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After a shower, Nathaniel meets his family for dinner in the lobby. His father’s hired a driver to take them to a Michelin-star restaurant on an adjoining beach.
Hands in his pockets, Nathaniel paces the marble floor while his father describes in detail the call he took today. He does his best to look bored, but he can’t help looking up and over every time the elevator chimes.
He’s waiting for it. The sight of the stomping black cloud of Ash on the arm of his grandfather.
When the elevator doors open for the fifth time, there’s only Augustus.
“Where’s Ash?” he barks, unable to help himself. Unable to shake that prickle of annoyance. Of want.
“Too much sun,” Augustus says with a cheery grin. “She’s taking it easy in the room.” Eyes twinkling, he turns to Delaney. “Hi there, sweetheart.”
“Grandpops,” Delaney squeals, throwing herself into Augustus’s arms.
Dinner’s unbearable. His father picks apart the last few episodes of Delaney’s show while Delaney agrees with every single fucking offensive word. Why wouldn’t she? For the first time in God knows how long, she actually has thirteen minutes of her father’s attention. Nathaniel carries the conversation, volleys the dialogue between his mother and grandfather, as futile as it is.
Augustus keeps trying to mend fences. No one seems to want to reciprocate. Nathaniel’s not sure what to do. Except wish Ash were here. She’d have a solution. Make jokes, lighten the mood, at least piss off his father.
It’s only been two days, and already, she’s the sole person ensuring no one bolts for saner pastures.
He’s certainly not leaving, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t counting down the days until the vacation is over and he can get away from his family. This isn’t a feasible or workable emotion. This is about survival. Even med school wasn’t this hard.
An email pops onto the upper left corner of his phone screen. He checks it with bated breath. But it’s not the email he’s been waiting for.
It’s why he’s applying to the North Sea, right? To get away?
Halfway through coffee and dessert, his mind has strayed to Ash again. To their conversation at the pool. To the people who made her feel like an outcast. What he’d give to throttle them. Fuck those people. Anyone who can use someone’s health condition as a reason to exclude them. It’s fucking cruel.
He admires her for going through all that so young. Despitethe slight cynical edge to her voice, so much of her holds resilience. Bravery.
The image of her wary—and then stunned—expression at the pool keeps playing across his mind like a GIF.
His stomach fills with annoyance. Worry. Did she at least get dinner? Christ. He doesn’t like anything about this. His Ash-centric brain doesn’t like the thought of her not eating. Doesn’t like the way she all but ran away from him today. It doesn’t sit right.
As soon as they finish dinner and get back to the resort, Nathaniel heads to his room. His first stop is the balcony, where he hopes to find Ash. And do what? Talk? Trade banter that stings and then some? It’s either talk to her or give in to Tate and listen to his podcast.
But the balcony is dark and empty. The curtains to her room are drawn. He lifts a hand, hovering, wanting to knock, but thinks better of it.
So he sits. Thumbs through his phone to check his email for word about his job application. But he finds he couldn’t care less.
For once, the North Sea isn’t on is mind. Neither is figuring out an early exit from this trip. Instead, he’s consumed with thoughts revolving around a different subject entirely. One that doesn’t make him want to run away.
It’s Ash. The macabre girl with the blood-red smirk.
After an hour on the balcony, he stands to go. The moment he’s on his feet, the light in her room turns on. He waits, heart pounding, listening to the crash of waves, hoping for a glimpse of her scowling face, and then the light flicks off.
It’s her. The blue-haired, sequined stripper from the photo her client gave her.
The photo Ash took as absolute proof. Proof that allowed her to object to the wedding.
Only it wasn’t an affair.
The woman was Nathaniel’s sister.
His fuckingsister.
The look on Nathaniel’s face that day—that confused, hurt expression that’s haunted her nightmares for the last three years—floats through her mind once again, and her guilty heart shrivels up and drops into her stomach.
“Fuck,” Ash whispers to her pale reflection in the mirror. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
