Heat crawls up my neck. She’s right. I know she’s right.
“What am I supposed to say?” I push off the railing. “Hey, Liv, remember your fiancé? Yeah, I want to fuck him. Hope that’s cool.”
“Maybe not those exact words.” Grace’s lips twitch despite the gravity. “But something close to the truth before this gets worse.”
I exhale slowly, the weight of her words settling over me. “You might be right.”
“Might?” Grace raises an eyebrow.
“Fine. You are right.” I rake my hands through my hair. “But I can’t do it tonight. Not when we’re all drinking, and she’s riding this high about the engagement.”
Grace tilts her head, considering.
“I need to tell her when we’re both sober,” I continue. “When I can actually think straight, and she can process it without cosmos clouding her judgment.”
“Okay.” Grace’s shoulders relax slightly. “That’s fair.”
Relief floods through me. “Thank you. I just need a few days to figure out how to?—”
“One week.”
I freeze. “What?”
“You have one week to tell her.” Grace’s expression hardens. “If you don’t, I will.”
My stomach drops. “Grace!”
“I’m serious, Aurora. I’m not watching you torture yourself over this for months while Olivia plans a wedding, completely oblivious.” She steps closer. “And I’m not keeping secrets from her that affect her life this much.”
“That’s a little unfair.” Heat flashes through me. “You’re basically forcing my hand.”
“Yes.” Grace doesn’t flinch. “Because you won’t do it otherwise. You’ll keep finding excuses, keep putting it off until it’s too late and the damage is worse.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Don’t I?” She crosses her arms. “How many times have you avoided difficult conversations by telling yourself ‘later’ or ‘when the time is right’? Your mom’s cancer diagnosis. Hell, even going back to your dad’s house for the first time took you six years.”
The words hit like a physical blow. “Low.”
“True.” Grace’s voice softens, but her stance doesn’t waver. “I love you, Aurora, which is exactly why I’m doing this. One week.”
My hands ball into fists. Part of me wants to argue, to tell her she has no right to set ultimatums about my life. But the rational part that knows I’m drowning understands she’s throwing me a lifeline.
“Fine.” The word tastes bitter. “One week.”
7
HUNTER
The bass pounds through Elixir’s VIP section like a headache set to rhythm. I nurse my whiskey, watching Penn work his way through his third bottle of champagne while Ari entertains some socialite who won’t stop touching his arm.
“You’re brooding.” Penn drops into the seat beside me, his grin sharp. “It’s my birthday. Stop being a miserable fuck.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Physically.” He gestures at my untouched phone on the table. “Mentally, you’re locked in that fortress of yours, planning world domination or whatever the hell you do.”
“Something like that.”
