Ruthless Rival

One time.

A date, a fuck, a long conversation.

Whatever you want to call it, as long as you go in with your heart open.

Carpe diem.

You might die tomorrow.

Do you really want to die never having kissed Vanessa Moyer?

I know I don't want to go out knowing my oldest brother is forever miserable and alone.

So promise.

And if I die tomorrow, I'll die happy.

He didn't die the next day.

It was a few weeks later.

Adam fell apart.

I had to stay strong. To take care of Opal, to keep the company running, to ensure Adam and Liam's survival.

For a long time, I told myself I had no choice but to move forward.

For a long time, it was true.

But it's not. Not anymore.

Adam is well. Liam is in love. Opal is an adult.

And I'm far behind.

Still stuck in this space between darkness and hope.

I know what Bash would want.

But I can't honor that.

Not yet.

Not until I know what I need.

Chapter Forty-Five

SIMON

After a week, I stop sleeping in Bash's room. I spend the nights in my bed. Spend the days looking over his things, moving around the house, taking long walks around the grounds.

I see a little clearer every day, but I stay in a haze.

I'm shocked when Liam arrives.

It's a Friday afternoon. A warm, sunny day.

He barges into the house, yells, "Lucy, I'm home," and runs—actually runs—up the stairs.

He doesn't knock.

He pulls my door open, jumps into my room, and shakes his head this is a sad state. "Vanessa is downstairs."

Fuck.

"Take a shower. Put on a clean suit. Make yourself presentable," he says.

Opal's footsteps pound the hall. "Why did you run?"

"Early bird gets the worm."

"What's the worm?" Opal asks.

"I won. That's what matters."

She pushes past him to step into the doorframe. "Jeans, Simon. Wear the jeans."

"Simon doesn't own jeans."

"That's why I brought some," she says. "And the Taylor Swift t-shirt."

Liam looks at her like she's crazy. "We want her to think he's functional, not losing his mind."

"Trust me," she says.

He shakes his head. "The suit."

I float through my shower. I barely look at my clothes.

Vanessa is here.

Vanessa came to see me.

Am I ready?

Is she?

I don't know. But we're both here, and I have a million things to say to her.

It must be the same for her.

I step into the hallway.

Opal and Liam stop to stare.

They look from me to each other, not sure who won the argument.

"I swear, Simon, you're a rich guy cliché." Opal shakes her head. "Are those boat shoes?"

"They're definitely boat shoes," Liam says.

"Simon, I take it back. Wear the suit. Woo her a little," she says.

"Don't throw a win," Liam says to her.

"I won?"

"This is closer to yours than mine."

"No, it's not! It's executive on the weekend! Mine is fun older brother."

"I'm a fun older brother," Liam says.

"And you wear boat shoes!" She shakes her head this is ridiculous and storms down the hall.

He goes after her.

They're having their own debate.

And I'm here.

About to talk to Vanessa.

I see her as soon as I step onto the hallway balcony.

She's standing in the foyer in a wine sundress and wedge sandals. Patient. Curious. Radiant. "Your family says you're a mess."

"I am."

"I have been. But I… I'm doing better."

"You look beautiful."

"You look like someone else. Are those boat shoes?"

"They are."

"Do you have the cigar and whiskey too?" she asks.

"The whiskey."

"The yacht?"

"Not yet."

She smiles, but there's a sadness to it.

This is a mess.

And neither of us knows how to clean it up.

"Damn, I brought my bikini for nothing," she says.

"The pool's heated."

"I'll jump if you jump," she says.

I move down the stairs. Step onto the hardwood floor.

She looks different this close.

Still strong and regal.

But soft too.

Tired.

The way I am.

The way I constantly ignore.

"Let's sit outside," I say.

She nods and moves through the ballroom, out the French doors, into the massive backyard. "It looks different than it did at the rehearsal dinner. Bigger. Emptier."

"It is."

She runs her fingers over the expensive patio furniture. Looks between the wicker chair and the wicker loveseat. Chooses the loveseat.

I sit next to her.

"Liam is worried," she says. "He asked me to come and talk to you. I told him it won't help, but he was persistent."

"He's good at that."

"Was he right?"

Yes. Her presence is a balm. Hearing her voice, seeing her smile, knowing she's okay—it's exactly what I need. "It's good to see you."

"You too." She smiles softly.

For a second, everything between us is easy. Simple. The painful, beautiful desire for love and connection.

Then she looks to the table, and I don't have a clue what she wants or what our futures hold.

"Everything got to be a mess, didn't it?" she asks.

"It wasn't what I expected."

"Me either… I've been on leave. I needed time to sort through things after that… no, I needed it before. I've needed it for a long time."

"Your job?"

"It's not good for me. Not the way I'm doing it now. I'm not sure if I need to redraw boundaries or find something else, but, for once, I'm actually considering it."