Page 82 of The Best Wrong Move

I start to shut the door, but he sticks his foot in the way to block it.

“You look even more pretty than usual. I saw you coming up from surfing this morning, but it’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen you around here.”

I don’t have time for this. I should have just gotten ready at Dom’s. After being away from the rental for so long, I can’t exactly say that I miss running into Rex all the time.

“I have dinner with Dom.” I pause, just to watch him deflate a little. Then, I can’t help but add, “And Quinton Rockwell, along with his wife Selma.”

His eyes grow wider — he pushes the door all the way open again, leaning against it with one arm, as if to steady himself.

“Shut . . . up.” He breathes each word out one at a time.

I smile like I’ve already won the Academy Award. “No, seriously.”

“Like,theQuinton Rockwell?Thedirector?” His eyes are nearly falling out of his head. Rex and I may be very much over, but I know he’s still going to be proud of me for making this happen. We’d spend hours talking about what I wanted for my future career, planning it all out. It was always going to be part of our long-term future together. It feels good to tell him that I’m finally making it happen.

“Quinton Rockwell is Dom’s brother. He and his wife have an estate here on the island.”

“So that’s where you’ve been spending all your time, then? With Dom?” He’s not hiding the fact that he’s upset.

I can feel the seconds ticking by. “Obviously.” I really don’t have time for this.

The air churns thicker between us.Not this again.Rex leans harder against the door frame beside me, still blocking the path to close it. Then he rocks back on his heels and folds both arms over his chest.

“I’d knocked on your door hoping we could finally talk. Before you go back to New York.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Rex rakes a hand through his hair, then puts the hand on his hip. Taking a step forward, then back, then forward again, like he’s not sure how to stand.

“What did you want to talk about?” I’m hoping he’ll stop bothering me if he just gets on with it. “But I have to warn you, my driver is arriving any second.”

“It can wait,” he says. “You have something way more important tonight. Let’s not ruin your focus. You’ve been working a long time to get a shot like this.” He gives me a wide smile. “I’m really proud of you, Liv. We’ll talk after.”

I scrunch my nose, unsure of how to answer.

We stand frozen in place, but he’s not moving from the door.

“I’m pretty nervous about tonight.” I’m not sure what else to say.

“You’re going to be amazing,” he tells me quietly.

This exchange has lasted less than a minute, but it’s enough to give us both what feels like a moment of warmth toward the other. We share a sad sort of smile — the type of smile that gets more across than a few fumbled words.

I’m sorry it had to end like that.

I’m sorry, too.

“There’s a reason we ended up here together,” he tells me. “And this is part of it. It’s your shot, Liv.”

The irony of it all.

Me, finally making a real effort at the dream we dreamed together, smiling at each other — thousands of miles from where it all fell apart. Suspended for one final moment, caught between the two very separate worlds we’re both living in now.

The sound of tires rolling into the driveway out front startles us both.

As if the moment snaps shut, we both turn away. I quickly reach for my purse as he takes a step back.

“Good luck.” He slips his hands into his pockets while he watches me grab my phone off the table.

I turn back to him, my heart nearly thumping out of my chest when it registers again where I’m heading.

ToQuinton. To Dom.

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