Page 23 of Bitter Rival

Lauren’s dark hair is so glossy it belongs in a shampoo commercial. She looks like the kind of girl who graduated from an Ivy League college and spent her summers playing tennis and riding horses at her family’s summer home. Far classier than me with an air of quiet sophistication, dressed in navy cashmere, dark denim, and Chanel espadrilles.

I can’t help but notice how good Beckett and Lauren look together.

“Nice to meet you.” I include the group at large, but primarily Grayson and Jessica, because I’m just that petty. “Are you all up for the weekend?”

“Beckett didn’t tell you?” Grayson says. “We’re all moving in.” He laughs to let me know it was a joke, and I like him already. “Just for the weekend, although I could get used to this.”

Jessica nods in agreement and latches onto Grayson’s arm. Lauren sips her rosé and smiles politely, her eyes hidden behind tortoiseshell sunglasses.

“It’s a beautiful place,” I say. “I could happily live here forever.” I flash Beckett a smile and he returns it with his customary scowl.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he mutters, and all I can do is laugh as I head upstairs for a shower.

While I’m getting ready, their laughter drifts through my open window and a sudden, inexplicable wave of sadness washes over me.

It’s not that I expected him to roll out the red carpet and welcome me with open arms. But I was hoping that once we spent more time together, he would realize that I’m nothing like my mother and he would at least stop treating me like I’m here to steal everything away from him.

What happened to the boy who used to let me tag along whenever his friends were over? The boy who taught me how to ride a bike? The boy who tended to my bruises when I fell and skinned my knees?

I remember it so clearly now. Sitting on the kitchen counter in this very house, eating ice cream from the container while he cleaned up my bloody knees after I fell off my bike. He’d taken such care not to hurt me when he removed the gravel embedded in my skin.

“This is going to sting,” he’d warned before spraying antiseptic on my bruises. “But the ice cream will make it better.”

I believed him, too. Beckett was my white knight. My first schoolgirl crush. And the only one who ever paid any attention to me. I used to draw pictures for him, and he told me he saved them all, and again, I believed him.

Then one day, he was gone without a goodbye, and when I asked where Beck was, my mother said, “He got tired of you always pestering him, so he moved to a new house with his mom.”

I didn’t believe her until I searched his bedroom and found all my drawings stuffed in the trash can next to his desk.

After that, I never asked about Beckett again, and over time, I all but forgot about the boy with pretty blue eyes and a lopsided grin.

But it’s funny the things that stay with you. Being on this vineyard again has brought back so many memories that I thought were long forgotten.

I shake it off and add another coat of mascara. It’s the first time I’ve worn makeup since I arrived, but I wanted to make a bit of an effort tonight.

I grab Finn’s grandad cardigan in case it gets chilly later and slip out the front door.

The DJ never showed up, so we used the Bluetooth speakers and got the party started.

“Someone must have offered him free beer and tequila shots,” Hunter jokes as we down our tequila shots.

“Or all you can eat tacos,” Callie says.

“In that case, it all worked out,” I say, moving my hips to the beat of the samba music while loading up my plate with tacos and steak fajitas from the silver chafing dishes. “More for us.”

We snag a high-top—me, Callie, Hunter, and Joe, a burly bearded guy who works in the wine cellar—and I take a moment to bask in the view. It’s the last of the golden hour, just before the sun sets, and the light is soft and diffused, casting the room in an amber glow. It’s one of my favorite times of the day to shoot photos. When the whole world shimmers and everyone looks like they’re lit from within.

I’m licking salsa off my fingers when Beckett and his friends arrive. He has his hand on the small of Lauren’s back as he ushers her through the winery, greeting the employees and their families as he passes their tables. Anyone would think he was congenial, charming even, but the devil can be charming too.

His gaze sweeps over the room and lands on me. The charming smile completely vanishes as our eyes lock and hold. It feels like a game to see who will look away first.

I lift my margarita in a toast—Here’s to the devil you know—and drink to him.

When I lick the salt off my lips, his gaze dips to my mouth before he abruptly turns on his heel and leads Lauren to a table on the opposite side of the room.

“What’s going on with you and Beckett?” Callie asks a little later when we’re checking out the dessert table.

“Nothing.” I pluck a mini raspberry tart from the tray and add a dollop of whipped cream before popping it into my mouth. “He hates me and goes out of his way to make sure I know it.”

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