Chapter 22
CARMINA
Inside the dimly lit luxury of our oversized SUV, I replay the evening in my head.
There we were, Quentin and I, dressed to the nines like we stepped out of a glossy magazine.
Yet beneath my meticulously chosen attire and expertly applied makeup, turbulence churned.
Dinner with Danity and her publicist felt like performing in a well-rehearsed play. Quentin and I played our parts flawlessly, but my heart wasn”t in it.
Every polite laugh and casual exchange felt like a step further away from the raw, unexpected connection Quentin and I had stumbled into back at the hotel.
Now, as city lights zip past the tinted windows, the weight of the evening, Jenny”s wedding, and everything else presses down on me.
After walking away from Quentin”s kiss, I holed up in the hotel suite’s bathroom, doing the one thing that used to make me feel better: calling Jenny.
My best friend and soon-to-be bride picked up, her voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.
Jenny”s laughter was half-teasing, half-genuinely curious. ”So, how are things with Quentin? You two haven”t murdered each other, right?” Trust Jenny to put it bluntly.
I chuckled, maybe a little too loudly, trying to mask the panic that question always triggered. ”Oh, you know, the usual. We”re practically saints, putting up with each other,” I quipped, sounding far more light-hearted than I felt.
The conversation shifted to Jenny”s upcoming nuptials, specifically the bachelor-bachelorette weekend. ”It”s going to be epic, Carmina. A luxury boat ride on the Puget Sound? What”s not to love?” she gushed. Then, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, she asked, ”Are you bringing Alex as your date? You two were pretty cozy last I checked.”
My heart did a little somersault. ”Alex? Ah, no. That ship sailed a while back, Jen,” I admitted, trying to keep my tone breezy. I could almost hear her eyebrows raising in surprise.
Before I could brace myself, she added, ”Well, I wouldn”t be surprised if Quentin shows up with his own entourage of dates. You know how he is.”
I laughed along, a sound that felt like swallowing shards of glass.
Quentin bringing dates? The image was too vivid, too unsettling.
”Yeah, that sounds like Quentin,” I managed to say, feeling the sting of my own words.
The ironic part? I wasn”t sure which was more terrifying—the thought of facing Quentin or the prospect of him with someone else.
Jenny’s innocent joke unearthed a minefield of insecurities I didn’t know existed—or at least, I’d been pretending they didn’t.
Talking to Jenny should have been a relief, a moment to breathe and catch up.
Instead, it added layers to my mounting anxieties. Anxieties about a date for the weekend, a date for the wedding, and Quentin with an armful of hypothetical dates.
It was all too much.
And now here I am, next to Quentin, feeling both drawn to him and impossibly far apart.
The man has this uncanny ability to break down my defenses, to make me crave closeness I”ve never allowed myself to want.
But with his reputation, how can I even entertain the thought of something more?
My insecurities, usually locked away, are dancing in the spotlight tonight, and for the first time in my life, I can”t shake them.
It’s like my life’s become a game of Jenga, teetering on the brink of collapse. Jenny’s wedding, Danity’s book release, and the whole guardianship saga—it’s like I’m juggling grenades with the pins pulled out.
And the man sitting beside me? He’s the fuse.
This isn”t the corporate world where I can compartmentalize and strategize. This is my heart, and it”s fragile. Maybe too fragile to leave in the hands of someone like Quentin Anderson.
”Hey.” Quentin”s voice breaks through the quiet of the luxury SUV, bringing me back to the present moment. ”You okay?”
I take a deep breath and force a smile. ”I”m okay. Just tired.”
”Mm, you seemed tired. At dinner. Anything I can do to help?”
”No, I”m fine. Just a lot on my mind.”
“Maid of Honor planning?” He raises an eyebrow and smirks.
”Among other things.” I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes.
”Let me guess, you”re wondering how the hell we can top Danity”s upcoming release after she read that last excerpt at dinner. I nearly poured my glass of ice water over my head.”
I huff out a laugh at the image of Quentin drenched in water, trying to cool off from Danity”s steamy book excerpt. ”That was definitely a surprise. But I”m sure she has more tricks up her sleeve for the actual release event.”
”I have no doubt.” Quentin chuckles, his hand resting on my knee.
My heart speeds up at his touch, and I have to fight the urge to lean into him. I should be tempering this attachment to Quentin, not encouraging it. But my body doesn”t seem to get the memo.
”Seriously though,” Quentin”s tone shifts, ”anything you need help with? All this... planning can be overwhelming.”
”I appreciate it, but I think we have everything under control.”
He sighs, the sound soft in the quiet car. ”Including shutting me out.”
I open my eyes to see him giving me a concerned look. ”What do you mean?”
”I mean, you”ve been distant lately. I know we haven”t defined what”s going on between us, but... I still want to be there for you.”
”There for me?” My voice rises in frustration. ”I don”t need anyone to be there for me, Quentin. I can handle things on my own.”
He blinks, green eyes hard. ”You”re screwing with me, right? Sanchez, you”re in over your head handling everything on your own. Your house is a mess, laundry piled up to the sky. You have more spaghetti bolognese on your blouse than in your mouth most days. From the look of the circles starting to camp out around your eyes, you”re barely sleeping, and from what I can see, you haven”t had a decent meal in days.”
He sits up straight, fixing me with a stare. ”And now, with applying for guardianship of the girls, it”s gotta be?—”
”What?” I interrupt. ”Who told you that?”
”Never mind who told me,” Quentin snaps, ”the point is, you”re trying to do everything on your own and it”s not working.”
I bite my lip, feeling the sting of his words. He”s right, of course. The truth is, I”m struggling. But I don”t need my nose rubbed in it.
”You have no idea what I”m dealing with, do you?” I ask, frustration rolling in like a thunderstorm.
I can”t control any of this, can I? The wedding, the book release, my future with my sisters—I”m in the passenger seat of my own life.
That”s it. I need some semblance of control back, even if it”s just choosing where this metal box on wheels takes us next.
I press a button to roll down the partition to the driver’s compartment, and I can see Quentin’s surprised face in the rearview mirror.
”Yes?” the driver asks.
I take a deep breath, knowing I need to make a decision. ”Could you take a detour, please? To 115 North Street.”
”Of course, ma”am,” the driver replies, and I can practically feel Quentin’s eyes boring into me.
”What are you doing?” he asks as we turn off the main road onto a smaller side street.
”I”m directing him to my mom”s place,” I reply firmly. ”You really want to see what you”re dealing with? I”m going to show you.”
I almost bite the words out. But I need to know.
Can a man who”s never had to worry about anything more than his company”s next published novel handle this kind of chaos? Or am I just setting us both up for a colossal disaster?
My gaze goes out the window to the darkening sky, the rest of my words unsaid.