Page 57 of Covetous

No, I had it right the first time.

Liv and Smith are making out like there’s no tomorrow, which I guess is technically true since she’s moving to California as soon as we get back. I wonder if this is it for them or if they’ll try something long-distance. It’s weird to think they’re the last couple standing.

My gaze shifts back to Victor, who’s looking at me with his guard down, like he wishes we were doing what Liv and Smith are doing right now. Me too. I want to run to him, jump into his arms, wrap my legs around his waist, and crash my mouth against his. I want to spill my guts, telling him everything I’m feeling—the doubts, the fears, all of it. But I don’t dare move from the porch, the words stuck in my throat, weighed down by promises and responsibilities.

Instead, I touch my heart, feeling it race beneath my fingertips, a quiet sign of what I can’t put into words. Victor does the same, and for a moment, it’s just us. Nothing else matters. He’s right here with me, but then his eyes drift past me, and I tense up.

The scent of Esme’s lilac perfume floats in the breeze. I turn, finding her standing in the doorway looking angry and hurt, her arms crossed tight, her body stiff. The silence between us is deafening, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Her eyes drill into mine, accusing me without a word. Did she see the moment between Victor and me? Or is she hurting from her broken heart? I’m too chicken to ask.

A car door slams behind me, the engine roaring to life. I want to turn around and watch him go, but I don’t. Not with the sharp look Esme’s giving me.

“Esme,” I start, but before I can say another word, she shuts the door in my face, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

Chapter Twenty

Liv jumps at the noise, her long ponytail swinging as she turns to me, her eyes wide with confusion. “What the hell was that about?”

“I don’t know,” I lie, my stomach twisting into knots. I wrap my arms around myself as if that could hold in the truth threatening to spill out.

She steps closer, her face etched with worry as she searches my expression. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.” The words feel like lead on my tongue. Is this how it’s going to be now? One lie after another?

Liv grabs my arm, her grip tight as she pulls me around to the side of the house, out of view from Esme’s window. “Did something happen?” she asks, her eyes darting to the front of the house like she’s expecting Esme to appear at any moment.

All my secrets claw at my throat, desperate to be set free, but I swallow them back. “Wh-why would you ask that?” I stammer as a cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.

“I don’t know. It’s just…a feeling, I guess.”

A nervous chuckle escapes my lips. “Um, okay?”

“I’m serious, Sky. You and Victor couldn’t keep your eyes off each other in the kitchen just now. And you seem…I don’t know.” She tosses her arms up in frustration, her bracelets jingling. “Weird, I guess.”

“Weird?”

“Sad, maybe? Like you’re trying not to cry. Your face is all red and blotchy. You’ve been like that all morning.”

I push my glasses up my nose, trying to compose myself. “I’m worried about Esme. That’s all. And Ian and I had a fight last night.”

“Oh,” she says, seeming to calm down, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “So that’s it?”

I swallow hard and nod, the motion feeling mechanical. “Yeah. That’s it.” I try to force a smile, but whatever Liv sees on my face makes her own crumple, her brows knitting together.

“What did you do?” She’s not mad—at least, not yet.

Do I tell a comforting lie or the painful truth? Tears blur my vision, hot and stinging. “I love him,” I confess, my voice cracking as all the emotions I’ve been holding back threaten to spill out. “I loved Victor first.”

“Oh shit,” Liv mutters, disbelief coloring her voice, her eyes widening. “Did you fuck him?” she whispers, her hand covering her mouth.

A sob threatens to rip from my throat, but I clear it instead. If I tell her this, there’s no going back. She’ll tell Esme. And even if she doesn’t, she’ll want to, and it wouldn’t be fair, pitting her against Esme and me. I have no doubt whose side she’d be on, and then I’ll lose them both.

“No. All we did was talk.”

“Talk? About what?”

“I don’t know…about everything. About us, him and Esme, me and Ian. I went to the beach last night, and he found me there.”

“And all y’all did was talk?” she asks again, skepticism evident in her tone, her arms now crossed over her chest.

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