Eight
“You look like a corpse.”
I glare at Harper as she parks outside the airport, giving me a pointed once-over. “Wow. Love the emotional support. Feeling really uplifted right now.”
“I’m just saying, I've seen fresher-looking bodies in true crime documentaries. Did you sleep at all?”
“Two hours,”
I mutter, rubbing my temples. “Maybe less.”
Harper whistles, eyes glinting wickedly. “Bet they were eventful hours, though.”
Instantly, Nathan’s hands, mouth, and devastatingly confident smirk flash through my mind. I suppress a shiver, trying to ignore how vividly my body remembers everything he did to me.
“Harper, if you say one more word about my night—”
“I’m just saying,”
she interrupts, “I’ve never seen you look this exhausted after a date. Or ever. Like, should I be worried? Will you need physical therapy?
I groan, feeling an ache everywhere. “Probably.”
She cackles and pops the trunk before hopping out.
I sit there for a second, mentally preparing to function as a person before finally dragging myself out after her.
She grabs my suitcase because she’s stronger than I am, and I'm barely alive, before swinging it onto the curb. Then she turns to face me, hands on her hips, before she pulls me into a hug.
Her voice softens. “You've got this, you know.”
I sigh against her shoulder. “I hope so.”
Harper pulls back, holding onto my shoulders and smiling. “You do. Now, let's go over the plan.”
“The plan?”
“The story you’re telling your family about your imaginary breakup with your imaginary boyfriend.”
“Can't I just pretend I'm a lesbian and bring you as my date?”
“Sienna, we talked about this. If I come as your date, your mother will have us married off by dessert. Anyway, you’re not my type.”
“I literally am your type,”
I point out.
“Yeah, but I know too much. It would never work.”
I sigh again, rubbing at my temples. “Fine. What's my breakup story? It needs to be tragic enough to prevent questions but not dramatic enough to overshadow the wedding.”
Harper thinks for a moment. “What about irreconcilable differences?”
I scoff. “That's vague. My mom will dig for details.”
“Fine,”
she says. “He cheated?”
“Then they'll pity me more. I need something empowering.”
“Okay, hear me out. He wanted more than you could give. He was ready for commitment, but you were too focused on your career, your independence. You had to let him go, even though you loved him.”
I narrow my eyes. “They think that’s what happened with Daniel, so I guess it could work, but doesn’t it make me sound like the asshole?”
“An empowered asshole,”
she insists. “You didn't settle.”
“Fine. I ended it because I refuse to settle for a man who doesn't worship the ground I walk on.”
“That's my girl,”
she says, before grabbing an oversized coffee from the cup holder and shoving it into my hands. “Here. Stay caffeinated. Call me when you land.”
I blink down at it. “Wait, where did this come from?”
“Elijah and I grabbed it for you before I picked you up.”
I stare at the coffee, suddenly emotional. “Your boyfriend is way too good. I don't deserve you.”
“No, you definitely don’t.”
We laugh, and for a moment, the ache in my chest eases. Then I glance down at my phone, seeing a text my mother sent me yesterday, still unread, reminding me she’s having a family dinner when I arrive.
I would fling my hands, but everything is still sore in the best ways, and those muscle aches only remind me of him.
Nathan wasn't supposed to matter. Last night was supposed to be uncomplicated. Which it is, I guess. I left because I needed to. We both got what we wanted out of the night. It should end there. So should my thoughts about him. We’ll never see each other again. Yet, there’s that intrigue he carried so well knocking somewhere in my chest, eager to learn more, and now I'm boarding a flight home feeling even more emotionally tangled than before.
“I messed up, didn't I?”
I mumble, mostly to myself.
Harper pats my arm. “It’s not that bad. So you had amazing sex with a gorgeous stranger. It could be worse.”
“Could it, though?”
I raise a skeptical brow.
“You could have ended up with the pet-lizard guy again.”
I laugh a little too loudly, drawing curious looks from nearby travelers. “Okay, fair point.”
She pulls me into one last tight hug. “Text me the second you survive your mother's interrogation.”
“Will do,”
I promise, reluctantly letting her go.
She steps back, giving me another teasing once-over. “And maybe freshen up before you face your family. You're still rocking that freshly railed look.”
I smack her arm. “I hate you.”
She waves as she climbs back into the car. “Love you too.”