Chapter 24 Manuela
MANUELA
SUNDAY
“Who the fuck is we?” I hear Jack say to Elle at the foot of the stairs.
I’m slowly making my way down from my room, listening for any indication that what happened with Connor last night was witnessed by everyone.
I’m still buzzing, still walking on air, still sore in places I didn’t think I could be sore from simply being touched. From being wanted.
I slipped back to my own room before sunrise, careful as a thief, but my body hasn’t gotten the memo.
My lips still tingle from Connor’s kisses, and my skin feels branded where his mouth was.
I tell myself to pull it together, to walk down to breakfast like nothing happened, but the truth is written all over me. I feel it in every step.
“I thought he wasn’t bringing someone,” Jack continues, and I struggle to understand who he’s talking about. “Apparently their suitcases took a while to come out of the baggage claim?”
“Jackie, babe, keep your voice down,” Elle says. She’s wearing her massively oversized glasses inside the house, and her hair is up at the crown of her head in the messiest bun I’ve ever seen from her. She definitely looks like she had a wild night out. “You’re being too loud.”
“Sorry, baby,” he says, kissing her temple as he drags her into his body. “It’s just a classic move. For all I know, it’s someone he picked up on the plane. Jesus, my parents are going to be livid.”
Elle sighs into her fiancé and wraps her hand around his waist. “We expected something like this from your brother.” She looks up at Jack, and he pushes the hair off her face before cupping her cheeks. “At least we’re prepared and it’s not that big of a surprise.”
The last step creaks as I make my descent, and both of them look up from their bubble at me. “Good morning,” I say, but my voice comes out rough and weary, and I feel my cheeks instantly flush at the prospect that I’ve been messing around with someone from the friend group right under their noses.
“Oh, honey,” Elle coos at me. She takes a few steps in my direction as I head towards the living room. “How are you feeling?”
I furrow my brow, and it takes me a few seconds to realize that was the excuse we used last night to get the hell out of that club and into this house. “Much better, thanks.” I try to laugh in a light way, but it definitely comes out forced. “I think I had a little too much to drink with dinner.”
Elle laughs and hooks her arm around mine, dragging me with all her petite force in the direction of the food.
The dining room is lively already, and there’s just a sliver of sunlight pouring through the glass doors.
Storm clouds hover in the distance so similar to the past few days.
The table is set with fruit and baskets of pastries, and there are three servers walking around taking personalized coffee orders.
Elle heads toward the end of the table and starts chattering about whatever happened last night, and Jack, who follows her, is laughing at everything she says. A few of the women and Banks are draped dramatically across their chairs, probably too hungover to function.
I slip into a seat, smiling when Elle beams at me from her spot, but my eyes betray me almost instantly. They find him.
Connor is across the table, early as usual, hair damp from a shower. He wears a simple shirt, nothing special or fancy, but he looks unfairly good in it. His eyes meet mine just for a second, no more, but it’s enough to make my stomach flip. My fork trembles when I reach for a slice of melon.
Get it together, I scold myself. No one can know.
But the memory of last night is relentless. His mouth between my thighs. His voice rasping my name like he’d been starving. My own shamelessness, the way I’d given myself over to him with zero hesitation.
I sip coffee to hide my face, and the thought barges into my mind at full speed: I’m falling.
So dangerous because this was supposed to be a temporary pact. Just a little fun—and boy, has it been—tryst during our vacation. To get the edge off. To fully relax.
But he hasn’t told anyone here about Athena, and to them, she’s still his girlfriend.
Although she’s his ex, I have to remind myself constantly and sharply that she’s still an invisible presence during this trip.
And if anyone found out what we’ve been doing…
it would be a mess. Worse, it would make me a villain.
Not just to Connor, but to this entire group I’ve been quietly trying to be a part of for years at this point.
One wrong move, and I could become a story they tell about the girl who ruined Elle’s wedding.
The thought lodges in my chest, sharp and cold.
And what if this is just sex to him? What if it ends as quickly as it began?
And what about me? Do I even want more? I don’t know if I’ll stay in New York, if I’ll go home or move elsewhere, if I’ll stay anywhere long enough to risk my heart.
The tension in my chest loosens when Connor makes a quiet joke about the espresso being too strong, and Elle laughs, tipping her head back. He’s good at this, sliding into the rhythm of the group. I’m the one off-balance, it seems.
I’m about to focus on my food when the front door slamming echoes down the hall. The room stirs, voices pausing at the abruptness.
“Honey,” someone yells from the entryway. The steps start growing closer, and Jack’s brother George glides out. His dark blonde hair is tousled and shorter than what I remember from the last time I saw him a few months ago.
“Jesus,” Jack mutters under his breath, shoving back his chair. “Of course.”
George drops a backpack on the floor and stands, arms akimbo, studying the scene before him. His grin is wide, a little too self-satisfied, and he spreads his arms as if he expects applause. “We’re home.”
“You couldn’t just walk in like a normal person?” Jack’s voice is sharp, but there’s a flicker of resigned affection underneath. “Always with the drama.”
Whoever is standing behind him—a woman, by the looks of it, but I can’t quite make her out—snorts at the comment. George claps his brother on the back, unfazed.
“What’s life without a little spectacle, huh?”
And then, casually, almost as an afterthought, George steps aside.
Camila appears behind him, shoulders back, smile poised, like she knows the spotlight is about to swing her way.
My stomach drops, and the chair under me screeches as I lurch to my feet, napkin sliding uselessly down to my feet. “Camila?”
Her eyes widen just a fraction, and then she recovers, flashing that calm, composed grin she uses when we bump into each other in the kitchen after work, trading quick comments about groceries or laundry before heading back to our separate rooms.
“Manu.” Her tone is light, but her gaze snags mine with razor-sharp intensity.
The room buzzes—Nicole’s phone clatters to the table, and Amelia is leaning forward like she’s watching a telenovela unfold.
“Everyone,” George says, beaming at Camila next to him. Her smile drops a tiny fraction, almost imperceptible as he places his arm around her shoulders. “Meet my wife.”
The word “wife” detonates across the room, and there’s a collective gasp that is almost comical. Jack’s jaw tightens. Elle blinks once, twice, and if she’s sure she misheard.
“Since when?” Elle whispers under her breath, but it’s easy to make out in the silence of the room.
I move toward her, fast, my pulse thrumming in my ears. She waves politely to the group, cheeks flushed like she knows how outrageous this reveal is.
“What the hell?” I whisper, low and harsh, the sound swallowed by the rising chatter around us.
Camila’s hand brushes my wrist in warning, quick and subtle. Her smile never falters. “Later,” she whispers, almost inaudible. “I’ll explain later.”