Chapter 16
Cornelia
Ihad to get out of my house—my grandmother was driving me crazy with all the preparations for the party.
School wasn’t an option. I went to class after what happened with TJ, and in one of them, some girls behind me were gossiping about the whole thing, and I kind of snapped.
I told one of them she should get a life so she’d stop obsessing over mine.
After that, I decided to take a few days off.
Any public places were also out of the question unless I wanted to be accosted by paparazzi. Annabelle and West are in Paris visiting her mum. Lucian’s place could potentially mean bumping into Nate. That only left Laurie.
I’ve tried to keep Laurie out of this. I don’t want him to feel caught between the sword and the wall, since all this involves his brother and cousin. But I need somewhere to hide. And maybe talk.
I ring his doorbell. I have a key to his flat, but I don’t feel comfortable using it right now.
When TJ and I were dating, I used to walk into Laurie’s flat unannounced all the time.
But back then, he was my future brother-in-law and best friend, and while he’s still my best friend, it feels different now.
Laurie opens the door almost immediately, dressed in a blue cardigan over a white T-shirt and light blue jeans. He doesn’t look surprised. He was expecting me. Before he can say anything, I let myself in and flop onto his grey couch.
Laurie lives a few blocks from Imperial in the most modest place out of all of us, even though he could easily afford a penthouse if he wanted to.
His flat is small, with only two bedrooms that are roughly the same size as my closet, in a building without a doorman, but it’s cosy.
I think he likes it that way—he’s not extravagant.
“My family is insane,” I exclaim.
“And you’re just finding this out?” he replies as he closes the door.
I let out a small laugh and sat up on the couch. “My grandmother thinks she can fix everything with a party.”
“Yeah, I already got the invite.” He points to an envelope on top of the coffee table in front of me.
“Fantastic, so there’s no way out of it now.”
“Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea.”
“Are you actually agreeing with my grandmother?” I say, amused. He once declared he’d never agree with her, but that was during a discussion they had about politics.
Laurie sits down beside me. “Well, just think about it—all of us under the same roof. Maybe it will help work things out.”
“Or it will make things worse,” I retort.
“Can they really get worse?”
I hope not.
“My mum’s been acting like it’s the end of the world because TJ and Nate,” he gets up from the couch, walking towards the kitchen, still talking, and I shift on the couch to watch him, “are mad at each other, and she’s been asking me to help out.
” He doesn’t even need to raise his voice for me to hear him—his kitchen is practically part of the living room.
Laurie returns and sits back beside me. “She thinks he listens to me. She doesn’t realise the only person TJ listens to is himself.
And…” He looks at me and doesn’t finish the sentence.
I don’t need him to. I know he was going to say me. “Got any ideas how to fix it?”
I think for a second. I broke them, and I’d like nothing more than to fix them, but my mind is blank. “Let me think about it. I’m sure I can eventually come up with something.”
I noticed he returned, holding a cup of coffee. He must have been drinking it before I arrived, as the quick trip to the kitchen wasn’t nearly enough time to make a fresh one. I glance at it, then back to him with a coy smile. “Can I get a coffee?”
Laurie is the only one of the boys who can actually cook, but where he excels is in being a barista. He made the best beverages I’ve ever had. He even has a giant industrial machine and other equipment. I have one at home, but I have no idea how it works—he does, though.
He hands me his cup. “Take it. I’ll make myself another one.”
“Well…” I start.
“What?”
“If you’re already making another one, can you just keep this one and make me a cappuccino? Or a matcha, if you have that instead? I think better when I am hydrated.” I pout and give him my best puppy eyes.
He sighs but smiles. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” He takes the cup from my hands.
“Thank you,” I reply as he walks towards the kitchen. I lie back down on the couch and shout, “By the way, your couch is so comfortable!”
I hear him chuckle.
After a couple of minutes, I hear the front door open.
It startles me for a second until I see TJ entering the flat.
Like me, he also has a key. I quickly sit up, and as I do, he notices me.
Our eyes lock, and it hits me like a punch how much I still crave him.
When I spend time away from him, I can almost forget the pull he has on me, but when he’s just a few feet away, it’s impossible to ignore.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, as if this were his flat.
“I came to see Laurie.”
At that moment, Laurie comes out of the kitchen and hands me an iced matcha.
TJ turns to him. “Can you give us a moment to talk alone?”
Laurie looks at me for the answer, and I mutter, “It’s fine.”
I don’t want to talk to TJ, but we’re going to have to have this out eventually, and at least here it’s in private.
He nods. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything,” he says to me, giving TJ a warning glance before heading out.
“What do you want to talk about?” I ask as I put the matcha on the coffee table and stand up—because like hell I’ll be looking up at him and him down at me during this conversation.
“About what happened at Red Lips,” he answers.
I cross my arms. “Are you going to apologise?”
He lets out a mocking laugh. “Me? Shouldn’t that be you?”
“Me? Why should I apologise?” I say, astonished that he’s trying to turn this around. “I wasn’t the one who got into a fight and put us on blast.”
“You slept with Nate. Nate. Of all the people you could have chosen, you had to choose my cousin? How could you?” he asks, and I can hear the pain in his voice.
It breaks my heart to think he’s hurting because of me. When you love someone, the last thing you want to do is hurt them, but it seems like that’s all we’re good at lately.
“No, you don’t get to play the victim.” I uncross my arms, pointing a finger at him. “You slept with my mother.” And, as always, saying those words aloud rips open a wound I doubt will ever completely heal.
“That’s… different.”
“Yes, because in my book, mother trumps cousin every single time,” I say, almost yelling.
His jaw tightens. “At least I apologised for it.”
“You gave me a half-arsed apology,” I retort, my voice sharp. “I didn’t mean to,” I mimic in a mocking tone, what he told me in Paris. “Well, I can’t say the same because I did mean to sleep with Nate.” I say it with the intention of hurting him like he hurt me.
I never thought I slept with Nate intending to hurt TJ, but now, in retrospect, maybe unconsciously, a small part of me did.
I can see I’ve gotten the reaction I wanted.
He looks hurt, turns away, and lets out a frustrated sigh.
“You’re incredible,” he says bitterly. It’s funny how the same exact words, spoken in a different tone, once gave me butterflies. Now, they just make me want to find a corner and cry.
“No, you’re acting like this is all my fault.”
“It is your fault,” TJ replies angrily. “You crossed the line.”
How dare he blame me when he’s the one who started all of this? Everything I’ve done has just been a reaction to it.
“No, you crossed it first. I didn’t break us, you did.” My voice breaks at the end. “How could you? I forgave you once, and you had to do it again. Was I just a game to you?”
That’s what I kick myself for the most—my mother wasn’t the first time he did something like this.
He looks astonished that I brought it up. I didn’t even mention it during our fight in Paris. A while ago, after one argument, we agreed not to bring it up again.
“That time wasn’t the same, and you know it,” he retorts.
I do know, but it hurts the same.
When he was a senior and I was a junior, there was an incident that made Anthony pull me out of school for two months.
At the time, I blamed TJ for it, but it wasn’t his fault.
It was completely mine. I didn’t talk to him during that time, even though he repeatedly tried to reach out.
He thought this meant we were broken up. I thought it meant we were on a break.
When I came back, he told me he’d hooked up with Rebecca, one of his classmates whom I disliked because I knew she had a big crush on him.
He said he was drunk, that he regretted it instantly, that he thought we were broken up but still felt horrible for it.
I forgave him because, even though it hurt, I had put him through a lot during those months. Maybe I shouldn’t.
They say, once a cheater, always a cheater.
I take a deep breath to compose myself. I’m on the verge of crying, but I don’t want to cry in front of him.
I don’t want to cry because of him. I’ve already shed more tears over him than he deserves.
I pick up my bag. I don’t want to be here with him. And while I was here first, I’m not going to use that childish argument.
I walk to the door, but I must pass by his side to get out of it.
As I’m about to, he grabs my wrist—not roughly, but gently and carefully.
I look at his right hand on my wrist, then my gaze gradually moves up his arm.
It pauses for a few seconds on the faint scar on his forearm, the one I both hate and love equally because it’s there because of me.
I know how to ski, like everyone who went to boarding school in Switzerland, but I have always been on the lower end of the group in terms of how well I do.
Not like TJ, West, and Nate—though I would never admit that to West. Because of that, I went with them to the black slopes.
I ended up losing control, unable to brake, flying towards the trees.
At the last second, TJ crossed my path to stop me.
I walked away with only a few bruises. He broke his arm.
I hate that he got that scar because of me, but eventually, I began seeing it as a reminder that, physically and mentally, I will always be safe with him.
Now… I still think I’m physically safe with him.
As for the emotional part—
I already know the answer.
I continue slowly, my gaze lifting until it meets his. He looks hurt, as if this is just as painful for him as it is for me.
How did he get to where hurting each other feels like a sport?
A tear escapes from my eye, and he gently wipes it away with the thumb of his other hand.
I look at his lips, lips that were once my home and are now everyone’s hotel, but despite that, I feel the urge to kiss him.
His touch is like alcohol—it makes me forget things and makes me want to do things without thinking.
I pull my wrist from his grasp, shaking off the impulse I wish I no longer had.
I walk to the door, but before leaving, I look back at him. I want to make one thing clear. “For the record, nothing happened between Nate and me while we were together. I lov… I loved you too much to have done that to you.” That’s the difference between us.
I think I hear him mutter, “I know,” as I walk out.