The Art of Loving You (The Forever Falling #2)

Prologue

Dani

WHY DO PEOPLE FALL IN LOVE?

What do they get out of handing their heart to another human being?

Is companionship really worth the pain of exposure— exposure of your deepest vulnerabilities?

Who decided that was a good idea?

I look around the resort suite I’ve called home for the last two weeks. You would think after attending a wedding as gorgeous as this, I’d see the appeal of all this shit. I don’t.

All I see is a beautiful backdrop marred by the ugliness of the bride’s insecurities and the groom’s cowardice. Is this what love has to offer? Transforming into the worst version of yourself in its name?

No thank you.

I spent most of this trip trying to keep the bride from flying off the handle about the dumbest shit while she treated us like errand girls and ruined her relationship with her sister.

I am beyond ready to get out of Tulum, having resolved to never attend another wedding ever again.

My suitcase doesn’t seem to be getting that message, though.

I’ve been sitting here trying to zip it shut for the past five minutes, but it keeps getting stuck.

Another attempt snags my nail, damn near ripping it off.

Stupid piece of …

A knock on my door stops my thought in its tracks.

“You good? It’s time to get the fuck out of here,” Evie says as I open the door to her and Janelle, both smiling yet looking exhausted.

It’s been a trying two weeks for all of us.

When we were younger, I used to compare us to the element benders in Avatar: The Last Airbender.

Evie was a firebender. Her features make her look like a Southern belle, but she is all bite and no bark. Her spirit is forged in flames.

Nelle was an earthbender, unwavering in her resilience and loyalty. It also helped that her bohemian style on her curvy body always made her look like an earthly goddess too.

Amerie was an airbender, cunning in her movements and free-spirited in her thinking.

I was a waterbender. My peacekeeping ways kept the flow of the group steady.

It’s been a long time since I referred to us that way, but seeing them standing here—Evie wearing a red sleeveless jumpsuit and her twists pulled into a high ponytail, and Nelle with her face-framing boho braids and waist beads below a sage-colored crop top—I have to laugh at the imagery.

“Almost. My suitcase won’t close.”

Nelle laughs. “What’d you buy?”

“Nothing!” I defend. I travel way too often to get sucked into souvenir hell. I didn’t overpack and I only bought eight small souvenirs—two for my mom, two for my dad, two for my assistant, Nisha, and two for my mentor, Tanya.

No, I’m not the problem here. The problem is I need a new suitcase because this one up and quit on the job.

Nelle turns up her nose at me only to immediately give up the act and let out a soft chuckle that lets me know she didn’t mean it.

“Okay, let’s see if we can get it,” she says.

“I can help her.”

A rich baritone voice drifts around the corner, and I unfortunately know who I’m going to see before he shows his face.

Micah Wright.

The man who took my world by storm eleven years ago.

The man who set the bar for all the rest.

A man I just can’t seem to escape.

The universe doesn’t seem to know what to do with us—constantly bringing us together, only to rip us apart in ways that change me every time.

I don’t want to change anymore.

I’m content with this version of myself. I like being the decider of my fate and answering to no one but myself.

Micah knew the model: the girl who commanded runways and graced magazine covers but never felt in charge of her own life.

But he doesn’t know the content creator: the woman who posts only what she wants when she wants.

And he doesn’t know the business owner who commands boardrooms as well as she did runways—maybe even better.

And that’s why Micah can never be anything more than another secret in my vault, another thread of my past.

Rome, the best man, walks around the corner to join Micah, his hand landing on Nelle’s hip.

That’s one good thing to come out of Amerie and Arnold’s nuptials.

I haven’t seen my girl this happy in a long time, and no one deserves that more.

She’s always sacrificing her happiness for the good of others, and no one has benefitted from that more than Ri.

I mean, I can’t think of anyone else who would agree to be her sister’s maid-of-honor when the groom is her ex-boyfriend.

I can’t think of anyone else who—after all that—would put up with her sister’s nasty attitude toward her.

I love these girls. I’ve been friends with Ri, Nelle, and Evie since high school, but I’ve always felt that the blood in their veins runs in mine.

Watching this wedding unfold has shown me, however, that I’ve allowed that connection to blind me to the harsh reality of what was happening within Ri and Nelle’s relationship.

I was too focused on keeping my family together, failing to see that Janelle was suffering under the weight of that tether.

Rome pulled her from under that rock and for that, I’ll always be grateful to him.

“Just the man we needed,” Evie chuckles, slapping Micah’s shoulder. “You’re in good hands, boo.”

She ushers Rome and Nelle away before I have a chance to object.

“Umm, yeah, thanks.” I step aside, giving Micah a wide berth into my room.

His tall frame feels so imposing in my space.

Everything about him is so familiar yet so foreign to me.

His locs look the same as they have for years, but I don’t remember what they feel like between my fingers.

He still smells of lavender and musk, but it’s been far too long since I’ve been alone with him, engulfed in the scent from this close.

It’s been that way by design and I need to remember that.

“You ready to go home?” he asks while hunched over my suitcase, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Oh, we’re doing small talk.

I hate small talk.

“Yep,” I offer.

His eyes float over to me, unamused.

Sighing, I step into my armor. “Are you?”

His fingers tug at the zipper of my bag with all the gentleness you’d expect from an artist. Every ounce of patience I don’t have exists within Micah.

I probably would’ve given up and asked our concierge, Javier, for help getting a new suitcase at this point, but Micah doesn’t even flinch.

He takes his sweet time slowly coaxing the zipper to bend to his will. And it does. Because most things do.

He pats the top of the suitcase before setting it upright. “Absolutely. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I’m more tired after spending two weeks on the beach than I am after getting a commission done.”

I force out a polite laugh when all I want to do is grab my bag and put some space between us. I’ll be damned if I let him know that any part of his presence unsettles me.

“Right. I’m tired too,” I say, dryly.

He makes another attempt at conversation, which I only half listen to in favor of checking the text that just came through on my phone.

Tanya: Love you, Dani Girl

Random declarations of love aren’t usually Tanya’s style of drama, but given that we haven’t spoken on the phone since I’ve been in Tulum and haven’t seen each other in a while due to her own traveling adventures, I guess she’s feeling sentimental.

I run my hands over the necklace she passed down to me from her mom—one form of Tanya’s sentimentality. Out of all the things she’s ever given me, this is by far my favorite; I haven’t taken it off since the day she gave it to me three years ago.

Me: Love you, too. Maybe when I get back you’ll sit still long enough for me to visit? With gifts, of course

I pocket my phone before she can start hounding me about what I got her. Micah closes the gap between us, but when I expect him to put the handle of my bag in my hands, he walks past me with it still in his grasp.

“Oh. Thanks for getting the zipper for me, Micah. I can take it from here.”

“Let’s go, Dani.”

My back goes ramrod straight at the force in his tone.

His eyes drift down my frame. Not in a sexual way—I’ve been the subject of that stare from him before. This is different. Like he doesn’t know what to make of me.

Good.

I’ve spent the years since we were together honing this armor, perfecting it until it was ironclad. I’ve overcome the heartache he left me with and I’m better on my own. I don’t need him to perceive me, and I damn sure don’t need his comfort or his love.

There is nothing for him to know.