Chapter 10
ten
VANESSA
It was impossible to sleep. The confrontation had been ugly, and I spent the night tossing and turning, replaying it over and over—thinking about all the things I could’ve said.
I didn’t regret how I’d handled it; I just wished I’d yelled more.
Raged more. I hadn’t shown the full depth of my anger, and that was my only regret.
Not that it made me feel better. Betrayal never does.
Time does the dirty work—dulling the edges, making you forget.
First their voice fades, then the bad times, then even the good ones.
The last thing to go is their scent, though sometimes you’ll pass a stranger wearing the same cologne and the memories will hit—but they’ll sting less.
Honestly, I was surprised it hurt as much as it did. I didn't know if I had ever truly loved anyone, but with Javi, I’d thought maybe I could. No love lost, though. Just six months of my life I’d never get back.
Sometime in the night, my bedroom door creaked open.
A small figure climbed into bed—Chloe, my eight-year-old niece.
She was my sister’s only daughter, half the size and twice the sass of anyone else in the house.
She didn’t say a word, just curled into my side like she’d been doing since the day she was born.
Her breathing steadied into soft snores, and having her there finally brought me enough peace to fall asleep, too.
* * *
“VANESSSSAAAA!”
The scream nearly knocked me out of bed.
For a second, I didn’t know where or who I was.
That shriek was my mom’s special, reserved for dragging us out of deep sleep or summoning us from across the house.
I groaned into my arm. I was twenty-seven, but I was still terrified of the woman who raised me.
We all were. How a sound that loud came from someone so tiny, I’d never know.
I glanced at Chloe, still curled up beside me, and tried not to wake her. Ever since my family had staged an “intervention” over my week-long bed-rot, someone had crawled into my bed every night. Sometimes it was my sister, but usually, it was one of the littles.
As I tried to untangle myself from Chloe’s grip, another presence filled the doorway: Noah. He was nine, my nephew, and the most serious of the bunch. I put a finger to my lips. Chloe—or CoCo, as we called her—was small, but mornings turned her into something out of a horror movie.
“Tía, Mamá’s calling you,” Noah whispered so loudly it might as well have been a shout. “That man from the other day is here.”
It had to be Elliott. I stifled a yawn. “Yeah, baby, I heard her. Pretty sure the whole neighborhood did.”
I circled the bed and scooped Noah up. He was getting too big for it, but I didn't care. I smothered his face with kisses while he giggled, trying to escape. “Are you still sad, Tía?” he asked from the crook of my neck as I carried him toward the kitchen.
“Not when you’re around, baby.”
He lifted his head, all seriousness. “Then I’ll always be here.”
It was so pure it almost broke me. I already cried enough the night before—for Catherine, for the night’s end, for a fundraiser ruined by something so ugly. I blew a raspberry on his cheek and set him on the counter. I was about to grab some food when I saw Elliott through the window.
He was in the backyard with my dad. Their conversation looked animated, but Dad was clearly in a good mood—shirtless in shorts, socks, and chanclas, watering his plants.
Dad-bod out and proud. I tried to summon embarrassment, but it didn't come.
It wasn't the first time Elliott had seen my dad in his regular weekend wardrobe.
Noah and I kept staring out the window, shamelessly nosy, until mom came up beside us. She popped Noah off the counter and told him to brush his teeth. I snagged an apple from the basket.
“Mija, ?qué está haciendo aquí otra vez?”
Right. My parents had no idea why he was back. They didn’t know I’d been auctioned off like cattle.
“It’s a long story, mom.”
I hadn’t told anyone about the auction, the speech, or running into Javi. He was already enemy number one; no reason to hand him more power. As for Elliott, I’d honestly thought he wouldn’t collect, not after the way the night had imploded. I was wrong.
Through the glass, the demon looked up. Our eyes locked. I bit into my apple while he stared. Even through the window, I caught the twitch of his mouth—the beginning of that insufferable smirk.
He finished whatever he was saying to my dad and he sauntered toward the house. When he walked into the kitchen, he greeted my mom with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“?Quieres algo de comer?” she offered him something to eat. My mom was nothing if not the most gracious hostess.
“No, gracias, Victoria.” I mimed gagging behind my mom.
Elliott wasn’t a native speaker, but his Spanish rolled out smooth and natural. The devil really didn’t miss. His lips twitched then I rolled my eyes.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked me.
I just nodded toward my room. He fell into step beside me as we headed down the hall, the weight of my mom’s eyes burning between my shoulder blades. At my door, he slipped inside first, and I closed it softly behind us. I gestured to the tiny lump on the bed.
He leaned against my dresser, ankles crossed, casual elegance radiating off him. He could make leaning look like a magazine spread. I hated him with the fire of a thousand suns.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company—and so soon?” I whispered, taking another bite of my apple.
“You know why I’m here, Ness. Don’t play dumb. I get thirty days. Fair and square.”
I shrugged, continuing to chew.
“Is this the way you want to play it?” He walked right up and plucked the apple from my hand.
“Hey! I was eating that!”
“You’re not eating it anymore.” He took a massive bite.
I blinked. “I could have herpes.”
Unbothered, he chewed and took another chunk.
“God, you’re pure evil.”
He stepped closer. “Whatever game you want to play, I’ll win. Don’t play against me, Ness.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“So you keep saying.”
The realization hit me like a freight train. “There wasn’t a real auction, was there? You planned this. You couldn’t accept that I said no, so you staged the whole thing—manipulated me into it.”
“I’m mildly disappointed you didn’t see it coming.”
I slid dramatically down the wall, curling into the fetal position. “I’m sick. I can’t go. Please don’t make me.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you act like you’re a child?” He tossed the apple core into the trash.
“No, but would it get me out of this?” I looked up at him from the floor.
He didn’t answer. He just crouched, slipped his hands under my arms, and hauled me to my feet. Suddenly, we were too close. I tried to step back, but his grip was firm.
“Pack your bag. You’ve got thirty minutes.”
“Pack my bag?!” I blinked. “Cabo isn’t for another few weeks.” Morgan and Richard were having a joint bachelor/bachelorette party and it was going to be in Cabo.
“You’re staying at my place for the next thirty days. No distractions. No excuses. I’ve already set it up with everything you need.”
“Everything I need? For what?”
“You’re designing a capsule bridal collection for me. Thirty days. Since I heard you’re jobless, you’ve got the time.”
“I already told you I’m not doing that. I don’t even know if I’ll keep designing.” The situation with Javi still cut deep. He and Ava had taken my work and turned it into something ugly. What used to feel like love now felt like shame.
“What a waste,” Elliott muttered.
“Excuse me?”
He stepped closer, right in my face. “You heard me. You’re talented. Wasting that because of two idiots would be pathetic.” Then he went for the jugular. “My mom invested in you. She believed in you.”
My throat tightened. “That’s a low blow, even for you.”
“I play dirty. You know that.” He winked, instantly disarming the bomb going off in my chest. “Pack fast and I’ll buy you a doughnut, you hellion. Time’s ticking. Fifteen thousand dollars for thirty days. The sooner you start, the sooner it’s over.”
I pushed past him to find my mom. She was standing right there—almost like she’d been listening at the door.
“Mamá,” I said, but before I could continue, my oldest nephew, Logan, barreled in with his iPad.
“Tía, you’re on the internet. You’re famous.”
Mom snatched the iPad first. She swiped through the screen, her eyes widening, until she muttered, “Terca. You didn’t wear the heels.”
I grabbed the iPad back. There were dozens of pictures of us plastered across gossip columns. Elliott and me dancing. Getting in and out of the car. The shots were tame, except for one: Elliott, Jorge, and me frozen in a standoff.
The tagline:
Love Triangle: Javi Mendez wants his ex back.
The last photo was everywhere—me and Elliott together. This one asked:
Elliott James’s new flame?
“Tía, is he your boyfriend?” Logan asked.
“No, baby. This man is a walking STD. They taught you what that means in school, right?”
Before he could nod yes or no Mom shooed him down the hall. “Don’t listen to your tía, mijo. She’s crazy.” She turned back to us, pointing between me and Elliott. “What is going on here?”
“Probably a murder,” my sister called from the couch.
“Mamá, Elliott wants me to work on a new line of dresses for the next thirty days… at his house,” I muttered.
She looked at Elliott, then back at me. It was the longest blink I’d ever seen. “Está loco,” I said, twisting my finger at my temple. “He’s probably going to kill me, mamá. Don’t let him take me.” I turned to him, my eyes widening. “That’s your plan, isn’t it? You’re going to kill me.”
“Yes,” Elliott said without missing a beat. “That’s exactly why I talked to your dad first and now I’m standing next to your mom. I want to make sure everyone knows to trace it back to me. I want all the credit.”
Mom ignored us both. “?Cuándo te vas?” she asked. She wanted to know when I’d be leaving which meant she was actually considering letting me go with this possible murderer.
“Now,” Elliott said.
She kissed him on both cheeks, ran to the closet, and dragged out the first suitcase she saw. She packed my bag like a woman possessed, like she was shipping me off to boarding school for misbehaving.
“I need to tell my dad,” I groaned.
“Already taken care of. I asked him,” Elliott said.
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Now get dressed.”
“Why? We’re just going to your place, right?”
“No. I have errands, and you have a dress fitting.” His smile turned serpentine.
“God, I hate you so much.”
“So you keep saying. It’s getting old. Hurry up. I let you sleep in, but that’s where my generosity ends.”
“Sleep in? It’s not even nine a.m.” I walked right up to him. In my sweetest whisper, I said, “I can’t wait until you go to bed tonight, so I can smother you with your pillow.”
He smiled as if it were a joke and not a threat. “I’m looking forward to it.”