Chapter nineteen
Present Day
I woke to soft morning light filtering through the curtains and Theo’s arm heavy across my waist. For a moment, I just lay there, listening to his breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against my back.
Yesterday had been good. Really good. We’d solved Sloane’s crisis, reclaimed my spot at the lake, reconnected in a way that felt real and lasting and the awkwardness that had simmered between us felt like a distant memory.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it carefully, trying not to wake Theo.
Sloane - Salon at 10! Don’t forget. We’re getting GORGEOUS Theo can entertain himself for a few hours lol Love you!!!
I smiled and typed back a quick response, then carefully extracted myself from Theo’s embrace. He mumbled something and rolled over, still asleep.
In the bathroom, I studied my reflection. My hair was a mess, there was a faint bruise on my neck from yesterday’s frantic encounter, but I looked happy. Actually happy.
I showered and dressed in jeans and a soft blue sweater, something comfortable for a morning of beauty treatments. By the time I emerged, Theo was awake, propped up against the headboard scrolling through his phone.
“Morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.
“Morning.” I sat on the edge of the bed. “Sloane’s got me at the salon in an hour. Wedding prep stuff.”
“Makes sense. I should probably check in with Jasper anyway, see if he needs help with anything.” He reached out, tugged me closer until I was leaning against him. “What time will you be done?”
“No idea. These things can take forever. Probably not until early afternoon?”
“Want me to pick you up? We could grab lunch.”
“Yeah.” I kissed him softly. “That sounds good.”
The salon was one of those upscale places with huge mirrors, plush chairs, and staff who moved with practiced efficiency. Sloane was already there when I arrived, along with the other bridesmaids—her cousin Rachel and two friends from college, Mia and Sophie.
“Gin!” Sloane pulled me into a hug. “Oh my god, you look glowing. What did you and my brother get up to yesterday after you left the house?”
I felt my face heat. “We found you a new wedding location.”
It was the truth, she didn’t need to know how much more we’d done.
“Uh huh.” She grinned knowingly. “Sure.”
She didn’t question me again, though I knew she wanted to and the morning passed in a pleasant blur of manicures, pedicures, and hair styling. The other bridesmaids chattered about the wedding, about their own relationships, about nothing and everything.
I was in the middle of getting my nails done—a soft pink that Sloane had insisted on—when Sloane’s cousin Mia, asked me a question.
“So Imogen, Sloane mentioned you and Theo have been spending a lot of time together this week.”
I glanced at Sloane, who was trying very hard to look innocent while getting her hair curled.
“We’re sharing a hotel room,” I said carefully. “Since we had to drive up together.”
"And?" Sophie, Sloane’s colleague leaned forward. “Come on, give us something. He’s gorgeous.”
“He is,” I admitted. “But it’s... complicated.”
“How complicated?” Mia pressed.
I looked down at my nails, watching the technician apply the second coat. How did I even begin to explain?
“He’s leaving Friday,” I said finally. “Milan. For work. Two weeks, maybe longer.” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “And Theo... he doesn’t really know what he wants. He’s never been the relationship type. He’s always moving, always working, always... elsewhere.”
“But do you want a relationship with him?” Rachel, another colleague, asked gently.
Did I? Yes. God, yes. But wanting it and it being possible were two different things.
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Theo’s life is in Italy, and Paris, and wherever the next job takes him. Mine is back home. And even if we tried, I don’t think he’s ready for something serious. He’s spent his whole adult life avoiding commitment.”
“That’s not fair—” Sloane started, but I cut her off.
“It’s not a criticism, Sloane. It’s just reality. He’s built a life that doesn’t really have room for someone like me. Someone who needs stability. Who can’t just pick up and follow him around the world.”
“Have you talked to him about this?” Mia asked.
“Not really.” I shrugged. “What’s the point? The week’s almost over. He leaves Friday. I go home. It was fun while it lasted.”
Even as I said it, I knew I was lying to myself. It was more than fun. It had been... everything.
But I couldn’t say that. Not here. Not to women I didn’t really know, or to Sloane, who might then say something to Theo. I needed to protect myself. To prepare for the inevitable.
“I just think you should talk to him,” Sloane said firmly. “Really talk to him.”
“Maybe.” I forced a smile. “But right now, let’s focus on you. This is your week, remember?”
Sloane looked like she wanted to argue, but the stylist called her over to check her hair, and the moment passed. Thank fuck.
By the time we were done—nails perfect, hair styled in soft waves—it was just after 1pm.
I messaged Theo that I was ready.
Theo - Sorry, best man stuff to attend to. I can’t make it. Ask Sloane to take you back to the hotel.
Imogen - Okay, see you later?
I tried not to be disappointed but I was. I’d been looking forward to our lunch date all morning.
“Uh, do you mind giving me a ride back to the Hotel?” I asked Sloane as she paid at the counter. “Theo has best man business.”
“Of course not.”
When we left, Sloane went toward the Hotel, but then took a detour at the last minute. She drove into town, through the shopping centre and then parked down a side street outside a gallery.
“Where are we?” Sloane was taking her seatbelt off so I followed suit and got out of her car.
“You’ll see.” She replied, walking down the pavement and into the gallery.
I walked through slowly behind Sloane, taking in the photographs on the walls. Landscapes, cityscapes, portraits. All beautiful, all professional.
And then I turned the corner into the back room and stopped dead.
Because every photograph on these walls was of me.
Me at seventeen, sitting on the dock at the lake, feet in the water, completely unaware of the camera.
Me at nineteen, laughing at something off-camera, my head thrown back, joy captured in perfect detail.
Me at twenty, sitting on the swing at The Bennett’s after the funeral.
Me at Twenty Three - When I’d come back for Christmas.
Me. Over and over and over. Years of photographs. Years of moments I didn’t even know had been captured.
“Surprise.”
I turned to look at Sloane,
“What...” I couldn’t form words. “What is this?”
“This is all part of Theo’s portfolio. The landscapes, the city skylines… you.” She walked up beside me, looking at the photographs. “He’s been building it for years.”
I stared at the image in front of me—me at the lake, probably sixteen or seventeen, writing in my diary. The composition was perfect. The light, golden and soft. And the way he’d captured me... I looked beautiful. Peaceful. Lost in my own world. In a way I had never seen myself.
“He’s been photographing you since high school, Gin.” Sloane’s voice was gentle. “Did you really not know?”
“I...” I thought about the other morning in bed, when he had been taking photos of me and I wanted to say something but there was just... nothing.
“He sees you,” Sloane said quietly. “He’s always seen you. The way you don’t see yourself.”
I walked along the wall, taking in each image. Years of my life, documented through his lens. Moments I’d thought were insignificant, captured and preserved like they mattered.
Like I mattered.
“Why didn’t he tell me about this?” I whispered.
“Because he’s an idiot.” Sloane sighed. “Because he’s scared. Because he’s spent so long convincing himself that commitment wasn’t for him that he doesn’t know how to admit he wants it.”
I turned to her. “What are you saying?”
“That you should talk to him.” She placed her hand on my back. “Really talk to him.”
My eyes burned. “But he’s leaving Friday.”
“Then tell him not to.”
I didn’t want to ever come between Theo and his job. I just wanted an opportunity for something more.
“I can’t—”
“Why not?” Sloane grabbed my hands. “Why can’t you ask for what you want? Just once, Gin. Ask for what you want.”
The photographs stared down at me. Evidence of years of attention. Years of him seeing me when I thought I was invisible.
“What if he says no?” I whispered.
“What if he says yes?”
We stood there for a long moment, surrounded by images of a girl I barely recognized. A girl who looked confident, beautiful, worthy.
The girl he’d been seeing all along.
“Please, talk to him.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Christmas 2014 - Age 18
I’d spent all of fall semester working up the courage. Every phone call with Sloane, I’d almost asked about Theo—if he was seeing anyone, if he’d be home for Christmas. But I’d chickened out every time.
The plan was simple: tell him how I felt. I was eighteen now, not some kid with a crush. We’d grown up together. We were friends. Maybe he’d feel the same way. Maybe he wouldn’t. But at least I’d know.
I’d practiced in the mirror. Casual. Confident. “Hey Theo, I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee sometime. Just us.”
Christmas Eve, I showed up at the Bennett house with gifts and hope. Kay answered the door, pulling me into a warm hug.
“Imogen! Come in, come in. Everyone’s in the living room.”
I walked in, my carefully prepared speech ready. Theo was standing by the tree, and my heart did that stupid flip it always did.
Then I saw her.
Blonde. Tall. Model-thin in a way that made me feel like I took up too much space just by existing. She was draped on the couch like she owned it, wearing designer jeans and a cashmere sweater that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.
“Gin!” Theo noticed me, smiled. “Come meet Alice.”
“Alice, this is Imogen. Sloane’s best friend.”
“Oh.” Alice looked me up and down, her smile not reaching her eyes. “The friend. I’ve heard so much about you.”
The way she said “friend” made it sound like an insult.
“Nice to meet you,” I managed.
“Alice is visiting for the holidays,” Theo said, his hand resting on her shoulder. “She’s based in New York now. Fashion week.”
Of course she was.
I stayed for exactly twenty-three minutes. Made small talk. Laughed at appropriate moments. Handed out gifts. Then claimed I had to head back to campus early and left.
In my car, I sat in the driveway and stared at the Bennett house through blurred vision.
I’d been so stupid. Theo Bennett dated models. Sophisticated women who summered in the Hamptons and knew which fork to use at fancy dinners. Not girls like me who stress-ate pizza and wrote fan fiction in their free time.
I never told him. Never even tried.
Because the answer was standing in his living room, looking like she’d stepped off a runway.
And I was just Sloane’s friend. The friend. Always the friend.