Page 83 of The Upgrade

Eve.

She doesn’t say Eve, and neither do I. We’re dancing around this, aren’t we?

“I had plans.” A stupid response, since it’s pretty damn clear my plans involve pacing. “I needed to be by myself.”

“I get that,” says Sybil, nodding at Kora. “We saw her earlier and she seemed kind of upset you said no.”

Kora frowns. “I’m sure she’s fine now.”

She’s way more than fine. She’s laughing and carefree with a guy who won’t turn dinner into a dumping ground for sad stories about exes. I seriously did that, didn’t I?

Kora studies my face just a little too long. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, well—” She exchanges a look with her wife. “Have a good night.”

“Same to you.”

I resume my march toward my room, up the stairs, and across the pool deck. My bare feet slap cobblestones, stinging my soles and my calves. I meant to grab my shoes at the edge of the beach, but it’s the least of my concerns now.

When I turn at the path that leads to The Chateau, I stop dead in my tracks. “Eve?”

She’s sitting on the ground with her back to the building, knees pulled up to her chest. Her red dress hugs her ankles and knees, anchored in place by her elbows. As her eyes lift to mine, she unfolds her body and gets to her feet.

“Kit,” she says softly. “Are you okay?”

I’m so tired of that question. “I’m fine.”

“I noticed you pacing the beach.”

“Where’s Logan?” I glance around but don’t see the guy.

“Back at the restaurant. I told him I needed a minute.” She puts a hand on the stucco, balancing there as she slips on her shoes. Then she comes down the steps like someone approaching a feral dog. “I shouldn’t keep him waiting,” she says, “but I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” That didn’t sound convincing. “I needed some time to myself.”

“Is that why you turned down my dinner invite?”

“I—yes.”

She searches my face, then nods. “Have you talked to Camille?”

So that’s what this is about. “I know about Miranda getting married.”

Eve flinches at my sharpness. “How are you handling it?”

“Fine.” If I sayfineone more time, I’m punching myself in the junk. “It’s none of my business, is it?”

“I just thought—” She presses her lips together, choosing her words with care. “If it were me, I’d probably have feelings about Brock getting married.”

“Yeah, well…I’m not you.”

She flinches again. “Okay,” she says softly, and I feel like an asshole. “Um, I guess it’s good you’re not upset?”

My lack of an answer should prompt her retreat, but it doesn’t. She’s too fucking kind, too considerate of others.

“I hate the thought of you stewing on this,” she says. “Maybe you need a distraction.”

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