Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Chic mannequins stand at attention throughout Posh Boutique, clad in high-end outfits and accessories. The walls are lined with shelves displaying handbags and expertly folded clothing, and a crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a glittering display of light over the room. I’ve worked here since high school and was recently promoted to the role of assistant manager.
“The beach house is available for Labor Day weekend if you still want it for your girls’ trip,” Ian informs me over the phone as I put the finishing touches on our shop window before we open in an hour.
“Really?” I’m so happy I could scream. I can’t wait to tell the girls. When Liv got accepted into USC, we decided to plan one last girls’ getaway before she leaves for California, and I suggested Cape Cod. They could both use some good news right about now. Esme’s been moping around for the past two and a half weeks, ever since Victor took off for Rhode Island, and Liv’s housing in California fell through at the last minute.
“Everything I have will be yours one day, including the Cape Cod beach house. But if you’re going to stay at our beach house without me, I have one condition.”
My face stretches into a wide smile, excited to find out what his condition is. “Anything.”
“Cancel your plans this weekend. I’ve booked us a luxury suite at the Brathwaite.”
“This weekend, as in my graduation weekend?” My hands pause over the buttons of one of the mannequin’s shirts.
“I believe I was clear.”
“But what about the party? I can’t just not be there.” Missing out on my own graduation party seems like a betrayal to myself and everyone who wants to celebrate with me. Is this really a decision I have to make?
“Why can’t you?”
“The girls and I have been planning this party for weeks?” I say carefully, accentuating it as a question to which he already knows the answer. “Can’t we reschedule the Brathwaite suite for a different weekend?”
“No, we can’t,” he grits through his teeth. “It’s a miracle I found a last-minute reservation.”
I take a deep breath, trying to find a solution. “Can we check into the hotel late? Like, after the party?”
Frustrated, he sighs, the sound audible through the phone. “No, Skylar. We need this. I do this for you—for us—and you don’t even appreciate it. Instead, you shit on our plans.”
My heart aches like it’s been punched. “I’m not trying to shit on your plans. But you knew about the party.”
“You always put them before me.”
His words sting like hot coals, and my hands start to shake as anger bubbles up inside me. What is he even talking about? I always put Ian first. Sometimes even before myself. I dismiss the tiny voice inside my head by shaking it away, but memories of all the times I’ve sacrificed my own wants and needs for him come flooding back regardless. “Who have I ever put before you?”
“Everyone! Graham, for one. Even though he’s been a shitty father to you most of your life.”
“So now you have something against my dad?” My fingers grip the mannequin with a force that turns my knuckles white as I wrestle it into its garments. “What did he ever do to you?”
Graham Wyatt has made a ton of mistakes, many of which he hasn’t forgiven himself for. But he’s my dad. The only parent I have left. And I’ll be damned if Ian talks trash about him.
“This is what I’m talking about. Keep that same energy for your man.”
“Let’s not pretend like I haven’t made you a priority in my life. My family knows what you mean to me, and no one has a problem with that, including my dad.”
Ian did the gentlemanly thing by asking my dad for my hand in marriage. Having charmed my entire family, Ian securing my father’s blessing seemed like a given. But unexpectedly, he withheld his blessing. I’m too young to get married to anyone—according to my dad. He wants me to finish grad school, travel, and see the world before settling down as someone’s wife. The fact that I’ve decided on a long engagement gives him some relief.
“Prove it. Give me this. Give us this. It feels like you’re not reciprocating the effort I put into our relationship. You don’t appreciate me. It’s like I don’t fucking matter to you.”
My stomach drops. “You really feel that way?”
“I’ve felt that way for a while now—ever since I proposed.” He’s not yelling anymore, which hits even harder. “You’re taking me for granted.”
I have to consider the possibility that what he’s saying is true. Affection and vulnerability don’t come easy to me. My mom and dad loved each other but in a toxic, codependent way. They were drug addicts first, lovers second, and parents third. I’ve never experienced what a healthy long-term relationship looks like.
Ian has always been better at the relationship stuff than me. His parents have been married for thirty years, and he and his siblings grew up in a sort of Huxtables universe.
I still have time to change my plans for this upcoming weekend. And I can still go out to dinner with my family immediately after the graduation ceremony. Most of our party guests are friends of Liv and Esme due to my introverted personality, anyway.
Ian wants this bad for us. And aren’t relationships about compromise? But is it really a compromise ? All my man wants to do is take me away for the weekend. What kind of fiancée would I be if I faulted him for that? I can give him this.
“Okay. We’ll skip the party.”
After my shift ends, I detour across town to a new bakery, not wanting to show up at my sister’s house empty-handed. I turn off the off-ramp to access the city streets, driving past a cluster of small businesses. I’m held up by a red light, and when I glance around, I spot Victor’s customized 1969 Charger parked near a tattoo parlor called The Ink Spot. This must be where he works. Esme says he wants to open his own parlor in about a year following his current apprenticeship, as he should. I’ve seen his realism work on IG. It’s top-tier.
As soon as the light turns green, I scan the area for an available parking place, finally spotting one across the street from The Ink Spot. Before leaving the car, I text my sister, letting her know I’m on my way.
Me
On my way. Grabbing a dessert first. Any preference?
Yasmine
Something citrusy, if that’s good with you. Surf and turf okay?
Me
Yes, please!??
Yasmine
Cool! I’ll let Hunter know.
Me
Is my baby awake?
Her next text is an image of Liam looking adorable yet pitiful, with big fat tears in his eyes.
Me
My poor baby! Tell him Auntie is on her way! ?????♀????
Yasmine
Two words. Colic sucks.
Yasmine and our older brother, Niko, went to live with their fathers when I was six years old. Since our mom and my dad were still together, I stayed behind.
Niko’s father lived in Houston, while Yasmine lived in New York with her dad and stepmom. Years passed with Niko and I having minimal contact with Yasmine because of her dad. We were her old family. Her old life.
Last July, when Yasmine came down for a visit, I took her to a nightclub. It was the night I met Ian, and she met Hunter Demalio—a fine-as-hell acclaimed chef. Yasmine and Hunter hooked up, resulting in an unexpected pregnancy from what was supposed to be a one-night stand. But now they’re not only amazing co-parents but best friends, which gives me hope and a new example of a healthy relationship. If only they’d get out of their own way and date already.
Exiting my car, I’m greeted by the scorching Texas heat and startle when someone unexpectedly shouts my name. It takes a second to locate the girl across the street waving in my direction, and it takes me even longer to realize it’s Isabella. I almost didn’t recognize her with her new hairdo. Her once natural-blond hair is now a shiny chocolate brown. The new look suits her perfectly.
As I’m making my way to the crosswalk, my phone rings. “Hello?”
“Skylar? No freaking way. What are you doing over here?” Isabella says on the other end.
“Picking something up from Magnolia Bakery.” The pedestrian signals light up, giving the go-ahead to cross. “I’m coming over there.”
We end our call just as the door to The Ink Spot opens, and Victor emerges. After a brief conversation with her brother, Isabella walks in my direction, while he falls back into the shaded area of the storefront’s awning. As two friends who haven’t seen each other in person in a long time typically do, Isabella and I crash into a hug right there on the sidewalk. We spend the first few minutes complimenting each other’s glow-ups since high school, then make plans for a sleepover like in the old days. I’m checking out her freshly inked tattoo, a small butterfly on her wrist—compliments of Victor—when she notices my engagement ring.
“Holy shit. Would you look at that rock?” She lifts my hand for a closer look. “It’s huge! Ian has good taste.”
“Thanks.” I’m a grinning fool. “Your brother’s girlfriend helped him pick it out.”
Confusion flickers across her features. “I’m assuming you mean Victor since Quentin is married to Fatima—love her, by the way—but Victor doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
“Uh, yeah he does. He’s with Esme.”
Clearly taken aback, she furrows her brow. She’s never met Esme, but she has heard me mention her. “Your best friend, Esme?”
“You didn’t know?” I ask, surprised.
“No.” She shakes her head, still processing this new information. “Victor,” she hollers, waving him over.
He saunters over with his usual nonchalant attitude. “What?”
“First off, don’t be rude. Say hi to Skylar.”
“Hi,” he says, unenthused. I’m so confused by him sometimes. Half the time, he acts like I annoy him as much as he annoys me, and other times, he does things like offer to fix me a cup of coffee and even knows how I take it.
“Hello,” I say, keeping my tone formal as if I don’t see this man almost daily.
“Ummm…” Isabella’s lips press together in what looks like a confused duck face. “Skylar tells me you have a girlfriend. Does she not know you’re a manwhore?”
I cough into my hand, and the corner of Victor’s mouth twitches before he states, “Former manwhore.”
Isabella rolls her hazel eyes. Does she not believe him?
“I told her that Esme, your girlfriend, helped Ian pick out my ring.” I don’t want him to think I volunteered that information without a reason. He’ll think I’m trying to be all up in his business, which is not the case.
Victor runs a hand through his hair, further messing up the longer strands on top. “Yeah, well, it’s new with me and Esme. We haven’t been exclusive for that long.”
“That makes sense. I guess.” Hurt reaches Isabella’s eyes. She and Victor have always been close, often mistaken as fraternal twins, and never kept secrets between them.
“You were going to meet her soon since you’re staying with me.”
She is ? “You are?” My wide eyes are a dead giveaway of my surprise.
“Only until she finds a place of her own,” Victor clarifies.
“Wouldn’t want to get in the way of your sexy time with Skylar’s best friend .” Isabella purses her lips, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly at her seemingly oblivious brother.
Why the emphasis on best friend ? Why not refer to her as Esme? Does she know? Has she always known?
Oh, God, does he know?
Esme was the only person who knew about my feelings for Victor. Back in high school, I thought I was in love. But now I know better. It wasn’t love. It was pure infatuation with a guy I knew I would never have.
Needing a distraction, I pretend to check my watch but don’t register the time. “I should probably get going.”
Isabella’s face lights up as if an idea sparks to mind. “Hey, you wanna go grab something to eat with us?”
I can read a room, and judging by the look Victor gives Isabella, he prefers I don’t tag along, which is fine. It was the same back in high school, for the most part. We stayed out of each other’s way as I watched him from the sidelines, wondering what it would be like to kiss him, to have him touch me in a way that would set my skin on fire.
“I can’t tonight,” I say apologetically. “I have plans with my sister. But I’ll see you in a few weeks for our sleepover.”
She nudges Victor. “That’s at your place, by the way. Make yourself scarce that night.”
Victor’s blue eyes snap to mine before returning to his sister. “Yeah. All right.”
“Or we can just stay at my place,” I offer. I’ve never been to Victor’s, but it’s all Esme talks about. He lives in a warehouse-converted loft that most twenty-two-year-olds can’t afford.
“It’s fine,” he says. The lies.
“See.” Isabella grins. “He can stay with Esme. Correct me if I’m wrong. You and Esme are roommates, right?” Her words are directed toward me, but her eyes are focused on her brother, who meets her stare head-on. Are they having a nonverbal conversation ? Geez. They really are like twins.
“Right,” I finally say.
She nods slowly. “That is…interesting.” She knows. She has to. Which means Victor knows too. Esme must’ve told him. But why would she do that? The entire interaction is strange, and I’m tempted to ask Esme about it later and find out if she told Victor that I used to have a thing for him. If Victor weren’t here, I’d ask Isabella straight out, essentially outing myself anyway. However, something tells me to let this go.