Chapter 37 Connor
CONNOR
“Thank you all for coming,” Elle says, voice bright and clear, cutting through the chatter that’s built steadily all evening.
She stands now at the bow, champagne flute in hand, Jack firm and steady beside her.
Fairy lights tremble overhead with the boat’s slow movement, the water glinting darkly below.
Her laugh carries easily, a little nervous, a little tipsy.
“Most of you just arrived today, and this weekend was meant to be a big celebration—all of us together, finally. But…” She pauses, turning to Jack, and the look they share is so charged that half the crowd goes quiet in response.
“Waiting until the end felt impossible.”
Confused murmurs ripple through the guests—the cousins craning their necks, Nicole whispering something sharp that earns a laugh. Georgie is whispering something to his wife, and she glares back at him, mouthing an aggravated shut up.
Jack leans toward the microphone someone has thrust into his hand, grinning so hard it looks like his face might split. “So we’re not going to wait.”
Elle beams, her eyes glowing with mischief and certainty. “We’re getting married tonight.”
The boat erupts. Gasps, shrieks, the clatter of silverware, champagne nearly sloshing out of glasses.
Nicole yells, “Shut up!” and promptly drops into Amelia’s arms, cackling.
Sterling whistles sharp through his teeth, making half the deck cheer louder.
Someone behind me shouts, “Are you serious?” while another guest is already fumbling for their phone, angling to record it all.
I can’t help laughing, the sound torn straight from my chest. It’s so Elle and Jack—impatient, bold, refusing to play by anyone’s timeline but their own.
Servers appear from nowhere, clearing a space at the bow. Lanterns flare one by one, glowing warm against the rising dark. Guests shuffle closer, buzzing as though they’ve just been given an electric jolt.
I should be focused on Elle and Jack, but I can’t stop watching Manuela—frozen midstep near the rail, champagne glass tilted, fairy lights scattered across her bare shoulders. She looks caught between awe and disbelief.
I’m about to move toward her when a familiar voice cuts through the din.
“Connor.”
I turn. My parents are suddenly there, materializing from the press of bodies like they’ve never been gone. My mother in silk and diamonds, my father crisp and immaculate even on a boat deck.
“Hi, darling.” My mother leans in with practiced ease, air-kisses brushing both my cheeks, the scent of expensive perfume clinging. My father offers a brief, firm clasp on my shoulder—never more, never less.
“You didn’t call us back,” my mother adds lightly. Her smile doesn’t falter. “We’ve been waiting to hear from you about the offer.”
Now? Here? The officiant is being ushered forward, guests are buzzing, and still the email I haven’t opened finds me anyway.
“I’ve been… busy,” I say. “The itinerary was really packed this week, courtesy of cousin Jackie.”
My father’s jaw tightens, almost imperceptible. “Don’t leave him waiting, Connor. This is the kind of chance people don’t get twice.”
Before I can answer, applause erupts. Elle and Jack have stepped into the light, hand in hand, glowing. The crowd surges forward. My mother pats my arm once, smile fixed, and they’re swept away again, already absorbed by the spectacle.
But the knot in my chest pulls tighter. Everyone else is laughing, craning for photos, swept up in champagne and romantic love. I’m stuck replaying their voices: Don’t waste it. Your future doesn’t wait forever.
And then my gaze hooks back on Manuela. The dress she’s wearing is red, cut just above her knees, bare shoulders framed by draped fabric that falls loose around her arms. Her hair’s down in soft waves, catching the candlelight glow, and it’s not a look I’ve seen on her before. It knocks the air out of me.
Still by the rail, still glowing, lips parted in surprise as Elle and Jack kiss to cheers. She catches my eye across the deck and shakes her head, smiling into her glass.
The sound of the crowd fades, dim compared to the sound of her breath when I finally make my way to her side. We stand shoulder to shoulder, arms brushing.
“They’re really doing this,” she whispers.
“Of course they are.” I tilt closer, enough to catch the citrus twist of her perfume. “It’s very them. I’m surprised but also… not?”
The officiant starts speaking, but I barely hear it.
Guests are laughing, crying, snapping photos, and all I can do is listen to her breathe beside me.
Elle and Jack say their vows, Jack trips over a line, Elle laughs through hers, and everyone cheers when they finally kiss.
Champagne glasses clink, sparklers appear out of nowhere, and the boat roars with applause that echoes across the water.
It should be about them. But the whole time, I’m aware of Manuela’s hand just barely brushing mine against the rail and how it feels so natural for it to be there.
Servers sweep through with trays of champagne refills as the ceremony concludes, and Elle’s mother raises her glass, her voice carrying easily over the noise.
“Dinner and dancing will follow at the Edelweiss Ballroom once we dock. Please make your way there so we can keep the celebration going all night!”
Cheers rise again, glasses lifted, and I force a smile for anyone watching, but inside my chest, something dangerous stirs.
The music swells, shifting softer for Elle and Jack’s first dance as the boat slows even more in its approach towards the dock. She glows in his arms, his cheek pressed to her temple, both of them radiant and sure. The crowd watches, half in tears, half still buzzing from the shock of it all.
Nicole swoops by, eyebrows arched. “You two look cozy,” she teases, champagne lifted, before disappearing again. Manuela ducks her head, laughing into her glass, but her shoulder presses into mine, and neither of us move.
I should laugh it off. Deflect, the way I always do. But the words stick in my throat. Because Nicole isn’t wrong. And because as far as she knows, I still belong to someone else.
Athena’s name hovers like a ghost between the bubbles and the laughter, unspoken but present. No one here knows we ended it for good. Not my friends, not my parents, not Nicole. They’re still waiting for her to walk in, perfect and sharp, with her hand tucked into mine.
Instead it’s Manuela beside me, eyes bright in the fairy lights, her shoulder warm against mine. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel restless or suffocated. I feel steady. Right next to a woman who makes me feel like I can breathe again.
The champagne burns down my throat, but it doesn’t clear the knot in my chest.
“Wow,” I murmur before I can stop myself. “Breathtaking.”
She doesn’t look at me. Her gaze stays fixed on the lake and the mountain range shadowing the horizon.
It’s dark now, but the faint glow of the scattered buildings across the hills paint a dreamy picture of the landscape in front of us.
“Isn’t it?” she replies, almost distracted.
“Elle really has an eye for these things.”
I step closer, bracing both hands on the glass railing that lines the deck of the main building at the resort, caging her in without really meaning to.
“Why are you out here?” I ask, my voice softer than I intend.
I dip low enough to press a quick kiss to the slope of her neck.
She shivers, cheeks shifting into a ghost of a smile.
“I needed a minute,” she says, turning toward me. Her makeup is subtle, just enough to catch the light, and it makes me focus on her mouth. Her lips shine faintly, full and soft, and all I want to do is taste her again. “It’s a little loud.”
“They’ll call us in for dinner soon,” I tell her, chin resting on her shoulder now.
She reaches for my hand, pulling it against her stomach, anchoring me to her. “Okay,” she says, exhaling, but it sounds like surrender. Her fingers squeeze tighter, and suddenly the space between us hums with something I don’t want to name. I know exactly what it is, though.
This is supposed to end. Five more days, and we go back to New York, back to our real lives. Pretend this was just vacation air, not something with this amount of weight.
“Okay,” she says again, but this time her voice trembles.
“What’s wrong?” I murmur, scanning her face.
She studies me, eyes flicking between mine and my mouth, searching. Finally: “I’m just tired.”
I don’t buy it. Her eyes tell me there’s more, but I don’t push. She leans forward instead, wrapping her arms around my neck, pressing the softest kiss to my lips. Chaste. Quick. A promise or a deflection, I can’t tell which.
“Can we go to bed after dinner?” she whispers.
“Of course,” I answer, smiling, though my chest feels tight.
Because I want to say more. I want to ask if she feels it too—this thing growing between us that doesn’t fit the boundaries we set.
I want to ask if maybe we could keep going in New York, if maybe this doesn’t have to end.
But if I’m wrong, if she doesn’t want it, the crash will destroy me more than the end of this pact.
So I kiss her instead, soft and lingering, then tug her back toward the glass doors where the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses spill from the ballroom.
Inside, the crowd is already gathered—Elle and Jack flowing at the head table, servers weaving between guests with trays of champagne, music swelling warm and bright.
Manuela slips towards a table at the back and takes her seat next to someone I don’t recognize, while I make my way to the bridal party’s table.
I look across the room and find her already watching me, a small smile curving her mouth. When she realizes I’ve caught her, she blushes, lifts her glass, and tips it toward me in a silent toast.