10. Consequences #4
So I do it for her. I tip my head back and scream. It rips from me like it’s been lodged there for years—stuck behind every swallowed comeback, every fake smile, every time I made myself small just to keep the peace.
The release crashes through me. Andrew’s fucking words. My mother. My father. Alex.
She flinches. Then laughs. A breathless, stunned little laugh.
I grin. “Your turn.”
She hesitates, wide-eyed.
Then—she screams.
Not loud. Not long. But it cracks something open.
When it ends, she clutches her chest like the air’s been knocked out of her. Her face crumples.
“I want to be angry,” she confesses.
“Then be angry.”
“I want to not care what Dad thinks.”
“Then stop caring.”
“I want—” her voice breaks “—I want my mom.”
“I know.” Because there is not a day I don’t feel the same.
Then she steps into me, and I catch her. Arms tight, holding her steady while she lets it all pour out.
The grief. The fear. The scream she didn’t finish.
Then silence. Just our ragged breathing, carried off by the breeze.
“Do you think I should marry him?”
“I can’t answer that for you—my track record is pretty shitty and nonexistent.”
She lets out a soft chuckle.
“But like you said, he drives you crazy in the best way. And he sees you—the real you.”
“He does,” she says, wistful. “I love him so much.”
“He’s not perfect, Pip. Neither are you. No one knows the future. You just have to remember why you said yes in the first place.”
“Because Andrew makes me feel happy…and secure.”
I try not to, but the second she says it, Broderick’s face flashes through my mind.
Happy and secure.
“You know, for someone without a track record, you’re pretty good at this,” she says after a beat.
I roll my eyes. “My lack of boyfriend begs to differ.”
We stroll back inside hand in hand, warmth between us clinging to our skin, staving off the chill of the night.
The house has quieted; most of the guests have already turned in.
The soft click of our heels—now dangling from our fingers—echoes as we make our way upstairs, laughter still ghosting between us in breathless little hums.
We round the corner of the bridal wing—
And there he is.
Andrew.
He stands in front of Philippa’s door. Hands in pockets. Shoulders tense.
He looks up, guilt plastered across his stupid handsome face. Jerk.
His brow raises as he takes us in. Barefoot. Sweaty. Dresses crumpled. Wild hair. Smudged makeup. Heels swinging loosely from our fingers.
His gaze meets mine first. Embarrassed.
When his eyes land on Philippa—something changes. Shame at first. And then something softer. Something like awe.
She freezes beside me.
“Hey,” he says, voice rough.
No one moves or speaks.
Philippa lets go of my hand.
“You don’t get to hey us,” she seethes, stepping in front of me. “How dare you speak to my sister like that.”
My breath catches. I can’t believe it. The way she throws her arm back protectively makes my heart ache in the best way.
“Phil, I’m sorry,” he says quickly, eyes wide—panicked.
“It’s not me you have to apologize to,” she says, arms crossing tight before stepping aside.
He turns to me.
“Elena—I’m…I don’t know what came over me. I was being a dick. I hate what that Hollywood phony did to you,” he blurts out, words tumbling, barely breathing.
“I had too much to drink. I don’t always say the right thing.
I’m better with numbers than words, and I really need to remember to think before speaking every thought out loud.
I was being an asshole. You don’t have to accept it.
You don’t even have to forgive me. But I’m begging for your forgiveness. Both of you.”
I stare at him for a long beat, arms folded, still barefoot, still buzzing with adrenaline.
“Glad your parents took one look at you and thought—you know what, we’ve created a monster, let’s not make another.”
His jaw drops. Philippa chokes on a laugh beside me.
I let the silence hang just long enough before adding, “But…I’ve heard worse apologies.”
Hope flickers across his face. “Are we okay?”
“Barely,” I say.
Now Philippa’s laughing fully, tears still drying on her cheeks.
Andrew exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Fair.”
I step in closer, chin tilted, voice razor-sharp.
“If you ever bring up Alex again, I swear to God, I will drown you.”
His eyes widen.
“I mean it. Deep in the Hudson.”
“Duly noted,” he says, hands raised.
Philippa’s still laughing, cheeks flushed.
I turn to her with a smirk. “Now go have some makeup pre-marital sex.”
She gasps, “Elena!”
Andrew looks like he’s short-circuiting.
“What?” I shrug. “You’ve got a few nights left. Might as well make them count.”
Philippa swats my arm, still trying not to laugh as she opens the door.
Andrew follows, glancing back like he’s not sure whether to thank me or excommunicate me.
“Please don’t look at me like that,” I call after him. “The walls in your penthouse weren’t exactly soundproof.”
“Oh my God, Elena!” Philippa’s voice carries from inside. Andrew chuckles.
I wave. “You’re welcome!”
The door clicks shut, leaving me alone in the hallway—barefoot, buzzing, and just a little bit smug.