Page 40 of You're The One
“Okay, Mia, it’s your turn. Fuck, marry, kill: Dominic, Henry Cavill, Ryan Reynolds,” Victoria asks, continuing the game Summer and I interrupted.
Without missing a beat, Mia says, “Kill Dominic.”
I cough. “Charming.”
“Marry Ryan Reynolds,” she goes on, ignoring me completely. “He’s funnyandhot.”
“Hey.” I gesture to myself. “I’m both of those things.”
“And I guess that leaves Henry Cavill to… you know.” She swirls the wine in her glass, skipping the water entirely. “Although, if I could get a reverse harem situation going, I’d marry Henry, too.”
“You’re on a first-name basis now?”
She side-eyes me, but the rest of the girls laugh. Luckily, my ego doesn’t take too much of a hit with most of the others choosing to marry me.
As the chatter continues, I realize I should probably check in with Mia. See if she’s learned anything new. I’ve been keeping my distance since paddleboarding, even choosing my own one-on-one this week instead of asking for her input. I feel goodabout my choice, but a part of me still wants her opinion. Just to be sure.
“Hey, Mia, can I grab you for a sec?”
Her eyes flick to mine, like she just remembered I existed. “Forgot you were there,” she confirms, wobbling to her feet, then follows me through the indoor bar.
When she stumbles over nothing, I don’t hold back. “How much have you had to drink?” comes out sharper than I mean it to.
“Why are you up my ass? I don’t see you interrogating the rest of the girls about their drinking.”
At least she hasn’t had enough to dull her bite.
“I don’t see them stumbling around like a newborn calf.”
“Seriously, Dominic, I’m going back. We don’t need this forced ‘bonding’ time.”
She spins on her heel, but I catch her elbow and steer her forward. The fresh air and movement will do her wine-addled brain some good.
Her feet scramble to match my clipped pace. Tension pulls tight in my arms as I fight the urge to toss her over my shoulder. My fists clench and unclench, uselessly trying to shake it off.
I lead us out the front door and down the path to the right. According to the guy at the front desk, it’s a five-minute walk.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
I don’t answer right away.
“Hello?” she presses.
“To see the alpacas,” I mutter, only now realizing I’m still holding her elbow. I let go.
That earns me a smile—bright, genuine, and way too effective. It thaws my mood instantly, warming something in my chest just knowing I put it there.
But it’s short-lived. She wipes it away like it never happened, falling back into her uninterested default.
Still, for all her sharp edges, I can’t shake the itch to crack through. To see what’s underneath. Get to the soft, gooey center. Okay… not my best analogy, but the point stands. I’m not giving up until she breaks.
She makes it nearly the whole walk before asking what I’ve been waiting for. “What do you want?”
“Just checking in. Wanted to see how things have been at the house? With the women?”
She glances over her shoulder, and I follow her gaze. Bodhi, who’s a few strides behind us, gives her a thumbs-up. He already let me know our attempt at subtlety was pointless, but apparently, the team thinks this whole thing is “brilliant” and told me to keep it going, just without the cloak-and-dagger routine.
TV production is weird, man.
