Finally, after what feels like hours, she turns her body in my direction.
I’m standing at the edge of the clearing, breathless, jacket half off and hair probably a mess since I’ve been running around trying to find her. I’m sure she can see my panic because her eyes widen for a second and her hands twitch at her lap, almost like she’s ready to jump off her seat and come to me.
Her eyes lock on mine, and she blinks a few times.
“Don’t shut down,” I gasp, the words echoing too loud against the stillness. “I love you.”
Her head snaps up. The disbelief in her eyes cuts deeper than anything my father ever said to me.
“You don’t have to say it back, and I don’t care who hears it,” I push, louder now, the words tearing free before fear can choke them down. “I don’t care what my parents want, or my friends, or the whole fucking world. I’m done living their life. I want mine. And it’s you.”
For a beat, all I can hear is the water lapping against the dock below, steady where I’m not. My chest is heaving, but I’ve never felt clearer.
She shakes her head, voice cracking. “You don’t mean that. This is just… vacation magic. It’ll disappear the second we land in New York.”
The ache twists hard in my ribs, but I don’t look away. “I’m in love with you,” I say, and my own voice nearly knocks me over with the force of it. I don’t soften it, don’t give her an out. “And if this is ever going to work, you have to start trusting me.”
She tries to back away, panic flaring in her eyes, but I close the distance, steady and deliberate. “Trust the words I say. Trust the ways I show you. Because I have spent my entire life listening to people tell me what I should be. What I should want. Who I should love.” My throat tightens around the word, but I force it out anyway. “And I’m done with it.”
The lake throws silver light across her face, and it guts me how much she doesn’t believe she deserves this. There are two swans making their way out of the water and onto the rocky shore, waddling like their shift on the lake is over and it’s their turn to sleep.
“I won’t let it happen here,” I tell her, sharp now, steel behind the words. “Not with you. I won’t let anyone—including you—turn this into a script I’m forced to follow. This is mine.” I press a fist against my chest. “And if you can’t believe in that yet, then at least believe that I will never stop proving it to you.”
Her breath stutters, her hands trembling between us. She looks like she wants to bolt. I lift a hand, slow, careful, afraid she’ll disappear if I move too fast. My thumb grazes her cheek, damp and soft. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. But you… I’ve never breathed easier than when I’m with you. Don’t take that from me.”
She whispers my name like it hurts her.
“I don’t want perfect,” I cut in, fierce because I need her to hear me. “I don’t want polished and scripted. I wantyou. The way you make me laugh without trying. The way you see through me when no one else even looks. The way you make me feel like I’m not drowning anymore. Please.” My forehead rests against hers, sweat and lake air between us. “Please don’t walk away.”
Her tears fall fast now, streaking down her cheeks. “I can’t go back in there, Connor. Not after what just happened. Not with them looking at me like I don’t exist, like I’m nothing compared to her. I can’t survive that.”
“Baby,” I say, the pain making my voice unsteady. I cup her face, forcing her to see me even as her gaze skitters away. “You’ve got to cut yourself some slack. You think you’re invisible, but you’re not. You’ve carved out space in this group whether you realize it or not.”
Her brow furrows, wet lashes trembling.
“You don’t see Amelia hanging on to every word you’ve said? Or the way Elle talks you up to anyone who listens? They notice you, Manu. Every single one of them. Maybe you don’t believe it, but I’ve watched it happen all week.” My chest tightens. “And I notice you. Ever since that night on the rooftop. Always.”
She presses her lips together, like she’s trying not to believe me.
“I know it feels easier to tell yourself you don’t belong,” I continue, softer now, thumb tracing her cheekbone. “But you’rehere. You’re part of this. Just as much as Hannah or Amelia or anyone else. And even if you can’t see it yet, I do. I always will.”
“But Nicole?—”
“Baby, Nicole’ s just bitter because she’s hoping to get engaged, but even Banks knows not to propose during someone’s wedding trip. He’s probably going to do it tomorrow.”
The corner of her mouth twitches despite herself.
Finally, her shoulders sag, the fight bleeding out of her, replaced by something more fragile—hope, maybe.
“I’ll go with you wherever you need to be,” I whisper.
The words hang between us, heavy and certain, until finally she lets out a shaky breath and leans into my touch like she’s been holding herself back for too long.
42
MANUELA
FRIDAY
