63. Vivienne
Vivienne
Our fingers twined together, Cass leads me through the crowd at The Hendrix to our table at the back. Sometimes I still can’t believe that this is real, that Cass and I are actually together. It’s only been a few weeks, but I’ve dreamed of it for so long that sometimes I keep waiting to wake up.
Shep is already seated, dressed in a pale-green-striped button-down, a glass of dark amber liquid in his hand. Beside him is someone I haven’t seen in three years. Cass and I stop at the same time, his hand tightening around mine.
“Finn?” I say, staring at him.
He’s wearing a baby-blue polo that brings out the color of his eyes. His light brown hair is styled differently now—less 1997 Leonardo DiCaprio and more Jacob Elordi. He still has the same charming smile and those familiar dimples, both of which he flashes at Cassian and me.
“Hey, guys.” He stands and circles the table to give us both a hug. As he tugs me against his chest, the memories threaten to suck me down and snuff out the happiness I was feeling when we walked in.
Cass’s embrace of Finn is less warm, more like Finn is hugging an iceberg than an old friend. After they move apart and Cass scoots out my chair, I shoot him a look.
“Be nice,” I whisper.
“I’m always nice,” he says, taking the seat next to me and draping his arm over the back.
“As nice as a Rottweiler,” I mutter.
He reaches over and squeezes my thigh in warning. The side of my mouth hitches upward as I squirm under his grip.
“You guys are together?” Finn asks with amusement, waving a finger at us.
I gaze at my boyfriend. The look in his eyes makes me want to leave immediately so he can do to me everything he’s threatening to do if I don’t behave.
“They are,” Sutton says, plopping her bag down in the chair next to mine. “And it’s sickeningly repulsive.”
“Jealous?” Cass asks without taking his eyes off me.
“Absolutely not.” She rests her palms on the table and stares at Finn. “Finnegan Sinclair. I don’t know if I want to kiss you or gouge your eyes out.”
Grinning, Finn shifts in his chair. “How about we settle for a hug.”
Sutton sighs dramatically but rounds the table. The two of them embrace, then she sits next to me. “So, what are you doing here?” she asks him. “And more importantly, does she know?”
Finn clears his throat and catches a bead of condensation running down the side of his tumbler. “Shep invited me. And I haven’t talked to Marlowe.” He focuses on his drink, probably a Negroni, unless that’s changed as well.
Shep shrugs and leans his arms on the table. “I didn’t tell her.”
“Yikes,” Sutton says under her breath. “Someone’s going to die tonight.”
“She knows he’s back in town,” I tell her. “Maybe things will be chill.”
Cass snorts. “It’s Marlowe. When are things ever chill?”
The first time I met Finn, he was in Marlowe’s bed. I’d gone into her room to grab the psychology textbook she’d borrowed from me, and I nearly dropped it again when the tangle of blankets moved and a head of tousled brown waves emerged.
“Hey, I’m Finn,” it said, and I clutched the book closer to my chest. “Marlowe ran out for a nail appointment, but she said I could crash here.”
I found out later that they’d been on one of their many breaks the first day of uni, which was why I hadn’t even known she had a boyfriend, but Finn Sinclair soon became as much of a regular at our flat as the sushi we ordered every other night.
He was a staple in our friend group . . . until he wasn’t.
Our server comes by, and we place our drink orders. We’ve just requested a plate of oysters for the table when Briar joins us.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, taking the seat next to Shep. Her gaze lands on Finn, and she reaches around to extend her hand. “Hi, I’m Briar.”
“Finn Sinclair,” he says, shaking it.
“The infamous Finn.” She grins at him. “I’ve heard things.”
He groans but returns her smile. “Half of them probably weren’t true.”
“That you’re a famous photographer?”
He coughs out a laugh. “Not the famous bit.”
“Actually, I got that part from the internet,” Briar says, waving her finger at the rest of us, “after these guys wouldn’t tell me anything.”
The air grows thick. Cassian shifts and rubs his hand up and down his thigh. Shep spins his glass around on the table, and Sutton taps away on her phone.
“Yeah, it’s a long story,” Finn says, reclining in his seat.
“Not that long,” Sutton mutters, eyes still on her screen.
The tension is momentarily broken by our server appearing with a tray of drinks. He sets a pink cocktail in front of Briar, who looks at it in confusion.
“I didn’t order this,” she says.
“I did.” Shep gives her a look I can’t read. “Strawberry, right?”
A faint blush colors her cheeks. “Yes, thank you.”
“Where are the others?” Cass asks, glancing over his shoulder.
Shep scans the room. “There’s no food yet, so it’s too early for Bash, but Marlowe should be here by now.”
“You don’t think she found out I was here and decided not to come, do you?” Finn asks.
Sutton sets down her phone. “I know you think you’re hot shit, Finnegan, but even you can’t keep Marlowe from her friends.”
He raises his glass to her and takes a sip.
Briar looks uneasily around the table. “I feel like I walked in on something I shouldn’t have.”
I shoot her an apologetic look. “It’s just been a rough couple of days,” I lie. The truth is, seeing Finn has dredged up memories better left buried, and if everyone else’s silence is anything to go by, I’d say they feel the same way.
“It’s my fault,” Finn tells her. “I showed up unexpectedly. In fact”—he glances at the rest of us—“maybe it’d be better if I just left. I don’t want to make things awkward for anyone.”
Shep places a hand on his arm. “It’s all good, mate.” When Finn doesn’t relax immediately, he adds, “Seriously.”
Finn stays seated, but his eyes are fixed on his drink.
As awkward as I feel, I can’t imagine what he must be going through.
We’ve all had demons chasing us since that night, but he’s managed to stay away from his for the past three years.
Now that he’s back, they’re probably tormenting him to no end.
“What brings you back to town?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine. “Marlowe said you did a shoot for Valmont?”
He nods. “I’m their new head photographer.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.” I set down my glass. “Was it hard leaving the US behind?”
He sniffs a laugh. “Not really. It’s so loud there.”
Shep and I both chuckle. Americans are very . . . intense. I can’t imagine living there for three years, but I guess if the monsters chasing you are scary enough, you can do just about anything.
Behind me, the sound of heels on hardwood comes to an abrupt halt.
Finn looks up, his gaze softening like butter in the sun.
“Who the fuck invited him?” the newcomer says.
Marlowe has finally arrived.
Thank you so much for reading!