Page 44 of You're The One
I nod, knowing that feeling. Avoiding the things that hurt—the ones that claw and burrow deep. They’re better left there. Undisturbed.
“It’s not your fault,” I say, repeating the same words I’ve told myself more times than I can count.
He meets my gaze, but I look away, fiddling with a loose thread on the comforter. When I glance up again, he’s slowly nodding.
“Do you have a good relationship with your mom?” he asks.
“My stepmom is great.”
I guess tonight’s the night for digging. But unlike my usual avoidance, something about this feels safe. It’s one of the few times alone—no cameras, no Bodhi, no other girls. Just me and the man I thought I hated. ButMr. Perfectis starting to look a little more human.
And maybe, I want to feel a little more human, too. Maybe it’s okay to say the things I usually don’t. If I discover the fault in my logic tomorrow, I can blame it on liquid courage, or at least have plausible deniability.
“My mom died giving birth to me, so I never really knew her. Everything I know comes from my dad—stories, pictures, old home videos. She almost feels more like a character I grew up watching than a real person. I got to know and love her through other people’s memories.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “Yeah. I kind of wish I could say the same. People can’t let you down that way.”
After a pause, I settle on saying, “I think it’s safe to say neither of our situations is ideal.”
“I’ll give you that.”
His lips tip up, more on the left side than the right. That ridiculous mustache isn’t quite as ridiculous as I first thought—helped by its trimmed length and a couple of days’ worth of stubble along his jaw.
My gaze drifts up to his, catching on the wrinkle forming between his brows. I always assumed his eyes were brown;they’re so dark I never noticed the blue. But now, up close, the color is closer to that of a stormy sea.
I don’t realize I’m staring until Dominic clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck.
“I should get going.” He gestures over his shoulder with a thumb and stands.
“Yeah.” I pull the covers to my chin. “See ya tomorrow.”
“Sweet dreams,” he says as the door clinks shut behind him.
The sun might be helping my mood this morning, but apparently, vitamin D can’t cure a hangover.
I roll over on the lounger and immediately regret it. My stomach sloshes like a waterbed, a reminder that I can’t be trusted with unlimited wine—especially not with Dominic around, driving me to drink.
It’s a slow morning at the mansion. Just a few of us stretching out by the pool while Emma gets ready for her date.
Summer’s on the lounger next to mine, a guitar balanced across her lap as she picks and hums softly to herself. Every so often, she pauses to scribble something in a notebook.
“You writing a song?” I ask.
Her fingers keep moving, but her head turns toward me. “Trying to. Not feeling very inspired.”
It still blows my mind that someone can just create. I’ve always loved music, the way it lets you process emotions without actually naming them. Like a safety net made of sound. And the fact that my new friend is one of the people behind the lyrics? Yeah, it’s pretty damn cool.
“What do you normally write about?”
She lifts an eyebrow. “What most songs are about… finding love or losing it.”
I do a mental scroll through my favorite songs. Yep. She’s not wrong. Even the ones that don’t sound like love songs are always about something or someone that mattered. Or about what it feels like when they’re gone.
And just like that, she gives me the perfect opening.
If I’m going to be stuck with Dominic at every get-together—thanks, Ryan—I wouldn’t mind having Summer around, too. But despite how compatible they seem, I get more sibling vibes than sparks. Plus, she told me before she came here for publicity, not love. I’m guessing Dominic’s charm hasn’t changed that.
“So… you don’t think love is in your future? With Dom?”
