Page 56 of Covetous

Esme is waiting outside my bedroom, her eyes red and nose blotchy from a night of tears. Panic surges through me as I approach her, my discarded pajamas clutched in my hand. “Hey, E,” I say, closing the bathroom door behind me and securing my robe ties tighter around my waist.

“Can we talk in your room?”

“Um, yeah, sure.” My heart hammers in my chest. I’m freaking out. Does she know? She can’t. Victor would’ve warned me with a text or something. But I left my phone in the room, so I can’t check. Does she sense anything? Do I look as guilty as I feel?

As we enter the room, our eyes are drawn to my blanketless bed like magnets. “What happened to your comforter?” she asks.

“It’s in the wash. Spilled wine on it last night.”

She nods, her expression unreadable as she stands timidly, hugging herself.

“You’re up early,” I say, setting my pajamas aside and perching on the edge of my bed.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Her eyes wander my room as if searching for something.

“Hungover?” I wince, empathizing with how she must feel after last night’s drinking.

“A little.”

I want to ask how she’s feeling after everything with Victor, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t have the right to play “concerned friend.” Even mentioning his name feels like a betrayal. “Have you eaten? We can?—”

“Victor’s leaving. Did you know?”

Why would she think I’d know that? Tempted to lie, I hesitate. What’s one more, right? “No, I didn’t.” Just yesterday, I suggested asking them to leave so we could have the girls’ trip we planned. Now that idea feels cruel. I can hardly meet her eye, let alone commiserate over her breakup that I’m not all that mad about.

“Whatever. If he wants to leave, he should leave.”

“I’m so sorry.” God, I sound like the other woman. Because I am the other woman, and I’m not all that sorry. The devil on my shoulder tells me that she had this coming, that she had to know Victor and I would find our way back to each other. But the angel on my shoulder reminds me that I used to be a good person, and a good person wouldn’t do what I did under any circumstances. In Esme’s eyes, and probably everyone else’s, I’ll always be the other woman. Doesn’t matter that I wanted him first.

Esme’s lips curl into a faint smile, looking like a shadow of her usual vibrant self. “I know. And thank you for being there for me last night.”

A lump forms in my throat as I fight back tears. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“No, I do. You’re a great friend, Sky.” Her eyes move from my bed to the pile of clothes on the floor—the ones I wore to the beach last night. They’re covered in sand. Every muscle in my body tenses up as I wait for whatever question she might throw at me. Time seems to stand still as the room fills with tension and unease. This silent conversation between us. “So anyway,” she finally says, her eyes slowly shifting to lock with mine, like she’s trying to read my mind. “I’m going back to bed to sleep off this hangover.”

“Are you going to say goodbye to him?” I don’t know why I’m asking. Maybe it’s out of guilt, or maybe it’s because I want her to have closure. Maybe it’s a little of both.

She shakes her head, a look of sadness flashing across her face before it’s gone. “No.”

“Okay, well…I’ll guess I’ll see you later?”

She nods, giving me one long look before leaving my bedroom.

An hour later, I find myself in the kitchen, sipping my coffee and trying to act normal. My eyes dart to Victor, who’s whipping up protein shakes with Smith before they head to the airport. I quickly look away, afraid that if I stare too long, my feelings will be written all over my face. Victor and I have been careful all morning, only stealing furtive glances at each other when we think no one’s watching. Liv seems too wrapped up in Smith to notice, but I can’t risk it. Everyone’s here, except Esme, who’s been holed up in her room since she left mine.

I haven’t been alone with Victor since the beach, and it’s driving me crazy. I crave one more secret moment with him, to feel his touch and hear him whisper my name, to run my fingers through his silky hair.

“The car’s here,” Victor announces, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I jump at the chance to be close to him, pouring the rest of my coffee into the sink where he stands. As our shoulders brush, a spark of electricity shoots through me, and I breathe in his scent. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the longing between us is palpable. But the spell is broken when Liv walks in, her timing impeccably awful. “We’ll walk you guys out,” she says, oblivious to the heat between us.

With my heart lodged in my throat, I trail behind the group as we leave the house. The morning breeze carries the scent of saltwater and damp grass, and the sun warms my face, but I barely notice. My mind is consumed with the thought of saying goodbye to Victor. Liv and Smith, hand in hand, walk toward the waiting car, while I hang back on the porch, fidgeting with my phone. I send Esme a quick text, just in case she wants to say goodbye, but a part of me hopes she doesn’t come down.

Me

They’re about to leave.

The text changes from delivered to read, but Esme doesn’t reply. I hug myself, trying to keep it together as Victor throws his bags into the ride-share’s trunk. This is it. He’s leaving me—Cape Cod, I mean.

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