10. Sloane
TEN
SLOANE
I woke up, stayed still, and stared at the ceiling.
Xavier was in a bed with that stunning woman, and the sapphire ring hidden in his jacket was meant for her finger.
So this was what consequences felt like.
I knew the jagged shape of this heartbreak.
I'd sculpted this disaster with my own two hands eight years ago, and now I was lying paralyzed in a grand mansion, staring up at the lonely ceiling I'd built.
I let myself lie there and drown in it.
I replayed the rainy afternoon in his first cramped apartment, the one with the busted couch spring that bit you if you sat down wrong.
I'd been mid-rant, doing my worst impression of a furious man complaining about a diner, waving an invisible fork around, and Xavier had folded in half on that terrible couch.
"Stop," he'd gasped, his face buried in his hands. "Stop, I can't breathe, you're going to kill me."
"That's the goal," I'd said, and he'd looked up at me, eyes still wet from laughing.
I made myself keep going. The disastrous camping trip, the war with the tent, the dinner we'd burned over the fire and eaten anyway. And then the night I'd laid out my whole business plan for the studio, talking too fast because I was sure he'd think it was foolish.
He hadn't. He'd just watched me, those dark eyes steady on my face, and when I finally ran out of breath he'd said, quietly, "You're going to be incredible. You already are."
He had believed in me before I believed in myself. And now he believed in someone else.
I thought about the closeness on the stone steps last night, everything he'd almost confessed and swallowed instead.
I lay in the dark and let every memory burn.
And then I dragged myself out of bed.
I washed the exhaustion off my face, put on a tailored outfit, and went down to the dining hall for breakfast.
Simon had hired a full culinary staff for the estate's breakfast service, and I caught the rich smell of coffee and bacon long before the heavy oak doors.
When I pushed through, the bridal party had already gathered.
Simon and Violet were tucked together at the far end of the long table, his hand resting near her coffee cup.
Across from them sat Xavier, with the woman from last night beside him.
She wore an understated elegance. Her dark hair fell loose down her back, her posture relaxed, both hands cradling her ceramic mug. Her dark eyes swept the historic room with an unbothered curiosity.
I pulled out a chair and poured myself a black coffee.
Xavier glanced up the second I came in, his eyes tracking me before snapping away. His face gave up nothing.
"Morning," I said to the table.
"Morning, Sloane," Simon greeted.
The woman beside Xavier looked up and flashed a brilliant smile, her chin lifting, her eyes direct and warm.
Then Xavier set down his fork. "Sloane, this is Eliza."
He delivered it plainly, without softening it or tacking on a single qualifier. Eliza turned to each of us as we went around the table, and when the introductions reached my chair, she extended her hand across the wood.
"Sloane," I offered, bracing myself.
Her handshake was firm, her smile disarming. "You're stunning. And those tattoos are incredible. I'm obsessed with the linework."
"Thank you." I blinked. "If you're ever in the market for ink, I'm your girl. I run my own studio in the city."
Her eyes lit up. "Are you serious? I have a small piece already."
"Oh yeah?" I leaned forward. "What'd you get?"
She turned her left wrist over. A delicate dove sat on the inner wrist, placed where her eyes would catch it whenever she reached for something. "It's for my twin sister. She passed away when we were very young. I only know her face from old photographs. So I put her somewhere I'd always see her."
I stared at the tiny bird on her skin.
"That's beautiful," I murmured. And God help me, I meant it.
I cleared the lump in my throat. "Listen, I want to apologize for last night. Knocking on your suite door at that hour was uncalled for. I had way too much champagne at the reception and lost track of the floor plan."
She waved it off. "Please, don't apologize. It was a huge wedding party. I didn't think anything of it."
"Wait, what happened last night?" Violet cut in, her radar pinging.
She stared at me, leaning forward, her brows arched in silent demand.
"I knocked on the wrong door," I recited. "I thought it was your suite. Like I said, too much champagne."
Violet narrowed her eyes. She turned to study Xavier, then snapped her gaze back to me.
"Oh," she said, unconvinced. "Okay."
I held her calculating stare one beat longer than I needed to.
She pressed her lips into a thin line and picked up her coffee mug, dropping the interrogation.
Eliza glanced around the cavernous hall. "So what do you even do in an estate like this? Just… explore the place?"
"Pretty much whatever you want," Simon offered. "Walk the grounds, raid the library, relax in the drawing room. The kitchen staff's on call for whatever you need."
"As long as you don't break any historic artifacts," Violet added drily.
Eliza laughed. "That seems like a low bar to clear."
"You'd be surprised with this group," Simon joked. The table chuckled, and I let myself sit inside the warmth of that shared laughter for the few seconds it lasted.
Then I set my coffee down. "I'm going to head back to the city after breakfast."
Violet snapped her head toward me. "Why?"
"I need to talk to my father. And I have an appointment to meet someone."
Xavier's coffee cup hit its saucer with a sharp clink.
"Who are you meeting?" he asked, his voice low.
Violet looked at him. Simon became fascinated by his eggs. Eliza's eyes drifted toward the windows.
"Someone my father's insisting I meet," I said, keeping my voice level. "A friend."
"Oh," Violet noted, connecting the dots. "Okay."
We survived the rest of breakfast without anyone saying a single thing of substance, pretending the tension wasn't there.
When I pushed my chair back to go pack, Violet trailed me out of the room.
She followed me all the way down to the gravel driveway where my hired car was already idling, jamming her hands deep into her pockets as the brisk morning air swirled around us.
"You're bolting because of Eliza," she said, point-blank.
"I'm leaving because I have somewhere to be, Violet."
"Sloane."
"I do," I insisted. "I have a meeting."
She just stared at me, unimpressed by the lie.
"It's someone my father arranged for me to meet," I confessed. "His name's Andrew. I told my father I'd give him a chance, and I'm following through. That's the truth."
"And how do you feel about Xavier bringing a girlfriend?" she pressed. "How do you feel about Eliza?"
I stared at the idling car. The driver sat rigid behind the wheel, staring straight ahead, pretending he couldn't hear us.
"She's nice," I admitted, the truth bitter on my tongue. "She's sweet, she's gorgeous, she got a devastating tattoo to honor her dead twin sister, and she shook my hand and called me pretty." I let out a jagged sigh. "I really wanted to hate her."
"I know you did," Violet murmured.
"So Xavier's moved on. He built a new life. Which means it's time for me to do the same thing." I turned to face her and lifted my chin. "That's a mature realization, isn't it?"
"Oh, extremely mature," she deadpanned. "Very adult. Incredibly grounded." Her eyes narrowed. "I don't think you're telling the truth. Mostly because you're fundamentally not a mature person."
"Oh, excuse me. Just because you have a marriage certificate now, you think you're a philosopher?"
"Try surviving a marriage first before you offer commentary."
"Marriage isn't for me," I deflected.
She arched a groomed eyebrow. "That's only true because you've finally realized you aren't going to marry the one man you love."
I glared at her. "Is that supposed to be a curse?"
"It's a fact," she corrected. "I've been watching this disaster unfold for two days. That woman is sitting inside eating expensive pastries, and you're standing out here in the freezing cold, running away."
"I don't feel any particular way about it," I lied through my teeth.
She studied my face, her brow level, her mouth a thin line. Then she gave one sharp nod and looked away.
I rolled my eyes. I reached out and yanked her into a tight hug, and she hugged me back with bruising force. For a long minute we stood wrapped together in the crisp morning air outside the estate where she'd just married the love of her life, and I held onto her as hard as I could.
"You better call me and tell me every detail about this Andrew guy," she demanded into my shoulder.
"I will."
"Every detail, Sloane."
"All of it," I promised.
I pulled away and climbed into the backseat of the car.
In the quiet luxury of the hired car, I stared out the tinted window at the sprawling estate grounds as we pulled away.
Xavier had introduced Eliza to the table as his girlfriend over morning coffee, and I'd shaken her hand, admired her tattoo, and mentioned I was an artist. And the earth had kept right on turning.
There was no version of reality where that sapphire ring was meant for my finger.
I'd been frantically building a fairy tale out of the scraps I wanted to be true, and Xavier had dropped the word Eliza and ended the story.
It was time to run a different plan.
My phone started ringing before we hit the city limits. I glanced at the screen. It was my father. I'd unblocked his number last night when I hit rock bottom, and he'd wasted no time using the access.
"I've forwarded Andrew your home address," he announced, skipping any greeting.
"You did what?" I bolted upright.
"He's on his way to your apartment."
"Not happening," I snapped. "You gave my home address to a complete stranger."
He paused a moment. "He's hardly a stranger, Sloane. He's—"
"I've never met the man. He's a stranger. I'll meet him somewhere public and well-lit. Text me his cell number now."