Chapter 21 Rose
“Hey,” Logan calls from behind me.
I stop walking.
“Hey,” I say, and turn around. I aim for casual, shoring up my walls before I look up to face him. He wears an expression I haven’t seen before—not quite guilt, but there’s something hesitant there, like something dark is weighing on him.
I should have known this was coming. The second she pulled him aside. Since the picture. Since she told him she had something important to say. Their history is too deep, and he and I are too new. Too contentious. Volatile, even. So that was it, then.
She told him she loves him. I watched her rise up to kiss him, her hand on his chest… Did he kiss her back? Did he like it? Is he coming to tell me it’s been fun, but I’m not her?
After everything, Logan is going to pick Pearl, and somehow I’m not even—
His arms wrap tight around me. I let out a long, shuddering exhale I didn’t know I was holding.
“Tell me anything. Ask me anything, okay? I won’t lie to you.” His lips are pressed against the side of my head.
“Did you kiss her?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“She tried to kiss me. I stepped back.” He says it quick, unaffected.
“She told me at breakfast that you two were alone in your room yesterday, that you were—”
“She was exaggerating. She stopped by, and I didn’t throw her out on her ass like I wanted to because I had questions for her, but then the rest of our friends showed up. We weren’t hanging out.”
“Well, you guys are friends, it’s not like you can’t hang out with her just because we’re—“
“She’s not my friend. Do you really think I’d stand by her after everything I’ve learned, the way she treats you? Even if I wasn’t halfway in love with you, I couldn’t be around someone like that. I’m still trying to figure out how I didn’t see it sooner.”
He said he’s halfway in love with me, and I'm not sure he even noticed, like it just slipped out. I fight back a smile and say, “She’s good at it. Making people not see it. Nobody ever did, except Easton, and that’s only because she showed him early on.”
I don’t elaborate. Easton and I have spent hours discussing it, deciding together she either has an antisocial or narcissistic personality disorder.
Her attachment to certain outcomes, lack of empathy, grandiosity.
Two days ago, if I’d tried to say any of that to Logan, he would have shut me down.
That’s the thing about people like her, though.
They’re charming. They’re very, very good at getting what they want.
“I’m sorry. I really am,” he says. And he means it.
I don’t know what to do with that. “What did she want to talk to you about?” I ask, glancing toward the hallway.
That dark, hesitant expression washes over his face again. There’s something haunting in his eyes. I almost ask if everything is okay, but then they grow soft and worried. He shakes his head, and the look is gone. He says in an annoyed tone, “She told me she loves me.”
“Ah.”
“You knew?”
“I tried to tell you. You wouldn’t listen.” I look up at him.
He groans, then takes my hand and leads me toward the dance floor. “Is this going to be a recycled conversation I have to look forward to?”
“Maybe you should just start listening to me,” I tease, feeling the anxiety pendulum swing hard back the other way, embracing the high of just being held by him.
He didn’t choose her. He’s still here with me. And he told me the truth. That’s not nothing. That’s everything.
Right here, right now, for the first time since he asked, I think I can actually see it—our future, how we might fit. How we can make this work. I love that he promised honesty, knowing I can give the same. No secrets, no lies. Just a solid foundation.
“I promise, I will.” He leans down and kisses me, then pulls me onto the dance floor. “Right now I need my hands on these fucking hips. This dress is going to make me come in my pants, I swear to fucking God.”
I laugh as he spins me. “This is the second time I’ve danced in years. The first was two days ago. With you.”
“Let’s hope tonight ends a little differently this time.”
“I don’t know, I liked how it ended last time.”
“That was past midnight. Technically, the morning after.”
“Morning afters with you sound pretty good, too.”
We dance through three more songs before Dash and Sunshine find us on the floor, then Griffin pulls Harlow in.
She seems to tolerate him, while Griffin forces her to loosen up.
I catch him glancing toward Pearl a few times, but Pearl keeps her distance from Logan for the rest of the night.
At some point, Dad and Jo join us, and to Jo’s delight, Logan asks if there are any traditional Portuguese dances I can teach them.
The only thing my mother taught me was this slow spin you did with your partner while clapping your fingers in the air, as if holding tiny shell castanets in each hand.
Dad remembers it, so he and Jo give it a try, and Sunshine, up for anything, ropes Dash in.
Soon we were all doing some poor, bastardized version of the dance.
I feel silly, but the more alcohol I drink, the more fun we have.
The weight Logan seemed to carry earlier on seems to lift, and it turns into an incredible night.
By the time we make it back to my room, as promised, Logan peels the red dress off me, whispering soft prayers against my skin.
We fuck, and it’s tipsy, playful and endless.
Later, he admits what I suspected—his room was far nicer than mine, and we’d have much more room in there and many more surfaces to cover, but I’ve grown attached to the cozy confinement of this room.
It feels like our thing. When he complains we can’t have shower sex here, I promise plenty when we get home.
The following morning, I’m a little hungover, and as nice as last night was, and as much as I’ll miss this little bubble Logan and I have been in, facing Pearl after the dress fiasco yesterday, recalling my father’s total oblivious ignorance of everything, I’m feeling ready to go home. This week has been… a lot.
It’s not like anyone else will care if I leave tomorrow, and I’m sure Logan will come with me. I’m nervous but excited—once we leave, we can really start this thing between us—making plans and fitting each other into our lives.
Logan keeps his arm around me as we leave the room, and I lean into him.
He kisses my temple—my new favorite thing—as we make our way tiredly through the hotel.
We enter the restaurant, and I’m struck again by how completely they’ve turned the place over.
Sunshine mentioned they have a crew that works through the night hours, setting up, breaking down.
I hate to think what they did with all those gorgeous flowers.
We weave past other slow-moving, hungover guests toward the main table. My dad’s seat is empty beside him, which surprises me. He spots us and waves us over.
“Sweetheart!”
“Uh, hey Dad.”
He points to the empty chairs. “I’ve barely seen you. Now get your butt over here and spend some time with your old man.”
My heart warms as we make our way around the table. I settle in beside my dad, Jo opposite him, Logan next to me. Across from us, Pearl butters a scone without looking up.
I watch her for a moment, concern curling into me.
Pearl always has this perfect mask she wears in front of people.
Polite, sweet, accommodating. Three things she isn’t, but like hell she’d let anyone but me think otherwise.
Right now, she can’t be bothered. She’s not even trying.
Her eyes stay fixed on the scone, jaw ticking, and it’s chilling.
Aside from Pearl’s strange behavior, breakfast is simple.
Easier than anything has been since we got here.
The wind has died down, and as Sunshine predicted, the storm broke overnight.
Across the restaurant, she sits with the rest of their friends, Dash’s arm settled protectively at her back.
She catches my eye and waves. I wave back.
I pick at some fruit, turning over how to bring up leaving, when Jo beats me to it.
“Rose, honey, how’s the job search going? We weren’t sure how long you were planning to stay—I was hoping through the end, but I know you mentioned needing to get back to the city.”
“Uh, yeah, I should probably head back soon. Plus, the train is like, twenty hours, so it’ll take a while to get home, and I know Logan needs to get back to work.”
His hand finds the small of my back. Across the table, Pearl’s eyes drop to the gesture.
“He could just fly like a normal person,” Pearl says, dragging her butter knife through a piece of fruit.
“Well, trains are significantly better for the environment than planes, so maybe we should normalize that.” And, because I can’t help myself, I mutter under my breath to Logan, “Private jets are a blight on the earth, anyway.”
Logan laughs low. “You can’t help yourself.”
“You know it’s true.”
He tips his head, then concedes with a reluctant nod.
Am I really convincing my billionaire boyfriend to take a train over flying private?
I try and fail to hide my smile. He glances at Pearl.
“The train works fine. I just need to plan accordingly. If it’s twenty hours—which is insane, but the way,” he says to me, “then we should leave today.”
I nod, relieved it came from him and not me, especially with my dad sitting right there.
Logan and Pearl’s friends drift over then, fresh and ready to leave the island and explore the mainland, now that the storm has passed.
Sunshine is their appointed guide for the day.
They cluster around Logan, making their rounds—thanking my dad and Jo, asking Pearl if she’s sure she doesn’t want to join.
Dash hovers behind Sunshine, while Harlow speaks for the group. Reign stares at his phone while Griffin punches his shoulder, trying to get his attention, goofing off.
I’m smiling up at the group when I notice Pearl has gone quiet on the other side of the table. Sitting alone. Glaring at me. The butter knife is still in her hand.