Chapter 34 Manuela
MANUELA
WEDNESDAY
“Hey. Can I… steal you for a second?”
Late-morning light slides across the floors, catching on abandoned wineglasses from last night and half-finished crosswords someone left on the table.
Nicole and Banks are nowhere to be seen, and no one has mentioned them, which makes the air feel sharper somehow—like we’re all waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I find Elle in the kitchen, loading fruit into a bowl, phone propped against a mug on the counter. She’s in another flawless linen set, looking freshly pressed and dewy like she hasn’t spent the last week wrangling chaos.
“Yes, that’s Mommy’s perfect girl,” she coos into the screen, voice all sunshine.
“Did you eat your salmon bites? Did Mimi warm them for you the way you like? Oh my goodness, you’re looking so pretty.
Did you get a new bow today?” She pauses, gasping so dramatically it echoes off the marble.
“Is that a sparkly bow? My heart can’t take this, Fifi.
Mommy’s heart is exploding. Mommy loves you more than air. ”
Elle ends the call with a kissy noise and sets her phone down on the counter like it’s made of glass. She exhales, dreamy, then pops a grape into her mouth. “She was wearing sequins and a tutu, Manu. I’m deceased.”
I smile, nervous, picking at my nail polish. “She’s… very loved.”
“Obviously,” she says, eyes finally flicking toward me. “What’s up?”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other. The words taste awkward already. “I just wanted to apologize. About yesterday. With Nicole,” I start, fingers knotting in the hem of my shorts. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”
Elle’s mouth twitches—not quite a smile but also not a frown.
I think she’s amused by it, and I hope she is because everything feels a little like we are a gentle breeze away from everything imploding.
“She was out of line,” she says simply and then shrugs one shoulder.
“Still, thank you for saying something.”
“I don’t want to make things harder for you,” I say quietly. “This is your wedding week.”
That gets me a smile. “Manu, please. This group has survived much worse. I mean… George showed up married. At least you didn’t do that.”
I let out a weak laugh, heat rising to my face.
“Honestly,” Elle goes on, plucking a strawberry from her bowl and taking a small bite of the tip, “you’ve been great. Everyone likes you. Nicole will get over herself eventually.”
She says it lightly, tossed in there so casually, but it lands heavy in my chest anyway. “Thanks.”
Elle pats my arm like this whole thing is settled. “Now go do something fun before I’m dragged to another champagne and cake tasting with my parents.”
And just like that, she’s gone, barefoot down the hall, phone on her ear.
A few minutes later, Camila and I are slipping out the front door. The house is still quiet, sunlight filtering pale and thin through the trees as we pick our way down the gravel path. The hill drops steeply toward the lake, the air growing warmer with every step.
She walks with her coverup tied loose at her waist, sunglasses perched in her hair. For a while, we just listen to the faint hum of insects and the crunch of our sandals dangling from our fingers. Then she says, casually but not really, “Out with it.”
I blink. “Out with what?”
Camila’s mouth curves, sharp. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to ask me a question.”
Heat prickles the back of my neck. “Fine. I just… George. The whole”—I gesture vaguely, helplessly—“marriage thing. It surprised me, that’s all.”
“Same,” she says lightly. “But sometimes life doesn’t need to make sense to work.”
“That’s it? That’s your explanation?”
She laughs, low and soft. “For now.” Then, glancing at me from the corner of her eye: “Don’t worry, Manu. We accelerated our timeline because of my whole visa issues. You know the struggle.”
I huff a laugh, tension easing just a little. “Wait, you’ve been dating him? You never brought him home.”
She bumps her shoulder against mine like she’s punctuating it. “It was pretty casual.”
The path levels out as we reach the lake. Heat shimmers off the rocks, the water glaring bright silver in the sun. We find a flat stretch near the edge and drop our towels side by side, the air so thick it’s like wading through syrup.
The heat is the kind that clings. Not the dry, mountain crispness I expected, but thick and sticky, like the air is wrapping itself around us.
Camila and I are drenched in sweat and desperate for an opportunity to cool off.
We kick our sandals off to the side and stretch out anyway, both of us sighing at the same time like it’s some kind of ritual.
The lake is almost metallic in the sunlight. A boat hums lazily somewhere across the water, but otherwise it’s just us and the faint buzz of late summer insects and cowbells.
Camila pulls her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose. “You realize tomorrow I have to meet his parents?”
I tilt my head, eyes closed against the glare. “Like, officially?”
She groans. “Officially. Jack says I’ve probably already met them at one of those fancy charity galas for work, but come on—seeing them across a room is not the same thing.”
I crack one eye open.
“Tomorrow I shake their hands, look them in the eye, and say, ‘Hi, I’m the girl your son married without telling you.’”
“That sounds a little terrifying.”
Her hand flutters in the air between us. “They’re going to eat me alive.”
“They won’t,” I say, though my tone is softer than convincing. Camila always looks composed—perfect clothes, glowing skin, not a hair out of place. But right now there’s a tightness in her mouth I don’t usually see. “I mean, if the group hasn’t, then I think you’ll be fine.”
We lapse into silence for a while. Sweat slides down the back of my neck. I shift, tucking my arm under my head, and glance sideways at her again.
“What’s up with you and Connor?” she says finally, almost like she’s been waiting for the exact moment to intercept my thoughts and ask. “What’s on your mind?”
I shrug, too casual. “Nothing.”
She snorts. “Por favor. You’ve been staring at the same patch of sky for ten minutes.”
My mouth opens, then closes again. Because the truth is, my head is absolutely chock-full of him.
Long gone is my preoccupation with my job and what my next move might be.
Instead, it’s full of the sound of his laughter at the picnic.
The way he looks at me across the table, unflinching, even with Nicole’s eyes like knives between us.
The feel of his hand steady on my waist, brief and too much all at once.
“It’s not… him,” I say finally, picking at a loose thread on my towel. “Not exactly. It’s just… the group. The Nicole thing. Everything feels tense now, and I… Whatever.”
Camila hums, not pushing, but I can tell she’s not buying my deflection. She never does. There’s a glint of curiosity in her face, but she lets it slide, stretching her arms overhead like the question was just idle chatter.
In my head, I add what I can’t say out loud: This won’t last. He’ll retreat. He’ll fold back into whatever life is waiting for him once this trip is over. And I’ll be left with nothing but the echo of all these too-long glances.
The thought lodges sharp behind my ribs.
I dig my toes into the warm stones, grounding myself, but it doesn’t help.
It’s been easy to pretend this is all temporary, something light and contained.
But the truth is, he’s gotten under my skin.
And if he walks away—when he walks away—I’m not sure what will be left of me here.
I close my eyes against the glare, swallowing the words before they can get out and ruin everything.