice steady even though my pulse is hammering. “You’ve been sniping at me since we got here. What is your problem?”
I’m nonconfrontational to a fault, more so since living in the United States, where communication styles are different than what I’m used to—less direct and more… worked around. So mywords make my chest tighten, a rush of blood running through my ears, and it’s the only thing I can listen to.
Her glass clinks against the table as she sets it down. “I don’t have a problem with you. This trip is about Elle and Jack, not… whatever this is.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I’ve been nice, polite, and tried to fit into your circle ever since I met you, and I can never get the same treatment in return.”
A ripple of silence moves through the group. No one looks directly at us, but everyone’s listening. From the corner of my eye, I can see Elle’s parted lips, her hand flattened on the tabletop.
Nicole parts her lips, shocked, but I don’t let her answer. “If you’d actually looked closer, you might have noticed we have a lot in common. Starting with our love of thrifting, of collecting things that feel unique, that feel like they belong to us. But you’ve been too busy being bitter over who knows what to really see it.”
Elle shifts, ready to jump in, but the damage is done.
