24. MonacoBust （Mostly Bust）
24
MONACO OR BUST (MOSTLY BUST)
ARIANA
The thing about telling a hard truth is that it’s even harder when the weather is so freaking nice.
I think I made that up. But it feels true.
Especially now.
Monaco in spring is that it’s almost too beautiful—like the kind of beauty you can’t quite believe is real.
The early May air is warmer than usual and infused with the salty sweetness of the Mediterranean breeze—the kind that carries the scent of fresh jasmine and sea salt right under your nose. The sun sinks into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of violet and orange.
Which makes it really hard to convince yourself to tell your not-exactly-ex-husband that you’ve been lying to his face since the day you met him—literally.
In the heated pool of Callum Abernathy’s villa, Connor’s even strokes only emphasize how frayed my nerves really are.
He slices through the cool blue water with effortless power, every stroke precise, every movement damn near perfect.
The water clings to his skin, droplets catching the last of the sun’s light. His dark blond hair is streaked with silver at the temples, slicked back from his sharp, chiseled features as he penetrates each gentle, calming wave.
By the time he emerges, I can barely breathe. His gray-blue eyes flick up, catching mine…before they veer off into the distance.
It’s been this way since our plane landed on this side of the Atlantic.
And hell, I know I should look away. But I don’t.
Instead, my gaze trails the path of a single droplet as it slides down his sculpted chest, over the ridges of his abdomen, disappearing beneath the waistband of his swim trunks.
Doesn’t help that I know exactly what those swim trunks are really hiding from the…
"More champagne, lass?" Callum materializes beside my deck chair, his voice smooth, like a Scottish lullaby, moving with that casual grace that probably comes from actually owning pieces of Europe. His green eyes squint. “You look like you could use it."
“I’m sure look like I need the whole bottle,” I mutter, accepting the glass as I watch Connor dive again into the villa's infinity pool.
"Ah, l'amour." Callum follows my gaze. "Though perhaps less ogling, more socializing? The party is about to begin."
He's right. The sun is setting over the Mediterranean, casting golden light across Callum's obscenely beautiful villa where tonight's joint bachelor/bachelorette festivities are about to start.
The night feels like it’s on the edge of something—a climax of champagne, laughter, and whispered secrets. Below, the yachts are docked in the harbor, their lights twinkling like stars fallen to earth. Inside, I can almost hear the faint hum of Mac’s voice, no doubt fretting over whether the golden lights of the villa clash with the turquoise waters beyond .
I should help her. Should play the part of the plus-one.
Instead, I’m avoiding Connor like it’s my job, and playing the part of the villain in the story that no one likes. Least of all, a “hero” like Connor.
I’m the worst.
“ Jings , you stare at Ol’ Reeves any harder there, and those pretty eyeballs of yours might pop out of their sockets,” Callum notes.
“Anyone ever tell you that your group of friends is scarily alike? You guys are like personality clones.”
He grins. “I’ve been told that.”
“And hey, don’t you worry about my sockets.” I drain my champagne. “Don’t you have groomsmen duties to take care of?”
“Aye. Several, actually. But watching you and Mr. Not-So-Subtle here dance around each other is far more fun.”
Luckily, I don’t have to answer Callum’s scrutiny. Or my own, for that matter.
My phone buzzes with a FaceTime request from Lily. And I’m literally saved by the bell.
Callum takes his dark red hair and green eyes to the other end of the pool as my little sister’s caramel curls and hazel eyes appear on the screen. She doesn’t even hesitate when I answer.
“Please tell me you’re wearing the dress I packed,” she presses. “The Versace one.”
“You mean the one that's basically dental floss with glitter?”
“Yup, that’s the one!”
"I'm not wearing that," I tell her through the screen.
"Oh, she absolutely is." Mac’s younger sister—and bridesmaid—Lucia appears, her classic Italian beauty somehow even more striking in the Mediterranean light. "Mac specifically requested club attire, and your sister's taste in party dresses is..." She grins. "Inspired."
"It's a crime against fabric," I protest .
"It's Versace!" Lily shouts through the phone. "At least try to cooperate with your fashion consultant?"
“Who says you’re that?” I question.
"She's right, you know." Mac’s older sister Sofia joins us, somehow managing to look elegant even in the coastal breeze. "Truth be told: Watching Connor ‘Bachelor for Life’ Reeves try not to stare at you in that dress will be worth every inch of missing fabric."
The en-suite bathroom of my villa bedroom is an opulent dream of marble and gold fixtures, the kind of place where indulgence feels like a necessity rather than a luxury. Steam curls from the oversized bathtub, perfumed with rose oil and flecks of gold leaf—Callum spares no expense when hosting a party in his Mediterranean retreat.
I sink into the water, letting the heat relax muscles that have been tense for weeks. Closing my eyes, I revel in the sensation of warm, silken water lapping at my skin. Monaco demands a certain level of perfection, and tonight, I’ll meet that standard.
After my bath, I wrap myself in the plushest white robe I’ve ever felt and move to the vanity.
I take my time, layering on serums, creams, and oils that leave my skin glowing. A bronzed highlight kisses my cheekbones, my lips plumped with a subtle rose-tinted gloss.
My dark waves tumble past my shoulders in controlled chaos, the rich espresso color glossy and full. I decide on a sultry eye—deep brown liner smoked at the edges, lashes long and curling up like a whispered promise.
Then, the dress.
The Versace creation is all molten gold and scandalous slits, clinging to my curves like it was made for me. When I step into my Louboutin stilettos, I feel transformed—not just ready, but dangerous.
An hour later, I step into Nocturne, one of Monaco’s most exclusive clubs, where the air practically hums with wealth. Everything is bathed in a warm, golden glow—crystal chandeliers casting prisms of light across velvet-draped walls. The room is a collision of old-world glamour and modern excess, where oil barons rub shoulders with Hollywood’s elite, and royalty sips cocktails alongside billionaires who buy islands for fun.
The club is exactly what I am already starting to suspect from the Drake-Gallo wedding groomsman known as Callum.
All sleek sophistication and old-world glamour with a beat you feel in your bones.
My phone buzzes:
KAT: Time's running out
KAT: You need to tell him
KAT: Before someone else does
In another text thread, my other sister annoys:
LILY: Send pics of the dress!!!
LILY: I need to prove to Dad that sequins are appropriate wedding attire
I close my eyes briefly. Because Kat's right. And Lily’s driving me crazy. And I’m killing myself with guilt.
I need to tell Connor about the marriage. About how it's real and legal and probably going to destroy his IPO if I don't fix it.
I need to tell him everything.
Just... not yet.
"Stop fidgeting," Mac tells me, appearing with fresh drinks. "You look amazing."
"I look like I got attacked by a disco ball."
"You look like you're about to complicate Connor's life in the best possible way." She hands me something that smells lethal. “Is it too much if I ask what's really going on with you two?"
“No, it’s not. And…Nothing." But even I don't believe it. "Everything. I don't know. "
"Hmm." She watches Connor enter with the guys, all of them ridiculously handsome in suits that look sewn right on. "Well, whatever it is, you might want to figure it out before?—"
"Will arrives?" I finish. "Too late."
Because there he is, my ex-fiancé, strolling in with his new girlfriend like he owns the place. Like he didn't blow up my life months ago.
Like he doesn't see me staring.
"Breathe," Mac murmurs.
"I'm fine."
"You're Kung Fu-gripping your drink."
“I resent that. My grip is…average.”
She sobers. "He was an idiot, you know."
"Mac..."
"I mean it." She squeezes my hand. "You deserve better. You deserve someone who looks at you like..." She gestures subtly across the room.
I follow her gaze to find Connor watching me, his expression making my pulse skip. He's removed his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up in that way that should be illegal, and something about the way he moves through the crowd reminds me of that first dance lesson.
All controlled power and careful restraint.
All completely focused on me.
"Dance with me?" His voice is low as he reaches us.
"That's..." I swallow hard. “Awfully brave of you. And your toes. You’re no longer worried about me stepping on them.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” But his hand is already extended. "Why? Don’t you trust yourself enough by now?”
No. Yes. Maybe.
"One dance," I hear myself say.
His smile is worth every broken rule.
The music shifts to something slower as he leads me to the dance floor, his hand warm on my back. We move together like we've been doing this forever, like our bodies remember every lesson, every touch, every moment of trust.
"You look beautiful," he murmurs.
"You look..." I gesture vaguely. "You."
"I look me?"
"You know what I mean."
"Do I?" His thumb traces circles on my hip. "Because from where I'm standing, you've been avoiding me since that night in the studio. Now, do you want to tell me why you’re avoiding me, or do you want me to guess?”
"Connor..."
“I mean, I’m an awfully good at regular puzzles. But the people puzzles…”
“Connor.”
“I’m listening.” He pulls me closer, and I smell his skin—some rich and smoky scent that makes me swallow. "Tell me. Whatever it is, whatever's making you pull away... tell me."
I open my mouth to confess everything.
About the marriage. About my fears. About how terrified I am of needing someone this much.
But before I can speak, Will's voice cuts through the music.
My ex’s arrival is its own special kind of intrusion that sends ice down my spine. Just the sound of his oily tone alone is enough to slice through the warm hum of the club like a knife.
“Ahhh, as expected,” he drawls from too close behind me. "Didn’t take you long to move on, did it?"
Connor stiffens, his grip on my waist shifting, fingers flexing as if he’s debating whether to remove his hand or tighten his hold. I barely suppress a shiver.
"Walk away, Will," Connor warns, his voice as controlled as his demeanor, but I feel the tension radiating from him.
Will just chuckles, the sound smug and devoid of warmth. "Or what? You’ll throw a punch in a place like this? Not exactly IPO-friendly behavior, is it? "
I turn, leveling Will with a glare that should have him shriveling. But he’s always been immune to shame, wearing arrogance like a designer suit. Jenny is clinging to his arm in a dress looks a lot less ‘namaste’ and a lot more ‘hot mess express’, watching like a spectator at a gladiator match.
"Funny," I say, keeping my voice sweet. "I don’t recall inviting you to this conversation. Then again, I don’t recall inviting you anywhere lately."
His smirk falters before it turns cruel. "Yeah? Well, I figured I’d return the favor, considering you left out a pretty important detail."
My stomach clenches. "What are you talking about?"
Will’s gaze flicks to Connor, gleaming with satisfaction before he delivers the kill shot. "Your little Vegas mishap. The marriage that wasn’t such a ‘mistake’ after all. Or, should I say, the marriage that’s still legally binding."
The music fades into white noise. The club, the people, the golden chandeliers overhead—it all blurs. My entire body goes cold.
Connor doesn’t move. Doesn’t react immediately. But I feel the moment the words register, the precise second the truth sinks its claws in deep.
"What?" His voice is quiet. Too quiet.
"Oh, she didn’t tell you?" Will tilts his head. "I thought for sure she would have mentioned that little detail. You know, considering you’re still very much a married man."
Connor slowly steps away from me, his expression unreadable, but the space between us feels cavernous, an abyss I don’t know how to bridge.
"Ari?" The way he says my name, just one syllable, stripped of the warmth and teasing affection he’s always laced it with—it’s enough to make my throat close.
"Connor, I?—"
"Wow." Will claps his hands. "I have to admit, Ari, I underestimated you. I knew you were good at playing the part, but this? A full-fledged deception? I’m impressed."
"That’s rich, coming from you," I snap, my pulse hammering in my ears. "I should be taking notes, right? The art of screwing people over?"
"Oh, don’t be dramatic." He flicks invisible lint from his sleeve. "Though I suppose this explains why you haven’t annulled it yet. Hard to let go of a guy like Connor Reeves, isn’t it? And I’ll bet the SEC will have a field day with this one. CEO ties his asset to a PR agent right before his company goes public? Absolute gold, wouldn’t you say?”
Connor doesn’t look at Will.
He’s looking at me. Only at me.
And it’s worse than anything Will could say. Worse than any insult, any taunt, any humiliation.
Because I see the moment he realizes I’ve been lying to him. The moment he understands just how deep the deception runs. And worst of all—I see the moment he stops looking at me like I’m something good.
My fingers tighten around my glass, the stem slick with condensation. My heart is in my throat. My vision narrows.
This goddamn bastard.
"Since you’re already drowning in champagne, might as well make it a full bath." The words leave my mouth while I’m still shaking.
I move before I fully register the action, my drink tipping in one smooth motion. The liquid cascades over his perfectly styled hair, soaking into the tailored lapels of his overpriced suit. A gasp ripples through the crowd, followed by a stunned silence.
Will sputters, blinking through dripping champagne, before his expression hardens. "You little?—"
"Oops." I smile, all teeth. "Guess I’m still a little clumsy. Good thing your ego’s waterproof. "
Connor doesn’t react. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t make a snide comment, doesn’t do anything at all.
My phone vibrates in my clutch, but I don’t need to check the screen. I already know what the message says.
KAT: The annulment window just closed
KAT: I’m so sorry
A lump lodges in my throat, sharp and unmovable. The final nail in the coffin.
Connor exhales sharply, runs a hand over his jaw. Then, with a voice colder than I’ve ever heard, he asks the only question that matters:
"How long?"
And just like that, everything falls apart.