Chapter 26
CADE
Whitmore Family Yacht
It’s Dad’s birthday. A Whitmore holiday in every curated detail. Tradition. Legacy. Mimosas and entitlement.
It’s the kind of spring heat that pretends its summer. Warm enough for linen shirts and cold beer, but not quite ready to burn. The breeze still bites if you’re in the shade too long, but no one mentions it. Not today.
The water stretches out like brushstrokes, layered shades of cerulean and sapphire bleeding into one another, sun-glazed and infinite.
It’s the kind of view that makes your chest ache.
The kind you want to capture but know you never could.
The sea glimmers like polished glass, soft crests breaking into foam as the yacht slices through them.
Somewhere behind me my parents sip chilled rosé under the awning of the upper deck, all linen and legacy, framed by laughter and perfectly arranged charcuterie.
Cal’s shirtless, of course, double-fisting cocktails and bragging about god-knows-what.
Ellie’s probably off to the side, no doubt checking one of her infamous social accounts, thumbs flying like it’s a competitive sport.
And then there’s me. Sitting on a lounger, phone in hand, thinking about a girl who doesn’t belong to this world at all.
The last few messages from Bella are still lit up on my screen.
BELLA: So, do you want to maybe come to a Trifecta practice next week?
BELLA: You coming or what?
I scroll up through our short thread. It’s nothing, really. Just a few innocent messages. The first one from me, sent with way too much second-guessing.
ME: Hey I know it’s been a long time, but I just wanted to say I thought your dance at The Row party was incredible.
Her reply came fast.
BELLA: Oh hey! Thank you! That night was wild.
A few more followed. Short. Easy. Safe. Until I overthought it, like I always do, and stopped replying. No reason. Just froze up, like if I kept texting, I might say something real. Something she’d see right through.
Now I’m here, floating somewhere off the Amalfi Coast surrounded by perfect water and perfect sun, and all I can think about is her.
Lex thinks I’m spiraling. That I fucked it up by giving her space. That I should’ve just gone for it. He says I’m wasting time chasing a girl who might not want us.
I haven’t been painting. Barely sleeping. Lex caught me scrolling through our texts at three a.m. the other night and nearly snapped my phone in half. Called me pathetic. Then kissed me and said, “Fine Cade. If she’s worth it then fucking act like it, babe.”
And she is.
She always has been. Bella’s been around forever.
Since we were teenagers. She was the chaos in our guest room, the glitter trail in my Range Rover.
The girl who used to sneak into my studio and pretend she wasn’t watching me paint.
I never saw her like this, not really. Maybe in Nashville, but that was so long ago.
Maybe I’ve been ignoring it for years. Maybe now it’s too loud to ignore.
Jesus Christ, I don’t do this. I don’t chase. I don’t unravel. I don’t obsess. That’s Lex’s thing. Lex is the one that falls fast and holds on way too tight.
I don’t even notice Ellie until she drops into the lounger next to Cal, curls wrapped in a silk scarf, sunglasses covering half her face.
“Cal, that’s gross,” she drawls, sipping something pink and probably illegal, “Bella will never go for you… or your dick.”
Cal scoffs, stretched out shirtless like he’s posing for a yacht magazine. “Why the hell not?”
Ellie snorts. “Because you’re Callum. You’re a walking thirst trap with a superiority complex. She’d chew you up and use your bones for contour.”
“She flirts with me all the time, she always has.”
“She flirts with everyone,” Ellie fires back. “It’s literally part of her job. She’s the face of Legacy. The center of The Trifecta. Flirting is branding, Cal.”
“She doesn’t flirt with everyone like she flirts with me.”
I close my eyes.
God, someone get me off this fucking boat.
“She’s just playing the game, Cal,” Ellie continues. “The Trifecta is a brand. Your Row parties elevate that brand. You? You’re a pawn. A hot pawn, but still.”
“Who wants Callum’s dick?” Dad’s deep voice cuts in, cool and amused.
We all turn and see Mom standing there with a tray of fruit and two champagne flutes, raising a brow. Behind her, Dad lowers his sunglasses and gives us his signature wink. The one that always means trouble.
“I mean,” Dad says, “if we’re talking dicks, I’m assuming someone lost a bet.”
“Dad,” I mutter. “Please stop.”
“Just trying to stay informed,” he says, settling in like this is perfectly normal.
Mom laughs, hands Dad his drink, and sets down the tray. “So. Who started the dick conversation and why is it always Callum?”
Ellie doesn’t miss a beat. “Because Cal thinks Bella wants him.”
Mom lights up. “Oh, I love Bella. Callum, are you and Bella finally becoming an item?”
Ellie groans. “Mom. No. In no universe is my best friend going anywhere near my brother’s dick.”
Cal grins like he’s doing the world a favor. “Please. Bells should be honored to get a dick like mine.”
Dad nearly chokes on his drink. “Damn right she should. Whitmore men are a premium package.”
“Clay dear, stop encouraging him. He’s already insufferable.”
I get up, done with this whole conversation. I swear August is watching us from somewhere taking notes like we’re his favorite soap opera. Our family isn’t normal. We’re a reality show that forgot to hire a therapist.
“Oh don’t be salty, bro. Twins get the same face but clearly one of us got the deluxe edition.”
I stare at him. “You’re proud of that sentence.”
“Facts are facts.”
Mom waves him off. “Be nice to your brother.”
“I am being nice,” Cal grins. “Just acknowledging my natural gifts.”
“Oh my God,” Ellie moans. “I need to go bleach my brain.”
Mom shakes her head. “Speaking of Bella, where is she? I miss her. And Lex too. Why did they miss your Dad’s birthday?”
Ellie pauses, her drink halfway to her mouth. “She’s just busy, Mom.”
I jump in casually. “Lex and Damien are at the Hollow Kings send-off for the graduating seniors. Redspire stuff.”
Cal snorts. “Theatrics for a bunch of guys who punch people in a basement.”
Ellie side-eyes him. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Cal. Plus, you fight there all the time.”
They keep going—bickering, jabbing, tossing egos around like it’s a family sport—but I’ve already checked out.
All I can see is Bella’s last message. Her name on my screen. The four little words that have been sitting there for hours now.
BELLA: You coming or what?
“Fuck this, Cade, quit being a little bitch.” I mutter to myself as I begin to type.
ME: I’ll be there.