“I don’t want to make things harder for you,” I say quietly. “This is your wedding week.”
That gets me a smile. “Manu, please. This group has survived much worse. I mean… George showed up married. At least you didn’t do that.”
I let out a weak laugh, heat rising to my face.
“Honestly,” Elle goes on, plucking a strawberry from her bowl and taking a small bite of the tip, “you’ve been great. Everyone likes you. Nicole will get over herself eventually.”
She says it lightly, tossed in there so casually, but it lands heavy in my chest anyway. “Thanks.”
Elle pats my arm like this whole thing is settled. “Now go do something fun before I’m dragged to another champagne and cake tasting with my parents.”
And just like that, she’s gone, barefoot down the hall, phone on her ear.
A few minutes later, Camila and I are slipping out the front door. The house is still quiet, sunlight filtering pale and thinthrough the trees as we pick our way down the gravel path. The hill drops steeply toward the lake, the air growing warmer with every step.
She walks with her coverup tied loose at her waist, sunglasses perched in her hair. For a while, we just listen to the faint hum of insects and the crunch of our sandals dangling from our fingers. Then she says, casually but not really, “Out with it.”
I blink. “Out with what?”
Camila’s mouth curves, sharp. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to ask me a question.”
Heat prickles the back of my neck. “Fine. I just… George. The whole”—I gesture vaguely, helplessly—“marriage thing. It surprised me, that’s all.”
“Same,” she says lightly. “But sometimes life doesn’t need to make sense to work.”
“That’s it? That’s your explanation?”
She laughs, low and soft. “For now.” Then, glancing at me from the corner of her eye: “Don’t worry, Manu. We accelerated our timeline because of my whole visa issues. You know the struggle.”
I huff a laugh, tension easing just a little. “Wait, you’ve been dating him? You never brought him home.”
She bumps her shoulder against mine like she’s punctuating it. “It was pretty casual.”
The path levels out as we reach the lake. Heat shimmers off the rocks, the water glaring bright silver in the sun. We find a flat stretch near the edge and drop our towels side by side, the air so thick it’s like wading through syrup.
The heat isthe kind that clings. Not the dry, mountain crispness I expected, but thick and sticky, like the air is wrapping itself around us. Camila and I are drenched in sweat and desperate for an opportunity to cool off. We kick our sandals off to the side and stretch out anyway, both of us sighing at the same time like it’s some kind of ritual.
The lake is almost metallic in the sunlight. A boat hums lazily somewhere across the water, but otherwise it’s just us and the faint buzz of late summer insects and cowbells.
Camila pulls her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose. “You realize tomorrow I have to meet his parents?”
I tilt my head, eyes closed against the glare. “Like, officially?”
She groans. “Officially. Jack says I’ve probably already met them at one of those fancy charity galas for work, but come on—seeing them across a room is not the same thing.”
I crack one eye open.
“Tomorrow I shake their hands, look them in the eye, and say, ‘Hi, I’m the girl your son married without telling you.’”
“That sounds a little terrifying.”
Her hand flutters in the air between us. “They’re going to eat me alive.”
“They won’t,” I say, though my tone is softer than convincing. Camila always looks composed—perfect clothes, glowing skin, not a hair out of place. But right now there’s a tightness in her mouth I don’t usually see. “I mean, if the group hasn’t, then I think you’ll be fine.”
We lapse into silence for a while. Sweat slides down the back of my neck. I shift, tucking my arm under my head, and glance sideways at her again.
“What’s up with you and Connor?” she says finally, almost like she’s been waiting for the exact moment to intercept my thoughts and ask. “What’s on your mind?”
