Connor heads in our direction, shoes steady on the planks. “Here,” he says, voice low but certain. He reaches his hand out to me, palm up, waiting.
The world tilts around us, but all I can see is his hand, the steady weight of his gaze. My fingers slip into his before I can think better of it.
His grip is warm, strong, and when he guides me onto the boat, his eyes lock on mine like we’re the only two people here. The look lingers, soft and startling, and I swear my breath stumbles in my throat.
“Got you,” he murmurs, barely audible.
“Thank you,” I whisper back, though my voice comes out shaky.
Behind us, Nicole’s laugh cuts sharply, and I realize with a jolt that people noticed. A couple of heads tilt, curiosity flickering across their faces before turning away. Camila raises her brows but says nothing.
I slip my hand from his as soon as I’m steady, but the heat of it burns long after.
The boat sets off, gliding smoothly across the lake. Trays of champagne pass from guest to guest, the clink of glasses mixing with low music drifting from hidden speakers. The mountains grow darker as the sun dips, the sky painted in pink and orange.
Camila and I drift toward a group of women near the railing at the back of the boat—Nicole, Hannah, and a few of Elle’s college friends, who I’ve seen once or twice in the past three years. Elle’s family is somewhere around, her very pregnant sister, toddler niece, and mother wearing similar dresses in complementary hues, like an unofficial wedding party. Conversation swells around designer shoes and travel horror stories, laughter bubbling over the rim of champagne flutes.
“Connor seems different this trip,” Hannah says suddenly, leaning against the rail with a sly smile. “More… relaxed.”
Nicole snorts. “That’s because Athena isn’t here.”
My stomach jolts.
Across the deck, Connor is deep in conversation with Cash and George, glass in hand, his profile sharp against the fading light. He doesn’t look different to me. Connor looks exactly like himself—the version I know when no one’s watching.
Camila hums, swirling her champagne. “Different how?” she asks casually, though I catch the flick of her eyes toward me and the slight curve of her lips. I want to glare, but I also want to know exactly what they are seeing.
Hannah shrugs, sipping. “Just… I don’t know. Less uptight. Athena always kept him on edge, it seemed. Now it’s like…” She waves vaguely toward him. “He’s finally enjoying.”
My throat goes tight. I press my glass to my lips, hiding behind the rim, hoping no one notices the flush crawling up my cheeks.
The ride is slow, deliberate, as if the boat itself doesn’t want to disturb the moment. The lake stretches wide around us, mountains looming dark at the edges, fairy lights reflecting in broken ripples. Servers keep glasses full, and laughter rises, the entire evening shining with a gloss that feels very much like something Elle and Jack would do.
It’s polished yet casual, and very intentional.
Elle and Jack circulate the deck, glowing, their hands never straying far from each other. She squeezes his arm when she thinks no one is watching, her smile too luminous to be just a welcome dinner.
“Something’s up,” Camila murmurs near my ear, eyes narrowed in observation.
I glance at her, confused. “What do you mean?”
She tilts her chin toward Elle, who’s laughing too brightly, cheeks flushed. “I sense something.”
Connor’s eyes find mine again across the deck, a flicker of something private threading through the noise and light, enoughto make my pulse stumble. Camila’s words echo in my ear, her knowing look still burning at the edges of my thoughts.
It feels like the night itself is holding a secret just out of reach—one we’re all about to collide with.
37
CONNOR
“Thank you all for coming,”Elle says, voice bright and clear, cutting through the chatter that’s built steadily all evening. She stands now at the bow, champagne flute in hand, Jack firm and steady beside her. Fairy lights tremble overhead with the boat’s slow movement, the water glinting darkly below.
Her laugh carries easily, a little nervous, a little tipsy. “Most of you just arrived today, and this weekend was meant to be a big celebration—all of us together, finally. But…” She pauses, turning to Jack, and the look they share is so charged that half the crowd goes quiet in response. “Waiting until the end felt impossible.”
Confused murmurs ripple through the guests—the cousins craning their necks, Nicole whispering something sharp that earns a laugh. Georgie is whispering something to his wife, and she glares back at him, mouthing an aggravatedshut up.
Jack leans toward the microphone someone has thrust into his hand, grinning so hard it looks like his face might split. “So we’re not going to wait.”
