Page 114 of Chasing You

“At least you won’t be hungover tomorrow,” Marisol says as she walks through the open door of Rosemary Cottage.

“Hey,” we all echo as she drops her designer bag on the kitchen counter.

Marisol is the most dressed down I’ve seen her in years, sporting a matching sweat set and running shoes. Not that she’ll be running anywhere.

I have barely seen Marisol in the last few years, the one exception being Isla and Caio’s wedding. But something I know won’t have changed since she left is that the girl hates to run. I’m notsure if she would even run to save her life—one thing we have in common.

The thought sends my brain back to the day I was running in the forest, the day I ran straight into Miles. I think of all of the small moments that led us to where we are today, and even though in so many of those moments I was so guarded, so sharp, I wouldn’t change any of it.

“Passionfruit Margarita?” I ask from my spot in the kitchen.

“Ooh!” Marisol clasps her hands together. “Yes, please.”

“Come sit.” May pats the sofa beside her and Marisol collapses into the corner of the cushions. “How’s everything going?”

Marisol tips her head from side to side. “Trying to find another agent is proving difficult. Jack did his due diligence when it came to tarnishing my name.”

“Aw, honey,” I say as I hand her a cocktail. Marisol has been having trouble finding work after her dickhead of an agent-come-boyfriend cheated on her and then dropped her.

“It’s fine.” She pushes her hair out of her eyes, her new bangs framing her face like a piece of art. “How are you?” she asks May, grabbing onto her hands. “Feeling any better?”

“The morning sickness has transformed from violent vomiting to mild nausea, so,” she raises her eyebrows, “improvements are being made.”

“Do you have any names in mind?” Isla asks.

May shakes her head softly. “We can’t agree on anything. I think we need to allocate a certain number of vetos each, because at this point, he’s just going to be called baby.”

“It’s a boy?!” all three of us echo.

May just takes a casual sip of her mocktail. “Not confirmed, but I just have a feeling.”

“Whichever way the tables turn, that is going to be one lucky kid,” Marisol says.

“Cheers to that,” I say, and the four of us clink our glasses together.

“Over to you, Marchetti.” May nods in Isla’s direction as we all settle back into our spots.

“I’m still getting used to that.” Isla shakes her head from where she’s sitting curled up on the couch next to me. “Honestly, everything is fine in my world. I don’t have any big updates for you guys.”

“Have you heard from your parents since you got back?”

“Barely,” she rolls her eyes, “and whenever I have all we talk about is Miles. They think they can use me to get updates about him just because he’s not answering their calls.”

“Wait,” I put my glass down, “he’s not taking their calls?”

Isla shakes her head. “As far as I’m aware, he hasn’t talked to them since he told them he was staying here after his surgery. I don’t think they took it so well, but they’re still trying to reach him, of course.”

“What am I missing here?” Marisol asks.

Isla lets out a breath. “Long story short, my brother and I grew up with parents who only really cared about us when we were succeeding. If we were getting good grades, if Miles’s soccer team won a match, if we went to college and followed the career paths they set out for us. Shocker—coming to Italy and falling in love and never wanting to leave was not in their plans for me, and that created some…problems. But Miles spent so many years so focused on finding that success, on reaching the top that…” She shakes her head softly. “I think he forgot who he was.”

“Damn,” Marisol mutters, taking a gulp of her drink. I’m not sure she expected shit to get deep not even one cocktail into girls' night.

“He broke Marina’s heart in the process of finding that success?—”

“What?” Marisol's eyes cut to mine. I just shrug.

“But now he’s here, off work for a while because he nearly died in a boxing match?—”

---