Chapter 19
nineteen
VANESSA
He was perfect.
Julián was absolutely perfect. He had texted me, asking for a date and a tour of Los Angeles, and because my mom had beaten manners into me, I’d said yes.
He had been saying all the right things and doing all the right things, but still, I wasn't interested.
Sure, he was kind, smart, and handsome, and he could actually hold a conversation.
He checked every box, yet I didn't feel an inkling of attraction. Nothing.
If anything, I was hoping he’d settle for friendship. He was incredibly interesting—an artist, born and raised in Mexico, who had moved here for art school. If there were ever a man tailor-made for me, it was him. Pun fully intended.
So why wasn't it enough? What was wrong with me?
He’d even asked my tía to ask my mom about my favorite places to eat so he could take me to one. Which was how we ended up at my favorite taquería, a little hole-in-the-wall in downtown L.A.
“So … you and Elliott, are you guys …” He left the question dangling, polluting what had been a perfectly peaceful afternoon.
“God, no. No.” I waved my hands in a frantic X in front of my chest. “Absolutely not.” I stopped when I realized I probably looked like a madwoman.
Sure, we hadn't talked about the ice tub slash boner incident yet, but it was fine. Everything was fine. I’d been avoiding him more than usual, and every time he caught me ducking into an empty room, I heard his chuckle echoing down the hall.
Had I mentioned he was the biggest asshole I’d ever met?
If anyone should have been embarrassed, it was him, but somehow I was the one dodging every encounter.
Julián’s blue eyes twinkled. Actually twinkled. “It’s just that I picked you up from his house, and you literally snuck out.”
It was the closest I would ever get to Mission: Impossible.
I had to escape without Elliott seeing me and, more importantly, without Steve noticing.
Even thinking about it made a thin film of guilt crawl over my skin.
My lips were suddenly dry, and I licked them too many times in a row. Perfect. Now I look even crazier.
“I’m working on a new bridal line, and I’m staying at Elliott’s so I can dedicate all my time and really focus.”
“And the sneaking out?”
“I’d rather die than answer questions about my dating life—especially from him.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, my heart doing a strange little kick.
Satan: Where are you?
My chest felt like it was caught in a vise. Why did I feel bad? He wasn't even Satan right now; he was more like Satan’s second-in-command. Still, there was no reason for guilt. None. I had two options: evade or confess. Either way, he would find out. He always found out.
I typed and hit send before I could stop myself.
Me: On a date.
Immediate regret. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had I said that? Truthfully, it was none of his business. Why had I typed so fast? Why had I hit send before thinking it through?
Bubbles appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Then nothing. I put my phone down, my appetite suddenly gone.
Julián raised an eyebrow, looking like he knew exactly who had messaged me. “It’s Elliott.” Not a question.
“Yeah. He’s just asking where I went—in case my mom calls the house. She worries.”
“Yeah, your mom worries,” he repeated, but his tone was pure sarcasm.
I rolled my eyes, and he smiled.
“So, is it true then? You guys really hate each other?” He leaned in like it was the most intriguing story he’d ever heard.
“It’s a long story, but yeah, we have history.” Sordid. Ugly. Mostly unnecessary. “We don’t really get along,” I said. It tasted like a lie, and guilt prickled at me just for talking about him. Why did I feel any loyalty at all to a man I supposedly couldn't stand?
Julián cleared his throat. “So, you both hate each other, yet you’re staying with him. You snuck out today. And he’s texting to check in? Do I have that right?” His accent was thick, but the accusation landed sharp.
“I know what it sounds like, Julián. A lot of things about us don’t make sense. It’s just the way it’s always been.”
“You’re not ready for something new.” He said it plainly, but with the warmest smile, like he’d been let in on a secret I wasn't even telling myself yet.
“I’m a mess.”
He reached across the table, took my hand, and rubbed it softly with his thumb. “If you ever feel like you are ready, let me know..”
“I have a feeling you’ll be long gone by then but it’s nice of you to say” I said, because it was only a matter of time before someone else snatched him up.
It was only a week before Cabo. When Julián dropped me off, Elliott wasn’t home. Steve was curled up in a ball inside his little teepee, giving me the cold shoulder—either because he knew exactly where I’d been or because he smelled the tacos on my breath. Either way, I was a traitor.
My sketching had stalled, a sure sign of burnout, so I took a break. I paced the house. Wandered idly around the house, made an attempt to try and clean but the place was spotless. I thought about packing for Cabo, but it felt so far away and I didn’t feel like doing laundry.
Instead, I flipped through TV channels. Nothing stuck. I scrolled social media, remembered how much I loathed it, and tossed my phone across the bed. I turned out the lights, but sleep wouldn't come. Tossing, turning, checking the clock. Rinse and repeat.
Am I really this restless because of a date?
By two a.m., I gave up and headed for the freezer. The house was silent—just me and my footsteps. For a second, I considered texting Elliott just to make sure he wasn't in somebody’s trunk, but I stopped myself. He hadn't texted since earlier, so why bother?
I dug through the freezer until I found a pint of rocky road. Spoon in hand, I sat on the counter in an oversized, threadbare T-shirt and boy shorts. If he wasn't home by now, he wasn't coming home. He was out with someone. Probably in someone’s bed. A shudder racked through me.
I was only a few spoonfuls in when I heard muffled voices and a giggle at the front door. My brain screamed Run. Hide. But I was frozen on the counter.
The door opened. Everything slowed. Elliott walked in with the woman from the fundraiser.
They were laughing, leaning in close, her hand on his arm.
Tipsy. Happy. He shut the door, guiding her farther inside with his hand on the small of her back.
She kept giggling, even though nothing was funny anymore—at least not to me.
Her eyes landed on mine. Record scratch. Busted.
Elliott followed her gaze and froze, too. I jumped off the counter, pint and spoon in hand, making a beeline for the bedroom. That was when his eyes swept over me, and I remembered what I was wearing. His date probably thought the worst.
“I was just grabbing a late-night snack,” I muttered.
They both stood there, silent. I took in the woman—she was still gorgeous, maybe even more than before. A rival to Elliott’s beauty. They were perfectly matched.
“You guys have a good night,” I said, because they still weren't moving.
She looked away, covering her mouth awkwardly. He just looked … smug. Smug, like this was exactly what he’d wanted. Like he’d orchestrated the whole damn thing.
And the worst part? I was angry about it. Isn't this what we always did? Played until one of us tapped out? I had made my move earlier by going on the date. This was his.
The feeling unsettled me so much I decided to think about anything else. I dug in my bag for sleep aids, planning to drown myself in loud TV. Because if I heard that woman moaning through the walls, I was going to lose my damn mind.
For one second—one millisecond—I thought …
Never mind what I thought.