Smiling, I shake my head at him. It must be hard for him not to demand, suppressing his nature. He’s trying. For me.
What are you hoping to get?
You.
I sigh, fully aware that he changed his strategy. As if he took it easy on me so I could adapt and settle into my job, but this is Tristan. He always follows a strategy, and his end goal is me.
I finish packing and head to the elevator in time for it to open. My best friend slash sister-in-law comes in, taking in the space with wide eyes.
“The view never ceases to amaze me.”
I nod. That’s my favorite part of this penthouse as well.
On the terrace, we watch the sunset paint the city in an orange glow, then head to the car.
She’s in the driver’s seat, and I watch out the window.
“So still in a stalemate?” she asks, and I blow out a sound of frustration.
“I’m just trying to understand him.”
She nods, offering me an understanding look. “I know you do. But think from his perspective. He’s an overthinker. Overachiever. Mega control freak.”
That sounds like my man. I giggle. She isn’t wrong.
“Maybe he assessed the risks and thinks you’ll change your mind. He can’t have that.”
I am convinced that is also a huge part of why he doesn’t give me total access. I already know the worst part. It took me months to realize that when he told me he killed his father, it wasn’t something my brain made up in a half-asleep, half-awake state. It was a fact.
“My brother is not the monster. Our father was.” A shudder rocks her. “He would have killed me too, if it weren’t for Tristan. And here I am betraying him by loving his enemy. I am the worst sister possible,” she sighs, the pain in her voice clear.
“You just fell in love.”
“Yeah, and if the truth ever comes out, I will lose my brother too.”
Her phone vibrates in the cupholder, and I say, “Do you want me to check it for you?”
“No.”
“It’s him?”
Her fingers wrap tighter around the wheel as if wishing to choke her feelings. “Yeah.”
We remain silent for the rest of the drive, and once we reach the beach house, a bout of nostalgia threatens to destabilize me.
These walls keep our memories of us alive. Nothing affects them here. Not the passage of time. Not even us.
After Evie and I unpack, we move downstairs and open a bottle of wine, chilling on the chaise lounge outside.
“You can see the stars here,” she says, taking a small sip, “but I still prefer the city.”
I inhale a deep breath, filling my lungs with new hope. “I love this place.”
She nudges my side, wearing a mischievous gleam. “If you think of it, I basically played matchmaker.”
“Look how well that turned out,” I say sarcastically, and we burst into laughter. Laughter switching to hysterics to stuttering breaths.
For long minutes, we just listen to the ocean lapping at the shore, the wood crackling in the fire pit.
