She frowns as if she doesn’t believe me. Despite being a grown man, I roll my eyes. She purses her lips.

“Hm,” is all she says.

“But what are you doinghere?” I ask, waving at the house behind me.

“I told you. I’m visiting my cousin.”

“Here.”

“Yes, Gabriel. Here. In this very duplex.”

I scoff. She’s always insisted on calling me by my full name, despite the fact that I’ve been going by Gabe since birth.

“That’s not—that can’t be…” I trail off, closing my eyes for a moment.

“Wait, don’t tell me…”

When I open my eyes, she looks horrified. Like Niccolò Paganini himself rose from the dead just to tell her that she’s a talentless hack.

Unfortunately, even I have to admit that wouldn’t be true. Alina Sokolov isn’t talentless at all. That’s the problem.

“I’m staying in the other half of this house, yes,” I confirm. “And clearly, you’re staying in the other half. What an interesting twist of fate.”

Alina wrinkles her nose. “If I’d known…”

I snort loudly. “What? If you’d known that I’d be here, you would’ve vacationed somewhere else? It’s not too late, little Ali.”

She sneers at the despised nickname I used to call her by.

“Shouldn’t you be in Boston?” she snaps.

My brow furrows automatically in confusion at the question. It takes me a few seconds to understand her meaning.

She thinks I’m still performing with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. She has no idea that I quit after barely two years. ThatI haven’t performed with an ensemble since then, and that I’ve not even touched a violin in just as long.

Evidently, she hasn’t even bothered to keep tabs on me. Which wouldn’t be embarrassing to realize, if not for the fact that I have, in fact, been keeping tabs on her. She’s been doing well at the CSO, flourishing in the spot that we fought to the death for when we were seniors at Juilliard. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was promoted to first chair before she reaches her forties.

I hate having to admit that, though. I hate that I know how successful she is. I hate that she’s beautiful and enigmatic and brilliant, even when she’s scoffing and rolling her eyes at me.

Really, I hate everything about her.

It’s fine, honestly, because she hates everything about me, too.

Instead of bothering to answer her question, I jerk my chin at her. “Shouldn’tyoube in Chicago?”

I know for a fact that the CSO’s summer performance season starts this week. It’s not exactly the time of year that one of their best violinists would be allowed to take time off.

Alina doesn’t bother answering me, though. Not that I expected her to. When we were sophomores, she once told me that every word she’s forced to speak to me is akin to torture.

Likewise, I think I replied.

Ignoring the question, Alina grabs her book off the table and marches toward the back door of her side of the house.

“Nice seeing you, Gabriel,” she spits out without even bothering to glance over her shoulder at me. From her tone, it’s clear that she meant to say,I’d been hoping I’d never have to be within a hundred miles of you ever again.

The door slams after her.

I stand alone on the patio, gazing out at the sea. This can’t be happening. What are the chances? And why can’t I ever catch a break? What force of fate has such a strong vendetta against methat they’ve seen fit to bring back my old nemesis and all the terrible memories that come with her?