Chapter 32
Penelope
My big reveal. That wasn’t.
I press my forehead against the cool shower tiles, letting the hot water drum against my back, reliving the events of yesterday’s bachelorette party.
I can barely believe it. All of us in the spa, our big bonding moment. And it was my turn.
And I said it. I’ve been seeing someone on the side for years. In a very different capacity than anyone knows. Did I say seeing ? I meant fucking. Insatiably. Anytime, anywhere.
Mile high club? More times than I can count. Under a blanket in a first-class lounge? Check. Public bathrooms? Against the door, feet braced on cheap tile. In the back of a limo? Windows fogged up, limbs spreadeagled across leather seats. Beside a dumpster? Okay, not my classiest moment, but still, 10/10, I would do it again.
Before stepping onstage at a speaking event? Absolutely. During a mutual friend’s housewarming? Yep. In their brand-new entertainment room, while everyone else admired the open-plan kitchen. After a memorial service? Wrong? Maybe. Regrets? Not a damn one.
Then I sucked in a breath, making room for the responses.
Gasps. Shock. Maybe even a round of applause for my unhinged, no-holds-barred sexual escapades.
Instead, nothing. Barely a ripple.
Vivian skimmed the condensation off her glass. Susan coughed—a few times. Raquel took in everyone’s expressions and tapped her scarlet nails against her thigh like an agitated cat denied a treat.
Then Violet, bless her, looked around, frowned, and asked, “Do I have to be the one to say it?”
Susan got very busy studying her nails.
“Say what?” I asked, uneasy.
Did I break a secret code? Surely they weren’t going to slut shame me or something? Sharing sexual exploits was the whole point. What did I do wrong?
Then I found out just how completely delusional I’ve been.
“You’re talking about Tuck?” Violet said—barely even a question. “Because, gosh, Penelope, the sexual tension between you two bounces around like a pro game of ping-pong.”
I blinked. My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Vivian nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It was the first thing I asked Brady when I saw them together. I said: ‘You never told me they were a couple!’”
Mia chimed in, confusion knitting her brows. “Mason often mentions how close you two are…”
“Since childhood,” Nora added.
Mia gave me a long look, like I was some peculiar specimen under a microscope. “So if everyone kind of already knows…why all the secrecy?”
“Is he off-limits somehow?” Jess wondered. “Is that why it’s a secret?”
And then Susan. Calm, collected, and somehow always a step ahead, she tilted her head and delivered the final blow.
“Penelope, I think the only person you’re concealing things from…might be yourself.”
I groan as I relive the embarrassment, dragging my hands down my face, water cascading through my hair.
So much for my grand reveal.
I barely managed to look Susan in the eye after that. Because geezus, she didn’t need to hear about her son’s sex life in excruciating detail.
And then, as if things weren’t already bad enough, Raquel launched into a rapid-fire interrogation.
“Is the sex only hot because of the secrecy?”
I squirmed, fluttered a look at Susan. “Er, no. It’s always…hot.”
“Is Tuck an asshole? Only good for sex, not a relationship?”
Another squirm. “No. He’s not actually an asshole.”
“Do you ever have sex in private, or does that ruin the thrill?”
I swallowed. “Um—refer to my first answer?”
“Ever done it in a hearse? Or is that just Violet’s kink?”
A beat of silence. Then: “…does a funeral home count?”
“Oh my god—you didn’t!” Susan groaned, dropping her head into her palm. “I thought I raised Tuck with some level of decorum.”
Raquel gasped, delighted. “ Tuck is your son ?” She turned on Susan. “Oh, this is great! So tell us—what’s your take? Did you know about them playing hide-the-eggplant in the taco ?”
And that was it. The moment I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.
I thought about slipping under the water, letting the warmth swallow me whole, sinking to the bottom of the pool—anything to escape the unbearable weight of exposure.
For years, I had convinced myself I had control. That this thing with Tuck was just an indulgence, a casual escape, a game we played on the sidelines of our real lives. That I wasn’t tangled up in it, in him.
But now I had outed myself to all those women. As a fraud. Someone who can only keep a long-term relationship when it’s kept apart from reality…where Tuck never sees the gaps in my defenses. All my weaknesses.
Thank god for Susan and Nora. Whether they were saving me or protecting Tuck, I wasn’t sure. Maybe both. Diplomatic and strategic, playing the long game.
“My goodness! Is anyone else turning into a prune?” Susan asked, inspecting her hands with a dramatic sigh.
“Absolutely! And I’m not in the market for more damn wrinkles,” Nora chimed in. “It’s my turn, so let’s wrap this up, put some clothes on, and get to the deck bar.”
Whistle blown. Move along.
And then—cocktails all around. Round after round. A convenient blur of laughter, of clinking glasses, of pretending I could let it go.
But had I?
What else had I blurted out in that haze of forced release? Of alcohol conveniently covering my ever-present insecurities?
Nope. It goes beyond just insecurity . Everyone feels insecure at times. Okay, so maybe not Raquel.
But my issues are part of the fabric of who I am, not something that can be shrugged off with a new look, healthy lifestyle, or a mindfulness class.
And I tried to fit in with them. Tried to match the lighthearted mood they carried so effortlessly.
Because that’s what normal women do, right?
Normal women with their normal relationships. Who can talk openly about the men they see, who don’t feel the need to hide the most broken, unlovable parts of themselves.
They don’t keep secrets out of necessity. They don’t spend their lives waiting for the people they care about to realize what a mistake they’ve made.
My weaknesses aren’t just flaws to be fixed. They’re stitched into my soul.
They are who I am.
And…if Tuck hasn’t realized that yet, he will.
I finally find the momentum to leave the shower, but it feels like wading through molasses.
In the kitchen, every movement is sluggish, weighted. Water. Coffee. Phone—no, put the phone down. I can’t face emails, texts, or social media. Nothing waiting for me there holds anything good.
And to top it all off, Tuck isn’t here.
It’s like losing my compass, my reference point for everything. He’s become the gauge for my mood, my situation, my feelings…and now, without him, the house feels cavernous. Silent. As stuck and empty as I am.
Because, truth be told, for all the ways I didn’t want to come back here, somehow, this place has become a refuge from the rest of my life.
A life that, beyond these walls, is unraveling.
My business finances? A horror movie—bloodied, gasping, in desperate need of life support.
My creativity? Vanished. Run for the hills.
The routine that once sustained me? Shattered. The long hours in my studio—tweaking, refining, balancing numbers—now feel futile. Too many wages to pay, too many overheads, too many cracks in the foundation I was too stubborn to see.
And now, it’s all clearly unsustainable.
I pour sugar into the blackness of my coffee, watching the crystals dissolve into the liquid depths.
What’s my next move?
The week is almost up. The week I agreed to with Tuck. Some ridiculous, starry-eyed notion of pretending we’re a real couple, where we could actually get pregnant, raise a child, and play happy families. As if we’re built for that. As if we’re anything more than combustible chemistry on a time delay.
That’s not what a child needs.
Hell, Tuck doesn’t even know my business is circling the drain. He doesn’t know shit about me.
My phone buzzes. Against my better judgment, I glance at the screen.
Mia: Thanks for an amazing time!
Amazing. Right. If only she knew. Yesterday was a giant, neon-lit distraction. A delay tactic I pulled out of my ass to steer her attention away from her wedding dress.
The one still hanging in my studio. Perfectly boned, perfectly beaded, with a perfect fucking sweetheart neckline.
I step onto the porch, clutching my coffee like a lifeline, only to be met with another failure staring me in the face—my mom’s garden, dry and withering, leaves curled in surrender. The whole thing looks like it’s given up. Like it knew she wasn’t coming back and decided to follow suit.
With a sigh, I lower myself onto a deck chair. Cross my legs. Stare up at the sky.
Shit. I almost crave a cigarette—just to round out the whole aesthetic of self-destruction.
“Hey, you’re up! Thought you were gonna sleep all day.”
Oh god.
Tuck.
And he’s smiling . That generous, wide grin of his that adds creases against his bright eyes and stirs something restless inside me.
“Mom took a sick day,” he says, stepping onto the porch, squinting against the sunshine—or maybe against the sight of me in my unceremonious state. “That’s a rare event.”
Typical. I’ve even corrupted Susan’s perfect professional record.
“Is she very hungover?”
“She’ll live. How about you?”
“About what I deserve.”
Tuck’s eyes flick over me, sharp, assessing. He drags out the pause before settling into the chair beside me. “Wanna talk about it?”
I stare at a sunbaked pot plant, brittle and lifeless. Exactly how I feel inside.
I take a lazy sip of coffee, letting the heat burn my tongue just to feel something different. “That could cover a lot. And honestly, I don’t have the brain capacity to narrow it down in terms of priority. Unless “ it” is about how everyone apparently knows about us?”
He leans back, taking his time. Eggshells. “Everyone knows about us, huh? What exactly do they know?”
“That we’ve been seeing each other. That we have sex. A lot .”
“Huh. And that makes you uncomfortable?”
“Of course it does!” I spit out. “I never knew people had guessed. I thought what we had was private.”
His jaw twitches. “‘ What we had’? ”
Shit.
He clocks my wording immediately, and it hangs between us, thick and heavy.
“Did we not make a pact to give things a shot this week?” he says, his voice measured. “To see if I could convince you we could be more than random hookups?”
“So?”
“So if people picked up on that, then I guess it just means they have eyes. They see we’ve been practically inseparable since we got here. Maybe some of those people are happy for us. Maybe they think we should be together.”
“Like who?” My laugh is sharp, humorless. “All I did was humiliate your mother when I blurted out every detail of our sex life—where I planned to keep you anonymous. Because I didn’t realize she already knew everything about us. Or that Vivian did, which means Brady’s all over it. Mason—”
“I think we should talk about this later.”
“Well, I think we should talk about it now .”
His eyes darken. “You do see what you’re doing, right?”
The ugly, festering thing inside me rises—resentment, shame, fear, all of it—and I can’t stop the spitefulness creeping into my voice. “Why don’t you tell me, since you’re the expert?”
“You’re changing the rules. Again.”
I blink, thrown off balance. “What?”
Tuck exhales heavily, shaking his head. “You draw me in every time, then set these impossible rules—no one can know, keep things casual, don’t get attached. And then, the second I actually follow your rules, you move the fucking goalposts.”
His brewing anger versus my pitiful spite. And still, I can’t stop.
“That’s not what I do.”
“Isn’t it?” His voice is low and measured, but there’s something dangerous underneath it. “We’ve been doing this for years. Back and forth. And every time I start to think we’re making progress, you pull back. You shift the rules to keep me at arm’s length.”
I swallow hard, my pulse hammering in my throat. “That’s not fair.”
Tuck ducks his head. “So you don’t deliberately sabotage us every time? Let me get my hopes up—let me go all out to win you over, and then do…whatever the fuck this is?”
“I don’t know what you expected of me, Tuck.” My voice is strained, my throat tight. “I’m messed up. I’m not in a good position for anything right now, let alone pretending we could be something we’re not.”
He tries again. “Listen. Maybe this was all bad timing. Losing your mom and being back here. Let’s just—”
“That’s not why.” I shake my head, my chest tightening. “I’m not messed up because Mom died. I’m messed up, period. I’m no good at relationships. Every single one has failed. I was good at maintaining what we had, because it was something I could do. Something I understood. Not something I can’t even imagine having. Something I don’t have the capacity for.”
His jaw flexes. “And what about what I want?”
“Tuck, I’m not your project to streamline and upgrade and turn into a success. I have to accept what I am, and you need to as well.”
“And what’s that?”
I shrug, the weight of it sinking deep into my bones. “I’m not worthy of all that stuff, okay? I’m too irresponsible, too unorganized, too self-indulgent…kind of pathetic, actually.”
His eyes flash, anger cutting through the hurt. “Do you know how fucking mad it makes me to hear you say that shit?”
“The truth hurts.”
“Fuck’s sake, Pen . ” He scrubs a hand down his face. “Is this about your business?”
I stiffen. “What?”
“You said last night your business is in trouble. We can do something about it, Pen. We can take a look at the figures and evaluate—”
“You mean you can take it over like you did last time? Absorb it into your empire?”
His head snaps back like I slapped him. “We’ve been through that. That wasn’t your company. You worked for her. And you refused to see how much she was stealing from you, taking your designs, never giving you credit. You needed a push. To go out on your own. To make the name for yourself you deserve.”
“And look where that got me,” I bite out, bitterness rising like bile. “It’s all about to go right down the drain. So, doesn’t that tell you something? You put all this faith in me like I’m worthy of it. But I’m not, okay? I’m not as capable as you want to believe I am. You should just stop.”
Tuck’s on his feet, pacing the lineup of potted plants like they’re silent witnesses to this travesty. He’s priming his debating arsenal—arguments locked, loaded, and ready for deployment. But I already know what he’s going to say. And I already know the demon inside me will revolt against every word.
If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s tapping into my own patheticness. And now that I’ve found a voice for it, there’s no stopping it. I’m ready.
He turns to me. Eyes fierce.
And I get set for the next round.
But it doesn’t come.
His mouth dips. He slowly shakes his head. “Maybe you’re right.”
Something sharp and cold slices through me.
“I’ve played this game with you until I’ve got nothing left, Pen.” His voice is quieter now, the fight draining from it. “This week, I laid it all out there. I’m spent. I got nothing else in the tank. You want to double down on these feelings of unworthiness? Something from your parents? Your childhood? I think we can move past it. But you disagree. So where does that leave us?”
I drop my head.
“If I keep this up…?” He gives a defeated shrug. “Then I’m just as bad as you and all your self-sabotage. It makes me a masochist. I can’t keep banging my head against a brick wall.”
I lift my eyes.
“So you know what?” His gaze locks onto mine, something final behind it.
A slow exhale.
“You win.”