But then… Manuela.
Her laugh drifts faintly from somewhere inside the villa. Light, low, completely unguarded. It cuts through the tightnessin my chest like sunlight hitting water. I close my eyes and let it echo in my head, the sound stubbornly softer than everything else.
She doesn’t pretend. Not like I do. She’s restless, yes, but honest in it. She admits when she doesn’t fit, when she feels invisible, when she wants more but doesn’t know how to get there. She makes me want to stop lying to myself.
My phone buzzes again. I don’t look.
Instead, I stare at the mountains until my vision blurs, the sharp peaks bleeding into the sky. My pulse beats in my throat.
I can’t keep living someone else’s idea of a life. But if I walk away, what’s left? Who am I without the job, the pedigree, the expectations? Who am I without Athena, without the plan that’s been sketched for me since I was twenty-two?
The questions gnaw until I want to scream.
The terrace door slides open. I jerk my head around like I’ve been caught doing something illicit.
It’s her.
Manuela steps out, barefoot, a glass of water in her hand, curls loose around her shoulders. She spots me and pauses, like maybe she didn’t expect to find me here. The sun paints her skin gold, warm, and unhurried.
“Hey,” she says softly, a little tentative.
I clear my throat, pocketing my phone like it’s guilty evidence. “Hey.”
She tilts her head, studying me with those eyes that see more than I want to admit. “You okay?”
The question is simple, harmless on the surface. But it lands like a stone in my chest.
I should lie. Say I’m fine and shrug it off. Pretend I wasn’t just unraveling under the weight of familial expectations and unread emails.
Instead, I hold her gaze for a beat too long, the words stuck in my throat.
“Yeah,” I say finally, quietly. “Just… needed some air.”
Her expression softens, like she doesn’t believe me but won’t push. She moves closer, rests her glass on the table, and sits beside me. Close enough that I feel the warmth of her body. Close enough that for a moment, all the noise in my head finally goes quiet.
34
MANUELA
WEDNESDAY
“Hey.Can I… steal you for a second?”
Late-morning light slides across the floors, catching on abandoned wineglasses from last night and half-finished crosswords someone left on the table. Nicole and Banks are nowhere to be seen, and no one has mentioned them, which makes the air feel sharper somehow—like we’re all waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I find Elle in the kitchen, loading fruit into a bowl, phone propped against a mug on the counter. She’s in another flawless linen set, looking freshly pressed and dewy like she hasn’t spent the last week wrangling chaos.
“Yes, that’s Mommy’s perfect girl,” she coos into the screen, voice all sunshine. “Did you eat your salmon bites? Did Mimi warm them for you the way you like? Oh mygoodness, you’re looking so pretty. Did you get a new bow today?” She pauses, gasping so dramatically it echoes off the marble. “Is that asparklybow? My heart can’t take this, Fifi. Mommy’s heart is exploding. Mommy loves you more than air.”
Elle ends the call with a kissy noise and sets her phone down on the counter like it’s made of glass. She exhales, dreamy, thenpops a grape into her mouth. “She was wearing sequins and a tutu, Manu. I’m deceased.”
I smile, nervous, picking at my nail polish. “She’s… very loved.”
“Obviously,” she says, eyes finally flicking toward me. “What’s up?”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other. The words taste awkward already. “I just wanted to apologize. About yesterday. With Nicole,” I start, fingers knotting in the hem of my shorts. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”
Elle’s mouth twitches—not quite a smile but also not a frown. I think she’s amused by it, and I hope she is because everything feels a little like we are a gentle breeze away from everything imploding. “She was out of line,” she says simply and then shrugs one shoulder. “Still, thank you for saying something.”
