Chapter 4 – Ariane – How Things have Changed #2
Later that afternoon, when the clipboards, tents, and my mother’s endless instructions start to feel like nails at my temples, I slip away with a book tucked under my arm. The prop is purely because I’ve noticed people ask fewer questions if you’re holding a book.
The lake is quieter than the house, and that’s all I want right now. Some peace and quiet to recalibrate my fried-feeling nerves.
I approach the dock that stretches out into the water, eternally beckoning me to escape further, its boards sun-warmed and worn smooth from years of use.
My bare feet pad across them, each creaky whine of wood a reminder that this place has heard more confessions than any priest. It’s near the edge that I perch, cross-legged, with the book open in my lap and my eyes skimming nothing.
The words blissfully blur together, and the sunshine warms my shoulders.
The breeze pulls stray strands of hair into my face.
Behind the veil of it, I exhale the first real breath I’ve allowed myself in hours.
My relieve putters out in record time when I hear footsteps. They’re heavy and pronounced. It’s safe to say it’s nothing like the hurried shuffle of caterers or even the clipped march of my mother’s gait.
My spine stiffens before I even glance back.
“Book club by the water?” he taunts, edged with a sarcasm I half-forgot but would recognize instantly.
I look over my shoulder, eyes already narrowed.
Finn.
He steps onto the dock like he’s testing its ability to hold his weight.
Today, he’s out of his suit. He’s dressed down for once, wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt that makes his biceps look absolutely insane.
His shoulders are broader than I remember, his whole frame heavier.
His jaw could cut glass, stubble casting a deliberate shadow across the length of it.
His dark hair is much shorter now than it was a few years back, swept back with finesse, though the streak of silver near his temples is what catches my attention most.
Time has made him dangerous.
And hotter, if I’m being honest.
Either way, he looks nothing like the memory I keep in the back of my mind, and that unsettles me more than I’ll admit.
And then there’s those eyes, gray and unreadable, that land on me like I’m a puzzle he desperately wants to solve.
I snap my book closed even though I wasn’t even reading it. “It was either this or helping Mom alphabetize place cards,” I say, mustering a smile. “And honestly? Drowning myself is the more appealing option.”
He huffs out a snort of… amusement? Oh. It’s faint but real.
And I’m apparently the only one dwelling on what a rare turn of events that is. Because, without further ado, he just lowers himself onto the opposite end of the dock. There’s enough distance between us that I don’t have to feel nervous—not that it stops me.
“Julian not here yet?” he questions, and it feels pointed.
I roll my eyes, and put down my book beside me, before leaning back on my palms. “Why are you so obsessed with him?”
“Just making conversation,” he says, voice even.
“Sure,” I say in a tone that is anything but believing. “That’s what people say when they’re terrible at conversation.”
He lifts his brow. “You saying I’m terrible at it?”
“I’m saying you’re a work in progress,” I tease. “But hey, scowling at the lake counts as communication for you, right?”
His mouth twitches, almost but not quite a smile. “Scowls and spreadsheets. It’s a full-time gig.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “Wow. No wonder women must be lining up. Who wouldn’t want that?”
He looks at me then, direct and steady, and says, “You’d be surprised.”
Everything stills. My laugh lingers in my throat, caught between amusement and intrigue. We look at each other for long enough that I notice the faint scars on his face.
Finally, I shake my head and grin. “God, you’re impossible.”
“I’ve been called worse,” he says flatly.
I study him for a beat; at the somber way he holds himself up. This is the last place he probably wants to be—with the sunshine, the paper lanterns, and the illusion of a perfect family.
“You don’t look like you belong here,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
His head turns, eyes locking on mine. “That makes two of us.”
I shrug, not bothering to argue because he’s right and we both know it.
It’s the kind of truth that only needs to be acknowledged.
For a moment, the noise of the estate fades away, no tents going up, no florists arguing over hydrangeas, no clipboard snapping in Mom’s hands.
Just him and me, sitting on the same worn dock, seeing more in each other than either of us will ever admit out loud.
It’s strange how easy it feels to talk to him despite the years of zero communication. We haven’t spoken in forever, but I suppose some things don’t rust. Being part of this house, under mom’s perfection and Richard’s blind optimism, means we speak a language other people can only guess.
I open my mouth, ready to say something, nothing important, but my phone buzzes in my pocket, so loud against the wood, shattering the quiet. I scramble to dig it out of the back-pocket of my shorts, glancing at the screen.
Mom: Where are you? One of the workers ruined the centerpieces.
Mom: You can’t just wander off, Ariane
I sigh and already miss the conversation we never had because there’s always something to fix. Always someone to answer to.
“Duty calls,” Finn says.
This time, he sounds more pitiful than mocking.