Chapter 36 Manuela
MANUELA
THURSDAY
The house is a flurry of perfume, heels, and steam from curling irons by the time I finish my makeup.
There’s at least three people getting Elle ready in the primary bedroom, and everyone is fluttering around with that kind of energy she’s only able to evoke.
Dresses in different colors swish past the hallway, laughter bouncing between doors and floors, Amelia shouting for another glass of prosecco like it’s already a party.
Camila leans against the doorway of my room, slipping in earrings, her lipstick a sharp red that makes her look more glamorous than I’ve ever seen her. “Are you ready?”
I smooth my palms down the satin of my red dress. “Ready enough.”
She glances at me in the mirror, lips twitching. “You clean up nice.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s true—I barely recognize myself.
The dress I packed for the first official event of the wedding trip feels more like it belongs to someone else, sleek and bright with a flow that makes me self-conscious.
New-York-me thought it was perfect. Tres-Fuegos-me wonders if I’m playing dress-up in the Swiss Alps.
The others are already gathering in the entryway by the time we head downstairs. Elle looks like she’s floating, her champagne-colored floor-length gown catching one particular bright ray of sunlight. Jack stands, steady at her side, looking very much like a fool in love.
Outside, the air is crisp but not cold yet.
It’s almost like Elle had words with whoever controls the weather because the temperature is perfect, and the sky is a deep blue I haven’t seen in a long time.
Guests are walking down the gravel path to the dock, and the air is buzzing with hellos and cheek kisses, and the small talk and different conversations mix in a way that makes me dizzy.
“Boat cocktails,” Nicole says, sweeping past in a sparkling green dress, phone in hand. Banks is holding her free hand as she drags him towards the line that’s forming to board. “Only Elle would rent a yacht for pre-dinner drinks.”
“It’s not a yacht,” Elle protests from behind the group, though her grin betrays her. “Just… a boat. A nice one.”
The group spills toward the dock, laughter echoing as the lake comes into view. The vessel waiting there is lit with strings of fairy lights, its deck already staffed with servers balancing trays of champagne. The water glitters around it, mountains fading violet in the distance.
“This is insane,” Camila murmurs at my side.
“Look at your husband in a freaking tux,” I whisper back. “I feel underdressed.”
She bumps my shoulder. “Not possible.”
We queue up on the dock, shoes clicking against the planks and the chatter rising around us.
Connor stands near the front with George and a couple of their cousins, his tux jacket cut sharp against his shoulders.
He looks unfairly good—hair swept back, bow tie loosened just enough to make it look intentional.
He laughs at something Sterling says, dimples flashing, but when his eyes slide toward me, the sound falters.
I swear I feel the world stop moving around me. The sight of him actually knocks the air from my chest.
This morning he was all wet hair and teasing grins, both of us looking at the other across the room. Now, he looks like he belongs on the cover of a magazine, like someone I shouldn’t be allowed within arm’s reach of. And he looks comfortable in it. Effortless.
My pulse trips hard. Heat rushes through me in a wave so sudden I have to press my hand against my clutch, grounding myself before I give myself away.
As if he feels it, the left dimple hits first, and then the smile—slow, devastating, meant only for me.
I want to look away, but I can’t.
“Ahh, no soy la única con secretos,” Camila mutters under her breath, low enough that only I hear about how I’m not the only one keeping secrets.
My head snaps toward her, cheeks burning. “What?”
She arches a brow, the corners of her mouth tugging in a knowing curve. “Don’t ‘what’ me. I saw that.”
“I—no, you didn’t.” The words trip over themselves, too quick, too defensive.
“Manu,” she says, amused now, eyes flicking toward Connor and back to me. “You might want to work on your poker face.”
I glare at her, which only earns me a smug smile. She smooths her hands down the front of her blue dress, like she’s got nothing better to do than let me stew in my own fluster.
Connor heads in our direction, shoes steady on the planks. “Here,” he says, voice low but certain. He reaches his hand out to me, palm up, waiting.
The world tilts around us, but all I can see is his hand, the steady weight of his gaze. My fingers slip into his before I can think better of it.
His grip is warm, strong, and when he guides me onto the boat, his eyes lock on mine like we’re the only two people here. The look lingers, soft and startling, and I swear my breath stumbles in my throat.
“Got you,” he murmurs, barely audible.
“Thank you,” I whisper back, though my voice comes out shaky.
Behind us, Nicole’s laugh cuts sharply, and I realize with a jolt that people noticed. A couple of heads tilt, curiosity flickering across their faces before turning away. Camila raises her brows but says nothing.
I slip my hand from his as soon as I’m steady, but the heat of it burns long after.
The boat sets off, gliding smoothly across the lake. Trays of champagne pass from guest to guest, the clink of glasses mixing with low music drifting from hidden speakers. The mountains grow darker as the sun dips, the sky painted in pink and orange.
Camila and I drift toward a group of women near the railing at the back of the boat—Nicole, Hannah, and a few of Elle’s college friends, who I’ve seen once or twice in the past three years.
Elle’s family is somewhere around, her very pregnant sister, toddler niece, and mother wearing similar dresses in complementary hues, like an unofficial wedding party.
Conversation swells around designer shoes and travel horror stories, laughter bubbling over the rim of champagne flutes.
“Connor seems different this trip,” Hannah says suddenly, leaning against the rail with a sly smile. “More… relaxed.”
Nicole snorts. “That’s because Athena isn’t here.”
My stomach jolts.
Across the deck, Connor is deep in conversation with Cash and George, glass in hand, his profile sharp against the fading light. He doesn’t look different to me. Connor looks exactly like himself—the version I know when no one’s watching.
Camila hums, swirling her champagne. “Different how?” she asks casually, though I catch the flick of her eyes toward me and the slight curve of her lips. I want to glare, but I also want to know exactly what they are seeing.
Hannah shrugs, sipping. “Just… I don’t know. Less uptight. Athena always kept him on edge, it seemed. Now it’s like…” She waves vaguely toward him. “He’s finally enjoying.”
My throat goes tight. I press my glass to my lips, hiding behind the rim, hoping no one notices the flush crawling up my cheeks.
The ride is slow, deliberate, as if the boat itself doesn’t want to disturb the moment.
The lake stretches wide around us, mountains looming dark at the edges, fairy lights reflecting in broken ripples.
Servers keep glasses full, and laughter rises, the entire evening shining with a gloss that feels very much like something Elle and Jack would do.
It’s polished yet casual, and very intentional.
Elle and Jack circulate the deck, glowing, their hands never straying far from each other. She squeezes his arm when she thinks no one is watching, her smile too luminous to be just a welcome dinner.
“Something’s up,” Camila murmurs near my ear, eyes narrowed in observation.
I glance at her, confused. “What do you mean?”
She tilts her chin toward Elle, who’s laughing too brightly, cheeks flushed. “I sense something.”
Connor’s eyes find mine again across the deck, a flicker of something private threading through the noise and light, enough to make my pulse stumble. Camila’s words echo in my ear, her knowing look still burning at the edges of my thoughts.
It feels like the night itself is holding a secret just out of reach—one we’re all about to collide with.