Page 158 of Only Mine
I pull out my phone to check on Ivy. Francine has sent aphoto of four girls in a living room that looks like a craft store exploded. Glue sticks, construction paper, and what might be an entire bag of sequins cover every surface. Ivy’s expanded her friend group in the month since Saint and I have been together, finding other kids with a passion for art. Francine encourages the mess, then makes them all clean it up. It’s the best of both worlds.
“Art project or natural disaster?” Saint asks, looking over my shoulder.
“With Ivy? Both.”
“Carly!”
Noa’s shout cuts through the carnival noise. I turn to see a tall, beautiful woman with red hair near the entrance, phone pressed to one ear, finger in the other, trying to hear over the music. She’s picking her way across the grass in a navy suit and heels that keep sinking into the earth.
Rome goes very still in my periphery.
“Is that a friend of yours?” his date asks, following his gaze.
“Something like that,” he responds.
Carly pockets her phone and looks up, spotting our group. Her shoulders relax, though her eyes narrow at the sight of Rome’s arm draped around his date.
“There you are,” she calls, striding toward us with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how good they look in a tight-fitting pantsuit. “Sorry I’m late. Client crisis.”
“Sounds traumatic,” Rome drawls, but his study lingers on her, tracking her movements with interest.
From what I understand, Carly, Noa, Rome, and Stone all grew up together here in Falcon Haven. They share a history that even Saint’s glare can’t cut through, and they’ve never given us the full story of their shared childhoods.
“Never traumatic enough to affect my billable hours,”Carly quips, stopping in front of us. “Stone. You’re back from London. Still pretending to be human?”
Stone’s mouth quirks. “Carly. Still pretending to be pleasant?”
“Only on special occasions.” She kisses his cheek, then hugs Noa. “Thanks for the invite. I needed an excuse to escape my inbox.”
Rome’s date shifts, clearly sensing the change in dynamic.
“Hey, Red,” Rome says. “Didn’t know you were joining us.”
“Last-minute edition,” Carly replies. “Noa insisted I needed fresh air and fried food.”
She extends a hand to Rome’s date. “Carly Westbrook.”
“Violet,” the woman responds, shaking Carly’s hand with a tight smile.
Violet removes her hand and re-wraps it around Rome’s arm, her mouth now strained at the corners.
“We were just heading to get food,” I say, breaking the tension before it can solidify. “Want to join?”
“Absolutely,” Carly confirms, falling into step beside Noa as our group moves toward the food trucks. She leans in, her voice dropping, “I see Rome’s almost done making his way through the alphabet.”
Nudging her, Noa says, “Don’t be mean. He’s lonelier than he looks.”
Carly snorts. “Oh, please.”
Violet keeps tugging on Rome’s sleeve, asking to ride the Ferris wheel with him, but his attention doesn’t stray from Carly, who orders the brisket platter and a beer from Maisy.
“Victory meal,” she explains to me as Saint places our order between asking Maisy about her latest shipment of mangoes. “Just destroyed opposing counsel in court today.His client’s paying my client’s legal fees and my bonus vacation to Cabo.”
“Ruthless,” Stone says approvingly.
Carly catches Rome staring. “Problem?”
“Just wondering when you got so bloodthirsty.”
