Chapter 23 #2
Logan carries my bag to one of the upstairs bedrooms then leaves me to quickly change into my swimsuit. I’m eager to dip my toes in that pristine lake. When I return to the kitchen, Logan has already popped the cork on a bottle of champagne, the fizzy liquid dancing in two crystal flutes.
“To us,” he says, handing me a glass with a smile that reaches half-way to his eyes. “For making it this far.”
We raise our glasses, the delicate rims connecting with a musical clink. Maybe this trip was exactly what we needed—a chance to figure out what’s real and what’s pretend without the world watching our every move.
But before the champagne can touch my lips, a sharp knock shatters our bubble of tranquility.
I freeze mid-sip. Logan’s easy smile vanishes.
“Are you expecting someone?”
His head shakes once. “No one should know we’re here.”
Logan places his untouched champagne on the table before going for the door. When he swings it open, I catch a glimpse of blonde, glossy hair and perfect makeup
Victoria Delacroix.
The champagne turns sour in my mouth as every cell in my body goes cold.
What is she doing here?
“Victoria?” From the sound of Logan’s tone, he wasn’t expecting her, either.
Without waiting for an invitation, she brushes past him, rolling her sparkly suitcase behind her as her six-inch stilettos tap across the wooden floor. “It’s so good to be back here.”
Wait—back? Logan brought her here before and failed to mention that tiny detail.
She is his ex, or so he claims, but this place was supposed to be his sanctuary.
He should count his blessings that his eyes are fixed on her in surprise and not on me; otherwise, he’d get a hefty dose of my dagger-throwing glares.
“How did you know I was here?” Logan asks, shutting the door behind her.
“You used the company credit card again.” Victoria tosses her hair like she’s in a shampoo commercial, not even acknowledging my presence.
Has she developed selective blindness, or is ignoring small-town schoolteachers one of her superpowers?
“How do you think I found you in that obscure town you ran off to?“ Her voice drips with disdain, dragging out the word describing my precious hometown like it’s a piece of chewed up spinach stuck between her perfect teeth. “That’s why they let you off, you know. They always knew where you were.”
I can tolerate a lot. Her stuck-up attitude, the way she makes people feel like they’re ten fathoms beneath her, but I will not stand for insults against my place of birth.
She couldn’t possibly comprehend the charms our small little town offers, especially during the holidays.
I imagine her pea brain would short circuit at the attempt.
Her eyes finally sweep over me like a store security scanner, lingering long enough on my wavy floral dress for her immaculately sculpted eyebrows to fly up in a contemptuous arch. My chest tightens, anger sparking to life like a match struck against the friction strip.
The living room suddenly feels ten degrees hotter, and I swear the champagne bubbles in my abandoned glass are popping more aggressively.
Arms crossed over my torso, I return her gesture, my sneering gaze roaming over her from head to toe like she’s the one that belongs under the sole of my foot.
Victory is mine as her expression shifts, and she looks like Botox left her with a permanently stunned expression.
Logan glances at me with an apology swimming in his eyes, but I’m not ready to throw him a life preserver ring. Not when it’s obvious he’s still hiding things from me.
“Sounds like you have much to discuss,” I say flatly, then stride toward the front door, chin tilted upward in what I hope resembles dignity. “I’ll give you two some space.”
Logan begins to open his mouth as I pass by him, but I shoot him a look that would wither mom’s prized hydrangeas. He can save his explanations for Victoria.
Outside, I inhale deeply, letting the spring air cool the heat radiating beneath my skin. My feet carry me toward the dock almost automatically, seeking distance between me and the supermodel hurricane that just blew through our weekend plans.
The lake stretches before me like a sheet of blue glass, disturbed only by the gentle breeze that creates tiny rippling waves spreading out toward a sleek speedboat bobbing at the end of the dock.
Did Victoria arrive in that?
Logan said he and her were over, but this doesn’t look like over to me. It looks like a carefully choreographed surprise reunion, with me playing the clueless third wheel.
Would she have brought an overnight bag if she didn’t expect to stay?
“Sorry about this,” Logan’s voice reaches from behind me.
I turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why is she here?”—I point to the boat accusingly—“because it looks like you invited her.”
“I didn’t know she was coming,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with that boyish gesture, like he doesn’t want to deal with it. Right now, it just irritates me further. “Apparently the record label’s been tracking my purchases.”
“And so has she.” I hug myself tighter, as if physical tension might prevent me from losing my cool. “You need to tell her to leave.”
“She won’t listen to me.” His tone carries resignation. “Victoria does as she pleases.”
“Yeah. Her plan is pretty clear. Get rid of me.”
The realization is like ice in my veins. I’m not just the third wheel—I’m the obstacle.
Logan closes the distance between us and cups my face in both hands. His thumbs graze my cheeks with a tenderness that makes it hard to maintain my being mad at him. “Maisie, I brought you here. I want to be with you. Not her.”
I want to believe him. Lord knows I do. But something deep in my chest warns me there’s more to this story than what he’s letting slip. “So much for the whole ‘just us’ weekend, don’t you think?”
His hands fall from my cheeks, and he sighs in defeat. “You’re right. But since we’re already here, maybe we can still make the most of it.”
Doubt it.
“You see that shed?” He points to a weathered wooden structure to the right of the dock. “There’s a jet ski there. Wanna try it?”
Anything to escape the wench on a steady approach toward us.
I weave my arm though Logan’s, and we begin toward the shed. “I’ve never been on one.”
“Then this’ll be fun.” He smiles, and the dimple that appears in his left cheek threatens to dismantle all my defenses. I want to see more of that boyish, hopeful expression on his face.
Then the devil herself bursts between us, all bouncy blonde hair and coral-tinted lip gloss. “Come on,” Victoria says, flicking her straight hair over one shoulder, smacking me right in the face with it. “Let’s do something fun.”
Just a little push. Yes, that’s all it would take—a light shove to throw her off the dock and into the water. The vision is so vivid I can calculate the trajectory angles. But what if she can’t swim? Better not risk an attempted murder charge—my mugshot would be terrible.
Logan moves ahead and starts prepping the jet ski, while I slip off my sandals and place them carefully on the dock.
“I’d put on a bathing suit if I were you,” I say to Victoria, eyeing her from head to toe. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that expensive dress.”
Her expression sours like milk left in summer heat as she shuffles back to the house. Good riddance, if only temporary.
Logan fires up the jet ski and gestures for me to sit in front, but the second I settle in, my nerves take over, buzzing like angry hornets under my skin.
“I’m gonna fall off this thing,” I say, suddenly afraid of the churning water beneath us.
“I’ve got you.” Logan slides in behind me and puts his hand on the handlebar.
My heart stutters like a faulty engine. Not because of the impending ride, but because of the way his body cocoons me in. I can feel his chest warming my back as we speed off, water spraying in diamond arcs to either side.
“Here, take over,” he says.
Wind tears through my hair as I scream, half exhilaration, half terror, and Logan laughs, his mouth close to my ear in a way that makes my insides bubble with joy.
With each turn we disturb the calm surface of the water, and it feels like the jet-ski is a paint brush and the lake a canvas for me to smear number eights along its length.
Out of nowhere, Victoria flies past us in her speed boat, creating waves so violent they crash against our jet ski like a battering ram.
I lose balance, my body lurching sideways. The next thing I know, I’m airborne for one suspended, horrifying moment before plunging into the water.
I resurface coughing, hair clinging to my face like seaweed.
Logan reaches for me from the jet ski, panic written across his features. “Maisie, grab my hand!”
He hoists me up with an ease that would be impressive if I wasn’t busy shivering so much.
“That was not an accident,“ I say, wringing out my dripping hair.
He looks toward the boat disappearing in the distance, his jaw clenching. “No, it wasn’t.”
“I want to go back.” Our fun is spoiled, much like this entire weekend.
In the evening, Logan fires up the grill outside while I’m in the kitchen grabbing plates, trying to ignore the fact that Victoria has claimed the master bedroom—my bedroom—citing allergies to the guest room’s musty decor.
Speaking of the devil, Victoria struts downstairs in an expensive outfit, like she’s trying to show it off on purpose, and corners me near the fridge like a predator who’s spotted easy prey. “Finally, we get a chance to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you.” I start walking toward the door, plates clutched to my chest like a shield.
“But I do,” she says, stepping in front of me, blocking my escape. “The label wants Logan focused. You being here—it’s not good for business.”
I step up and lift my chin, meeting those cold, calculating eyes. “The way I see it, I’m not the one in the way.”
“You really think this will end with some fairytale romance?” She sneers. “Newsflash. You’re just a chapter. I’m the story.”
She’s so full of herself she could float away if she wasn’t weighed down by that awful personality.
“All stories come to an end and new ones begin.” I deliver the line with more confidence than I feel, leaving her momentarily astounded as I head straight out the door before she can gather herself again.
Dinner is a disaster. The food’s great—Logan sure knows his way around a grill—but the company is more unbearable than a dinner alone with the creepy Mr. Collins would be.
I consume my grilled chicken at the speed of a competitive eater, desperate to flee the awkward silence stretching between the three of us.
Logan’s body language suggests he wants nothing to do with Victoria while her glares make it clear I should scram.
Logan brings up the jet-ski incident and he’s not holding back at all.
The accusatory tone doesn’t seem to bother her as she tells him he’s imagining things.
I’d bet money that they’ve fought like this before.
I’d even drop my two cents if it weren’t for my sensing their argument, which leaves me segueing from feeling awkward to uncomfortable faster than a wood packer hammers on a tree, is more than just about the jet-ski.
There’s something deeper, unresolved between them.
I wolf down the rest of my meal and leave them at each other’s throats before the hostility turns on me for whatever reason.
Later that night, tucked into the guest room bed, I hear voices outside. The digital clock on the nightstand blinks 11:42 p.m. I rise quietly to peek out the window.
Logan and Victoria walk into the woods together, her hand on his arm, and I gasp. Not a casual midnight stroll—this looks secretive, intentional.
It’s like I’m living my worst nightmare. What are they up to? I must know.
I slip on shoes and go out the back door, careful not to step on any tree branches as I tiptoe after them.
Each breath comes shallow, my chest tight with anticipation and dread.
I trail the sound of voices deeper into the woods, until I see them facing each other in the wash of moonlight in a small clearing beyond the trees.