Page 28 of The No Pressure Pact
“Cliff fall, ski-lift collapse, kidnapped by rogue Swiss bandits. I don’t know, maybe the Italian mafia?—”
Connor raises an eyebrow behind her. “That escalated quickly.”
Elle waves him off, still gripping my arms. “I mean it. You check in once, and then nothing? Not a single follow-up? Amelia and I were spiraling!”
Nicole appears in the doorway, arms crossed, tone sharper than Elle’s. “It’s called aphone. Works in the morning too.”
“Sorry,” I say, feeling scolded. “We found a place to stay, had dinner, slept well.” I leave out the part where we shared a bed and found ourselves tangled into each other half the night. Totally accidental, of course. Still, the memory flashes through me now, hot and distracting, and I have to blink it away before it shows on my face. “Promise, we’re fine.”
Her expression softens. “Glad you’re alright. But next time? A text from you would be nice. I mean—Connor vanished? Fine, he’s a grown man. You? I worry about.”
“Noted,” I say with a sheepish smile.
Inside, the house is humming again. Doors are opening and closing upstairs, and voices echo down the stairwell. There’s low jazz playing from speakers I cannot see, probably hidden in the walls in the latest European technology. Everyone seems to be getting ready for another group hike.
But Elle’s nursing a headache—which I take to mean she’s still hungover from last night, and Nicole has zero interest in “sweating uphill for views you can Google.” Which is how the four of us—me, Connor, Elle, and Nicole—end up staying behind, lounging on the back terrace overlooking the lake while the rest of the group traipses into the mountains again.
After a quick change of clothes, I come downstairs to Elle stretched out on a cushioned lounger, legs crossed, sipping something with cucumber and mint. “So,” she says, eyes hiddenbehind those massive sunglasses she always sports outside, rain or shine. “What’d you two get up to while you were stranded?”
Nicole perks up, not even pretending to be subtle. “Yeah, do tell.”
Connor is sitting under the umbrella at a table, scrolling on a tablet. Occasionally, he types something out, but it doesn’t really look like he’s working. Probably catching up to the news or social media. At Nicole’s words, he leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “We watched the rain. Ate very good fondue. Slept, then took the train back.”
I shrug like it’s nothing. “The town was small and charming. We stumbled into this family-run place with wood-paneled walls and mismatched chairs and a super cozy feel.”
Elle smiles. “Sounds kind of romantic.”
Nicole raises an eyebrow, and my stomach churns. She’s friends with Athena;they all are. They grew up together, this tight little circle that feels impossible to slip into, and it’s strange that she’s not here, stranger still that no one has mentioned her. I wonder how much they know about the breakup or if they’re just pretending for Connor’s sake. Either way, the air feels heavier. I clear my throat. “Not at all. But we did find the waterfall.”
Connor adds, “The real one. Not just the little drip we saw at the top of the mountain with you all.”
Elle gasps and claps once, delighted. “Shut up. You two foundthewaterfall?”
Connor nods. “By accident. It was pretty majestic, honestly. That’s why we missed the train.”
Nicole looks impressed. “That sounds like the most successful detour of all time.”
I can’t tell if they’re teasing or interested. Probably both. I take a sip of my sparkling water and look out at the lake to avoid eye contact.
A beat passes, and the breeze flutters the linen napkins on the table. Nicole sets her glass down with a sigh, her tone just casual enough to sound rehearsed. “Such a shame Athena won’t be able to join.”
Elle hums in agreement. “She always did love these group trips.”
My head tilts before I can stop it. Always? Did love? The wording makes me pause. I glance at Connor, waiting for him to explain, but he doesn’t. He just smooths a hand down his thigh, posture tightening, eyes on the lake.
“Maybe next year,” Nicole adds too brightly. She doesn’t look at me—her gaze is fixed on Connor, like she’s daring him to say otherwise.
He doesn’t but instead nods once, nothing more.
I force a small sip of sparkling water to cover my discomfort. Everyone at this table clearly knows more than I do, and yet no one is saying it out loud. The silence feels loaded, like I’ve stumbled into a script I don’t have the lines for.
Connor lets it play out and doesn’t flinch or correct them. He doesn’t say a single word to untangle whatever assumptions are tightening around this table like vines. Part of me wants to kick him under the table. A bigger part just wants to know why he won’t simply say that they’ve broken up.
“When is George getting in?” Connor asks about Jack’s brother, his tone light, trying to steer the conversation somewhere safer. “I thought he’d be here by now.”
“Oh, right, you missed the conversation last night,” Elle says, standing to grab something from the far end of the table. “He got held up in New York. Some last-minute work thing. He’s flying in Sunday.”
Connor nods, his gaze dropping back to the tablet in front of him. “Got it.”
