It’s as if I’m not even there, and judging by how nearby people slow, turn, linger, I’m not the only one caught in this moment.Why wouldn’t they be?Maddox Hartley’s ex-fiancée is back.She grew up here.Most—if not all—of them would know who she is.
Her eyes finally land on me.Curious.Assessing.And that’s when the details sharpen.The faint shadows beneath her eyes and skin bronzed more by makeup than sun.Her lips are dry, cracked at the edges.She’s still beautiful—undeniably so—but something feels slightly out of alignment.
Not wrong.Just… off.
I wonder if she’s tired or if there’s something happening beneath the surface I can’t yet name.And for the first time since she arrived, I realize I’m not watching a reunion.I’m witnessing a complication.
“Who’s this?”Erica strokes her thumb along Maddox’s wrist.
Something ugly and prickly twists low in my gut.A thousand possibilities swarm at once.Maybe they’re getting back together.Maybe they were never really done.Percy’s words surface uninvited, echoing with new weight.
Maddox doesn’t answer right away, and when he finally glances at me, the expression on his face isn’t what I expect.I expect guilt or apology or something that explains the moment.Instead, I see fear or urgency or the sudden need to get away.
He says nothing, only turns away from me and takes Erica’s hand, his grip firm, decisive, and walks away.
Just like that.
Leaving me standing in the square, the imprint of his kiss still warm on my lips, watching him disappear into the crowd.
She talks animatedly as they walk, her hands finding him again and again—his arm, his back—easy and familiar.He stays silent, stoic, intent on moving forward, not once looking back.
Around me, the square is alive with voices rising; someone laughs, a mug clinks against another in a quiet toast.And I’m transfixed.
Because whatever that kiss was—whatever it meant—it just walked away, holding someone else’s hand.
Chapter30
Maddox
Idon’t stop until we’re far enough from the square that the noise dulls and the faces thin out.Erica keeps pace beside me, unfazed, or maybe she notices and doesn’t care.
“I don’t know why you look so surprised.”She clings to my arm.“I told you I was coming.”
“Last we spoke, I made it clear, don’t come around me unless you’re sober.”I keep my eyes forward.
She hums like what I said doesn’t matter and sidles closer, torso brushing my arm.Her fingers slide into mine, interlacing before I can stop it.I loosen my hand immediately, not pushing her away, but not letting her settle either.
She frowns and tries again.Short of shoving her off me in the middle of town, I keep adjusting—half a step ahead, an angle away—creating space the only way I can.
I’m well acquainted with this move, what she’s doing.What she’s always done.She isn’t looking to rekindle anything, only how she can use me, our past and connection, to her advantage.
“You just disappeared.Left Spain.”She pouts.“I needed you.”
I glance at her, incredulous.If she wasn’t trying to work me right now, I’d challenge her, but I refuse to waste my breath.
Erica knows why I left, and I didn’t just disappear.In fact, I’d stayed longer than I should’ve, so long that everything blew up in my face.
I continue to stare, carefully studying her.The boots are too big for her feet, and the jacket is worn thin at the cuffs.The way her eyes keep scanning, never resting, like she’s tracking exits or opportunities.
No one else might clock it.They don’t know her the way I do, and most didn’t know her well enough to know how she used to be or how she’s learned to adapt.
The woman standing in front of me now is no one I know.
And every bit of me tenses with anticipation as her question in the square surfaces at the front of my mind.Who’s this?
How casual she sounded when it was anything but casual.Erica was sizing Grace up, measuring the situation, and calculating how whatever Grace and I are—or aren’t—might be useful.
As if she can read my mind, Erica slows, forcing me to stop with her.