Page 42 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

The only upside is that any time I stop to line up a shot, Graham waits patiently. He doesn’t hurry me along or ask when I’ll be finished. He just goes still, waiting until I’m satisfied with the pictures.

It’s calming to be with someone who doesn’t feel the need to hurry, even though I know we didn’t get started when he was hoping to.

On the way out, my pictures are mostly subject-based—some of the wildlife, a shot of a plant that Graham quietly informs me is endangered. I get a shot of the sunlight filtering in through the kaleidoscope of shapes created by the tree leaves, and a close-up of the patterns in the tree bark.

They’re nothing groundbreaking. I start to worry Graham might find my photos lacking.

Then, like fog clearing in a sudden, robust push of wind, we make it to the top of the incline we’ve been trudging up for hours, round the corner into a cool, damp cave, and are upon the single most beautiful scene I’ve ever witnessed.

Graham continues gallumping down the path, keeping one hand on the wall, but I come to a complete stop in the entrance, suddenly more breathless than I’ve been during the entire hike.

It’s a grotto—at least, that’s what I think it is, if I’m using the word right. A sort of cave-room, with a spiraling path of steps allthe way down to the bottom. Three larger waterfalls crash down from varying heights, while a dozen smaller falls trickle out in thin streams, like you just barely turned the handle for the tap. You could stack several houses across, then up to the top. It’shuge. Cavernous.

At the very bottom, when I lean in and look down, is a shimmering, deep-blue pool of water, which reflects the light from the opening.

It’s unreal.

Fantastical. Ethereal. Unreal.

The words aren’t right, aren’t enough, but I can capture it with a photo. Inspiration rises up inside me like a great, powerful sob, and I let it simmer in my throat, let tears spring to my eyes. I’m going to use it all. I’m going to make sure it comes out in every single picture I take.

“Serena?” Graham must finally realize I’m not behind him, because he turns and looks, sharply, over the edge of the steps and to the pool, like I might have slipped right off the stones and fallen all the way down without him noticing.

“Sorry,” I say, not for the first time today. When I clear my throat, the sound is somehow swallowed by the waterfalls and also echoed back to me. Magic. “I just… I needed a second.”

Graham has pushed his sunglasses up onto his head now, his dark hair made even more so by the misting of water that cascades down and over him. Those rocks must be slick, but he stands casually, confidently, like it never occurred to him thathemight be the one to slip and fall.

I don’t think twice, I just raise my camera, line up the shot, and capture him there, standing among the waterfalls in his safari outfit, one of his large hands outstretched and resting on the slick cave wall.

Later, I know, when I edit these pictures, I’ll get to see the look of wonder on his face, something boyish and unguarded. And later, I might just realize that look is aimed atme.

Chapter 22

Serena

“Glad you like the place,” Graham says, off-handedly, when we emerge from the grotto. I insisted on staying in there through the golden hour, and I also insisted on stripping down to my underwear and going into the pool. The water was bracing, welcome against my skin after all the sweating and sticky sprays.

I’d floated on my back, stared up at the cave ceiling, eyes focused on the rocks dripping down like icicles.

“Stalactites,” Graham informed me when I asked if the ceiling knives would fall and impale us. “And not likely.”

“But they could.”

He didn’t answer that, and when I lifted my head to look at him where he sat alongside the pool, his gaze was turned decidedly away. I imagine the only reason he didn’t leave me altogether was the worry that if something happened to me, Ryan might be upset with him for not saving me.

I’d never spend the money on something like a sensory-deprivation tank, but I’d seen them online. And back-floating in that water, so clear and so blue, was the closest I’d ever felt to being truly weightless.

Now, I say, “Likeis not the word that I would use. It’s amazing…”

He glances down at me, then over his shoulder. He’s been worriedly looking to the east—at least, I think that’s the direction—since we got out here.

“What’s going on?” I ask, dropping into one of the tiny triangles he claimed werecamp chairs.

“Sky looks bad.”

I follow his gaze, but see nothing beyond a slightly hazy sky. “What, like a fire?”

I’ve heard of those happening out west, but maybe it’s just as much of a problem here. Doesn’t feel possible, with how humid it was today, but I’m not a scientist.