Chapter 3
VALENTINA
I woke up where I always did in July. On the top bunk, in the guest room, in Alfie’s Summerhouse. On Oakport Island. I felt the way I always did, too: violently hungover.
And although never here, I’d had the occasional dream about Caden as well. Just never a bad one before.
When I usually thought of him, it would be with his hands on me, his body between my legs, and ended in an amazing orgasm. Then, I’d remember that he’d given me three of those when I couldn’t have known him for longer than a few hours, and wistfully fell asleep.
So, maybe it wouldn’t have been all that bad, if he’d actually been here—if only because I could finally thank him for whatever he’d done to me that night.
Changed my perception of what sex could be, maybe.
That men were actually capable of getting you off, and you didn’t have to fake every orgasm when you wanted them to finish. It was a glorious discovery.
Disoriented, I glanced around the room. There was no sign of him, nothing that could hint at the possibility of last night being anything but a dream. Which was… relieving. Otherwise I’d feel bad for being rude and snarky, and—dare I say— an asshole for so long, it would get exhausting even for me.
Because if Valentina was one thing, it was nice. Easy and accommodating. Thinking about being anything else made me feel physically sick, although that could just be the alcohol still swimming around in my system.
Getting off the top bunk still a little drunk, without falling off or throwing up, was significantly harder than I remembered, but I managed.
My suitcase, half-unpacked in front of the dresser, made me wonder what ghost of productivity had possessed me to unpack last night, and why it hadn’t made me finish the job.
I fished the T-shirt I’d originally packed to sleep in out of my suitcase, which drunk-me had clearly seen no benefit in doing. She’d thought climbing into bed in our sweaty, drenched-in-margarita-spill clothes from last night was a good idea. It was not.
I shrugged out of them, then into the oversized shirt, and continued my first full day the way I always did: heading downstairs, rummaging through cupboards for leftovers, trying to prepare breakfast with whatever I could get my hands on. As the first one up, that burden always fell on me.
Although, honestly, I hardly saw it as one.
Being able to maneuver around a kitchen like this—with its long counters, professional equipment, and the massive island in the middle— felt like a small blessing in itself.
And after weeks spent at Mom’s, cooking meals for three with one working stovetop and unsure if we’d still have electricity by the time we’d get to eat it, I appreciated it just a little more.
This one, though, was spacious—and we definitely didn’t need to worry about the Dunbridges’ energy bill.
The kitchen was an extension of the living room, in a big alcove to the left.
Gold handles, white marbled counters, blue cupboards matching the window shutters outside.
The theme extended into the rest of the house, too.
The couch was white, the pillows dark blue, the vases and lights with golden accents.
The TV hung above a fireplace, opposite the couch, which the dining table stood behind.
I looked around, letting the feeling of Home settle, and got started.
After three glasses of water that were needed before feeling physically able to scramble the eggs I’d found in the fridge.
Then another glass before I trusted myself with a sharp knife to cut up some of the fruit basket’s contents.
When I heard shuffling from upstairs, sounds that gradually turned into groans and curses, I toasted the bread and cracked the last two eggs into the pan—Iris preferred hers sunny-side-up.
My best friend staggered into view a second later.
Still groaning and cursing, she came up behind me, slung her arms around my torso, and whispered, You’re an angel right as I plated her eggs.
I love you. How do you think my future husband will react when I tell him our wedding day could never live up to the moment of waking up on Oakport Island, violently hungover, not sure if you’ll survive, only to see Valentina Rhodes behind the stove when you get downstairs?
How do you think my husband will react when I tell him the exact same thing? Alfie materialized in the doorway, throwing another compliment at me before I could even soak up the first one.
The smile on my lips was too wide—my cheeks hurt.
And no matter how hard I tried to play it cool (rolling my eyes, shaking my head, waving them off), how much I loved all of this was apparent.
Being showered in the loving kindness my family never really gave me.
A thanks here and there, sure… but I couldn’t remember the last time they’d truly appreciated me, or any of the things I’d done or accomplished.
Graduating summa cum laude from Hall Beck University got me nothing but a disinterested nod, paired with: Cool. Congrats.
But this—my friends’ smiling faces, their laughs and words of actual appreciation—almost made me remember why I’d craved the exact thing from Mom and my sister for so long. It also reminded me of why I needed to stop. Why I’d come up with a stupid plan to hopefully help me get there.
I had people who loved me, and that should be enough to keep me from seeking validation elsewhere. In a perfect world, they’d be enough, and in an even better scenario, appreciating myself would be all I’d need. Standing up for myself. Doing things for myself.
Unfortunately, I’d never been the selfish type.
Anni kissed my cheek when she joined us, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts by taking Iris’ plate out of my hand to give to her.
We can ask what my future husband will think when I tell him.
She snickered in amusement at our synchronized eye rolls.
As we carried plates, cutlery, and food to the outside dining area, she explained, Him and Caden should be back any second. Think they went for a run.
I halted. So abruptly, Iris walked straight into me. Thank God she’d only had the bread in her hand, because she balanced the full basket like a pro (after a shrill, high-pitched gasp at my sudden stop) and sidestepped me to get outside.
I still hadn’t moved an inch. Still stood in front of the sliding doors leading into the backyard. I could feel the light summer breeze, smell the salt in the air—but I could not move.
Who?
It was unnecessary to ask. Everything I’d chalked up to a funny nightmare suddenly felt paralyzingly real. Our entire conversation flooded back to me in one giant wave of regret.
Details I’d struck up as trivial (because they’d only been a dream) suddenly seemed life-changingly important (because they’d not been a dream).
The way I’d barged into that room so drunk, I could barely keep upright.
Then the way I’d unpacked my underwear like he couldn’t see those lacy things in my hand.
If I remember correctly, you were sound asleep when I was barely out of you.
And my cheeks burned bright red even before he was just suddenly there. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, Mike and Caden jogged around the corner of the house, through the yard, and slowed when they approached the laid table.
Caden wore a cap, backwards, that he adjusted as he came to a stop.
Black shorts, grey shirt I couldn’t see a drop of sweat through, despite the fact they’d clearly been working out.
His usual blond buzzcut was hidden, but that only left me focusing on his face more.
A face that, unfortunately, was just as handsome as it had been four months ago.
Just as carved and defined and unique as it had been last night.
Our eyes met, and the piercing blue of his finally snapped me out of my stupor—if only to get away from his gaze.
Fuck. He’s real.
If possible, my cheeks turned an even darker shade of red as I sat down and continued remembering every single awful thing that had been said last night.
That none of it had been a dream, and all of it had actually happened.
To distract myself (to try, at least), my eyes flickered across my friends so fast, I felt dizzy again.
None of them seemed surprised by his presence at all, though.
Oh, Iris said when she looked at him, and I thought finally. Finally, someone would say What the fuck? in the same way I had last night. Ask why he was here so that I didn’t have to.
Her gaze jumped back and forth between us, and she pointed her fork first at him, then me. How’s the roommate situation working out for you guys?
All I could do was blink at her. Like a deer in headlights, mouth open. What?
Iris, full fork now on its way to her mouth, looked at me like I was the one losing it. You guys are bunking together, no? she asked, too casually for my liking. How. Is. That. Working. Out? Around a full mouth, she annunciated every word loudly and slowly, like I might actually be hard of hearing.
What the fuck is going on?
My eyes flew around the table again, quite manically. Caden, of course, had taken a seat opposite me. Mike and Anni sat next to him on the bench, Iris and Alfie on my side of the table. None of them made it seem like my confusion was justified.
Caden cleared his throat, and I made a point of not looking at him when he broke the silence between us. It would’ve probably gone better, he said, reaching for a piece of bread. If she’d been warned about the roommate beforehand.
Alfie gasped. Anni honest-to-God shrieked.
Iris, as always, said what the rest of them were probably thinking. We forgot!
Oh my God, Anni repeated, over and over again. Oh my God. We didn’t tell you. We forgot to tell you. Oh my God.