Page 91 of Gravity of Love
But even more than the toxic bullshit he felt, Tristan didn’t deserve to be with Frankie. His actions clearly demonstrated that. If he didn’t love her enough not to cheat on her, he should have broken up with her. His fucking excuse that it wasEmmanuelle,as if her being a supermodel somehow excused his behavior, made Liam want to break his fucking nose.
He turned onto the riverside road, gravel popping beneath his tires, the headlights catching the white canvas of a large tent rising up like a ship’s sail against the darkened sky. He pulled into a parking spot and cut the engine and sat in temporary stillness.
From his vantage point, he could see the welcome dinner was already in full swing. Through his open window he could hear the echoes of laughter, the clatter of silverware against heavy china, and the giddy yelps of kids hopped up on sugar and emboldened by a lack of parental supervision. There was a live string quartet somewhere inside the tent, their notes drifting out and mingling with the river’s soft hush.
Liam sat in the dim cab of his SUV and checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. His hair was still damp from the world’s fastest shower he’d taken at the hospital because he’d had tunnel vision and just wanted to get to Frankie as fast as he could. He ran his hands through it once more, then adjusted his tie, tightening it at his neck. He picked up his phone, trying to call her once again. He wanted to talk to her, alone, before he faceda crowd. This time, her phone went straight to voicemail. He cursed beneath his breath.
Before getting out, he took a moment to mentally prepare himself to walk into a crowded room of people he hadn’t seen in years—people who most likely still remembered him as a troublemaking, rebellious teenager, whom some might even classify as intimidating. It would be a sea of faces he wasn’t even sure he’d recognize, some of which belonged to family, some to his parents’ friends, and most he hadn’t seen since his mother’s funeral and he’d actively avoided.
With one final fortifying inhale, he opened the door, stepped into the night, and followed the path of solar lanterns down to the tent. The ground was surprisingly soft underfoot, spongy from the afternoon’s heavy drizzle, and littered with a trail of pine needles and grass clippings. He could see silhouettes moving inside the tent. Two stood out immediately—his dad’s, broad-shouldered, formidable, and impossible to ignore, and Cora’s, fluttery, petite, and angelic.
There were Costases everywhere, a veritable army of cousins and uncles and aunts, chattering in English and Greek with equal ferocity and volume.
It hadn’t surprised him that the Costases had all descended on Hope Falls to support Cora in remarrying. Frankie told him when they were younger, once they accepted you into their family, it was like the mob—you were in. Cora was one of them, it didn’t matter that Frank died twenty-five years ago. Yaya still treated Cora as if she was her daughter, there was no ‘in-law.’ And the rest of the Costases followed suit.
When he met the Davies clan, they reminded him of the Costases, in the sense that they welcomed him, and everyone it seemed, with open arms. Poppy’s mom was at every family gathering. Poppy was treated no differently than Pippa, Phoebe, or Lina. Just like he wasn’t. Everyone from Teresa to Bampiand Momo to all of his sisters’ husbands and their children and stepchildren were all treated the same, under the umbrella of family. Liam could easily imagine them blending in seamlessly at this event.
Yaya was at the center of a large table, holding court as only she could, her hands flying as she narrated some ancient family drama to a captive audience. He noted that Arthur Santino was sitting beside her, looking mild and unassuming, staring up at her with a look of adoration. If only people knew what the man was capable of.
His dad was laughing at the bar with a half dozen old university fraternity brothers who Liam remembered meeting several times when he was growing up, his voice carrying even above the music. He looked at him differently now. He hadn’t quite reconciled the man Cora described with the man he knew, but he did see him through a softer lens.
Mayor Henry Walker stood with Chief of Police, Eric Maguire, and his wife, Lily, who was tucked tightly under his arm. There were several other prominent figures in the community, including Eric’s brother Jake, who was the fire chief, and Renata Blackstone, a leader in the Washoe tribe whose granddaughter was international popstar Karina Black. Karina grew up in Hope Falls and was the first to start the Hollywood of the Sierra Nevada trend. He’d met them all over the years at the hospital.
He continued scanning the room until his gaze snagged on Frankie. She stood on the edge of the dance floor in a figure-hugging, black cocktail dress. Beside her was a man Liam had never seen, in person, before with dyed pink hair wearing a tailored suit who looked like he’d just walked off a runway of Paris Fashion Week. His arm was snaked around her waist, his hand firmly gripping her hip in a very familiar, very intimate hold that normally would have made Liam’s fist curl and causehim to see red. But he recognized this man as Zion, her best friend. He still didn’tlovethe fact his arm was wrapped tightly around her and he could even see from his vantage point that his fingers were digging into her hip, but he knew their relationship was platonic.
As he made his way towards her, he was stopped every few feet by a new person who was approaching him, slapping him on the shoulder, calling him “Liam-my-boy” or “Doctor Liam” or “the smart one,” and telling him that “he looked so handsome” or “he filled out” or “he was a man now,” all of which made his skin feel too tight. He gave the expected responses, smiled at the right jokes, and inched closer to Frankie.
He’d made it to within fifteen yards of Frankie when his brother stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Tristan had the same eyes as Liam, but where Liam’s gaze tended toward icy, Tristan’s always had a spark of chaos, a glint of trouble. Tonight, it was more like a wildfire. From his breath and demeanor, Liam would guess he was at least five whiskies deep, face flushed beneath a five o’clock shadow that made him look exhausted instead of his normal rakish. He wore the kind of suit you only saw in GQ, the color somewhere between navy and midnight and perfectly tailored, though he’d already yanked the tie loose and left the shirt half-unbuttoned. He looked like a man itching for a knife fight.
“Liam!” he hissed in a low voice, grabbing his shoulder and maneuvering him out of the flow of partygoers and into a hidden corner of the tent, causing him to be even further away from Frankie, and where the laughter, conversation, and thrum of music couldn’t muffle the thread of anger in his tone. “Do you believe this shit?” He jerked his head toward the dance floor. Tristan’s eyes locked onto the couple now in the center of the dancers.
Frankie and Zion were slow-dancing, close enough that a credit card would have had trouble sliding between their bodies. Frankie’s arms were looped around Zion’s neck, she was gazing up at him like he was the sun. Her lips were a soft, lacquered red, parted in a genuine, easy laugh—one that transformed her entire face and, by extension, the entire room. Liam barely registered the squeeze in his chest, the way seeing her lit up like that—vivid, unguarded—made everything else look like it was in greyscale.
“That’s her friend,” Liam said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
Tristan snorted, his jaw tightening as his nostrils flared like a bull ready to charge. “Yeah, well, apparently they’refuckingnow.” He leaned in, dropping his voice so low it was seething and conspiratorial, and he continued speaking, but Liam didn’t hear a word of it.
Liam’s brain short-circuited after, “They’re fucking now.”
He risked another look at the dance floor. Zion was holding Frankie as he dipped her and nuzzled his face into her neck. She was laughing, her head thrown back. Even from here, Liam could see the flush on her cheeks. After spending two nights with her in his bed, he now knew her cheeks didn’t just flush when she was embarrassed or mad, they also flushed when she was turned on.
He felt something in his stomach drop and catch, like a ride at the county fair.
“They’refucking?” The words came out before he’d even realized he was saying them.
“Yeah.” Tristan’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I never trusted him. From the first time I met him, with the whole ‘bi’ thing, I always figured it was just a long con. Waiting it out, biding his time, sitting on the sidelines until she got bored or I slipped up. All the spa visits, Bravo watch parties, shopping trips, and wine tastings… allbullshit. And now he’s here, atmydad’s wedding, slow dancing withmyex like he’s the fucking hero in a fucking rom-com.” He let out a hollow laugh, bitter as burnt coffee. “Fucking long game, man.”
That was three fuckings in two sentences, his brother was definitely wasted.
AJ and Niko had both mentioned Zion over the years—how Zion would miraculously show up whenever Frankie needed him, how he’d always been her shoulder to cry on, her ride home when she drank too much, and her security system, literally. When their apartment was burglarized and Tristan was abroad on a six week guys trip, Zion slept on her couch for a month until he got back. felt safe again. Liam had been grateful that she had him in her life when her brothers were either overseas or in other states, but now…
He watched Zion whisper something into Frankie’s ear. She giggled, swatted at his chest, then lifted up on her tiptoes to whisper back. It was the kind of chemistry that could pull the tides out of orbit.
Liam swallowed, feeling the edges of the moment splinter as a pulse raced in his chest. “She told you she’sfuckinghim?”
“Basically.” Tristan barked a laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I heard it from dad, who heard it from Cora, and when I asked her about it she got this goofy, lovesick grin on her face and said, ‘I’m happy.’ She’s definitely fucking him.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, the gesture familiar from a lifetime of debates and disappointments. “She’s not even sorry, bro. Not one bit. She is glowing. I’ve never seen her like this!”
Liam didn’t know what to think, or what to say. He felt like he was watching this happening on a television show. This couldn’t be real. He glanced down at his feet, then back at the dance floor, where Frankie and Zion were now swaying in a kind of synchronized, slow-motion trance.
