Nicole blinks at me, stunned for half a second, and then her jaw sets. “Bitter? Don’t flatter yourself. You’ve made this trip about you since the second you got here. And we’re supposed to be celebrating our friends.”
My chest goes tight, anger flashing hot. “That’s bullshit. I’ve done nothing but try to be included, to show up, to be polite even when you’ve been dismissive and smug. If that looks like me making it about myself, maybe that says more about you than me.”
Her mouth opens, closes, a faint flush creeping up her neck. “I don’t know what fantasy you’re living in, but I don’t go around being rude for no reason.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “No reason? You’ve made it very clear what the reason is. You’ve decided I don’t belong here, soyou don’t have to bother being decent. But news flash, Nicole: not everything revolves around who you grew up with and who you deem worthy of your approval. Just because I’m an outsider doesn’t mean I’m less.”
The air feels thinner, every breath catching. No one moves. Elle’s smile is frozen, her hand clamped tight around her glass stem. Even Banks has gone quiet.
I push myself to my feet, brushing crumbs from my dress, my pulse a roar in my ears. “If you’ll excuse me.”
For one suspended second, no one speaks, but I catch a faint twitch in Connor’s mouth. Then he is up, too, his chair scraping against the stone. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at anyone else. Just follows me, leaving the circle behind.
I don’t glance back, but I can feel the weight of eyes on us—Nicole’s sharp and simmering, Elle’s worried, the rest uncertain. Let them watch.
32
CONNOR
The pathdown from the overlook curves through trees, shaded and cool compared to the sunburn of the picnic. I follow a few paces behind her, her steps clipped and fast as if she were walking the city streets, and her shoulders are squared like she’s daring anyone to come after her. She doesn’t look back once, but I’m confident she knows I’m right behind her for anything she might need.
My chest is still buzzing from the way she snapped at Nicole. Everyone heard it—the whole table went silent, and not even Banks had a quip ready. And then Manuela stood there, spine straight, eyes blazing, calling Nicole out for what she’s been doing to her for who knows how long.
I’ve never seen anyone do that before. Not with Nicole or anyone in this group, instead taking everything that they’re handed with a fake smile on their faces. If passive-aggressive were a picture, it would be the way some of these people interact with each other.
It shouldn’t surprise me. Manuela doesn’t hide who she is. She doesn’t water herself down for the sake of making other people comfortable. I’ve watched her stumble into this friendcircle that was never built to include someone new, and instead of shrinking to fit, she’s holding her ground and trying to carve some space for herself.
And it made something in me twist hard. Admiration, yes, but also shame. Because she is right. About Nicole and herself, about belonging. And I’ve never had the guts to stand up like that, not to my father, not with anyone.
“Manu,” I call after her when the trail widens. My voice sounds rough, like I’ve been shouting, even though I haven’t said a word until now.
She slows, not enough to stop, but enough that I can catch up. Her jaw is tight, eyes fixed on the path like this is what finally personally insulted her.
“You didn’t have to follow me,” she mutters.
“I wanted to.”
Her laugh is sharp. “To make sure I didn’t set the whole mountain on fire?”
I step in front of her so she has to meet my eyes. “To tell you I’m proud of you.”
That gets her. She blinks, the fight in her shoulder flickering and finally relaxing for a moment. “Proud?”
“You said what no one else would. What everyone thinks, but no one’s willing to risk saying out loud. You’re not wrong, Manu. And you don’t need to keep apologizing for simply existing.”
Her throat works, like the words caught somewhere between belief and disbelief. She looks away, down at her shoes, scuffing gravel with the toe. “I just… I don’t know why I let it get to me. I should’ve ignored her.”
“No,” I say, firmer than I mean to. “You shouldn’t. You are right. You’ve been nothing but yourself, and if that threatens Nicole? That’s her problem.”
Silence stretches. The trees sway overhead, the faint clang of cowbells drifting up from the valley.
She crosses her arms, but it feels less defensive, more like she’s holding herself together. “It’s exhausting. Always feeling like I have to prove myself. Back home, here, even in New York. Like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”
Her words hit low in my gut. Because I know that feeling. Pretending, performing, being the version everyone else expects. The difference is—she just said it out loud. And I’ve never had the courage to.
I want to tell her that. That watching her fight for herself makes me want to fight for myself too. But the words clog in my throat, heavy with everything I’ve avoided saying for years.
Instead, I reach out, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her skin is warm, her eyes still lit with the residue of anger, but there’s something vulnerable underneath. Something that makes my chest ache.
