Page 16 of The Villain Edit

The last of the sand trickles through my fingers. I scoop another handful and do it again. It’s irritating having to fake date Ashley to appease the fandom. If they knew a tenth of how I grew up, they’d see I’m more suited to the role than Nic ever was. He was nothing more than a placeholder, waiting until my star had risen high enough.

And my star is going up.

Ashley, my Camaro, and an open road are a recipe for disaster, but her disdain and attitude are my saving grace. So long as she keeps acting like a nightmare, it will be easy enough to remember she’s not my dream.

Sand trickles through my fingers, again and again, my thoughts drifting on the cool breeze coming off the lake. I don’t know what I hoped to accomplish, revisiting these old memories. Maybe to reaffirm that, despite Michael’s hypocrisy and betrayal and my rough upbringing, I’m not destined to fail. That I can be the man I’m supposed to be, even if my idol couldn’t.

The sun goes down and I feel more like a fraud than ever.

I’m halfway to the car when I realize it’s nine thirty. I’ve stood Ashley up for dinner.

Chapter five

Ashley

It’snearlymidnightwhenGabriel returns to the townhouse.

I desperately wish I didn’t care that he stood me up, but the truth is, with pictures of me sitting alone at a table set for two all over social media, all over the gossip sites, I do care. I care enough that, for the last two hours, I’ve sat on this uncomfortable, ugly-as-hell couch waiting, drinking wine, and stewing.

There were pictures of Nic and Jessie’s wedding—the official ones released to the world—and pictures of them getting off the plane on their honeymoon, each one a tiny cut that stings like hell. Burying my feelings in my anger at my fake boyfriend makes it hurt a little less, but I won’t be thanking him for it.

Gabriel flips the light on and startles when he sees me.

I wait, refusing to ask what the hell happened.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking into the room. His face is calm and controlled like he might be hiding that he’s as raw as I am.

“You should be.” I keep the snarl out of my voice, barely.

He nods like that’s it. Like it’s over.

It’s not. “You fucked the whole thing up.”

He scoffs. “David put out that I was feeling unwell and told you to go to dinner without me. Nothing’s fucked up.”

“You should have told me. I wouldn’t have sat around obviously waiting for you,” I snap, draining my glass and setting it on the table. I stand, still in my heels, still dressed for dinner, possibly two inches taller after an afternoon of having all the tension massaged out of my body. Could have been three inches and I’m pissed Gabriel Sinclair stole a hypothetical inch off my height. I walk right up to him, not stopping until my breasts touch his chest. “Where were you?”

He steps back, turning to the open bottle of Riesling one of the local wineries had delivered to us ahead of the tour we’re supposed to do tomorrow. He pours himself a glass. “It’s none of your business.”

“You made me look like a fool tonight.” I wish I could keep the emotion out of my voice, but I’m unspooling fast. “I think you owe me an explanation.”

“You’re the one who owes me an explanation,” he barks back, and I jump. “What happened at the wedding, Ashley? Because whatever that was is the reason we’re here, and I think I deserve to know.”

I blink at him, stunned that he snapped at me.

God, I’m such a fool. The man I love will probably never love me back and the man I’m stuck with doesn’t respect me enough to show up for dinner. It’s a miracle I’m not falling in love with Gabriel Sinclair for despising me as much as I despise myself.

“You need me,” I manage to get out. I don’t care what this man thinks about me, but I can’t confess what I tried to do. Not to Mr. Perfect. Not ever.

“You need me more.” His dark brown eyes are angry and I hate that he’s right.

I leave him to his wine and go to my room, keeping it together long enough to wash my makeup off, slip into a camisole, and brush my teeth.

That summer when I met Nic, my parents were together, which meant I wasn’t necessary. I spent a lot of time at Aunt Celia’s house because my mother refused to get another nanny after my father slept with the last one.

Plus, Nic was there. I watched him with Timothy, but the best times were when my cousin wasn’t around and Nic would hang out in my aunt’s kitchen. He’d let me help him when he’d bake a cake and we’d sit together at the island, licking the beaters. We didn’t need to talk, but sometimes he’d tell me about his life. His parents. They were too busy for him, like mine were too busy for me.

One hot day, I followed the sound of laughing and shouting down to the lake. Nic and Timothy were swimming, splashing each other.

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