“Not here,” I tell him.
We ride the elevator in silence. The second the suite door clicks shut behind us, I round on him.
“You brought me here on purpose.”
Patrick sets his keys on the console table with careful precision. “It’s a nice resort, Lola. Five stars. Thought you’d like it.”
“Don’t.” My voice cracks on the word. “Don’t play dumb. You knew this was his family’s resort. Were you hoping he would be here? What were you hoping to see?”
He meets my eyes, unflinching. “Maybe I wanted to see if it still hurt.”
The honesty guts me more than any lie could have.
I stare at him—at the man who’s been fun, a sweet distraction, and, I thought, decent to me. Right now, I want to claw his eyes out.
“You used me,” I whisper. “To get one over your rival. That’s what this was? A dick-measuring contest with me as the tape measure?”
“Lola—”
“No.” I step back when he reaches for me. “You don’t get to touch me right now.”
His hand drops. For the first time today, he looks uncertain. “I didn’t think it would hit you this hard. I was hoping it wouldn’t affect you at all, honestly.” He steps closer, hands up like he’s approaching something skittish. “I didn’t bring you here to hurt you. I swear. I hoped you were over him.”
The words hang there, heavy and honest, and I feel my throat close.
Over him.
I’ve spent five years telling myself I’d get there. Years of pretending the ache in my chest was just scar tissue, not an open wound. And then I saw Tully, and everything I’d tried to forget was still living right there at the surface.
I don’t know how to get over him. I never have. And now, standing here with Patrick looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters, I’m not sure I ever will.
Patrick takes another step, slow, careful. “I fucked up. I see that now.” His voice drops. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head, tears burning. “You shouldn’t have blindsided me.”
“I know.” He reaches out, hesitates, then lets his fingers brush my wrist. When I don’t pull away, he closes the distance, cupping my face with both hands. His thumbs wipe at the tears I didn’t realize were falling. “I love you, Lola.”
My breath catches.
He’s never said it before. Now the words are out, raw and unsteady, and I don’t know what to do with them. Part of me is still standing in the garden, still feeling the pull of a man who never said those words either—not out loud.
Patrick’s forehead rests against mine. “Stay,” he murmurs. “Let me make this right. I’m just…scared you’ll never look at me the way you looked at him.”
I close my eyes. My hands come up, fisting in his shirt. “I don’t know how I looked at him.”
“Like he’s still yours,” he says quietly. “And I need to know if there’s any part of you that still wants him to be.”
The question sits between us, sharp and terrifying.
“You don’t have to answer that right now,” he amends. “Just please stay.”
“I’ll stay,” I whisper. “Just tonight.”
His arms come around me then, careful, like he’s afraidI’ll bolt if he holds me too tight. He presses a kiss to my temple, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth.
“I love you,” he says again, softer this time. Like he’s testing the words, like he’s afraid they’ll break if he says them too loud.
I don’t say it back.
