Page 65 of Not Over You

Six Days Later

“Not like that.” Scarlett’s big, blue eyes glared up at me through the reflection in the bathroom mirror as I tried to style her hair in a bun. “It has to be higher.”

I’d watched that damn TikTok hairstyle tutorial ten dozen times and still struggled with the high bun Scarlett seemed to demand daily.

At five, she’d become a feisty diva who didn’t settle for less than what she wanted—even the hard-to-achieve, perfect high bun.

After a few more failed attempts, Scarlett’s grin displayed her satisfaction.

Thank God. “Don’t forget, I’ll be leaving for the airport right after your recital.” I brushed a few unruly locks into place before applying hairspray. “But I’ll be back before you know it.”

Scarlett’s pout quickly stretched into a smile. “Can I text you?”

For her fifth birthday, I’d bought her a cell phone to reach me whenever I went out of town, and like any kid with a phone, she developed a text-message obsession. Admittedly, whenever one of her random messages flashed on my phone screen, I’d smile at the jumbled mix of letters, numbers, and heart emojis. At her age, other than I love you, she wasn’t quite stringing complete sentences together and often relied on autocorrect or one of her grandparents for help.

“Of course, you can text me, sweetie.” I ushered her out of the bathroom and into the living room to grab her ballet duffle bag and a velvet ring box off the table. “Ask Grandma Maya or Grandpa Hugo to help, okay?”

Grandma Maya and Grandpa Hugo, better known as Mom and Dad, eagerly helped me with Scarlett, alternating between their home on Long Island and my condo in San Francisco whenever I played road games. Cassie’s parents, Grandma Lenore and Grandpa George, also helped out, but most of their time with Scarlett was spent during the summer at their home in North Carolina. After Tyler and Cassie’s untimely passing, everyone agreed that my adopting her would be best. She bonded with me the most, maybe because of my likeness to my twin brother. Regardless, we all banded together to have an active role in Scarlett’s life, ensuring she had all the love and attention her parents didn’t have the chance to give her.

“I’ll ask Grandma Maya because Grandpa Hugo will probably be busy watching boring soccer.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. Even Scarlett recognized that my dad was crazy about what he called real football—one reason playing football meant everything to me. It was as though I had something to prove to my dad. He wanted me to fall in his footsteps; play soccer instead of football. But the old man deserved props: he played the sport professionally for fifteen years and won countless championship trophies, while I could only stand the game for six years and won zero trophies or rings.

“Grandpa Hugo will stop watching soccer to help you,” I promised, strapping the diva into her car seat. “Just remember to give him a big hug and kiss on the cheek afterward.”

Scarlett dazzled us in her yellow tutu, performing twirls and pointed-toe kicks in Duck Creek, a fun take on Swan Lake. It was her first recital with this dance company since moving to New York from California six months ago, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“You did so well up there, princess. I’m gonna miss you the rest of today and tomorrow.” I kneeled and kissed her forehead before pulling her in for a quick hug. “Promise you’ll be on your best behavior for grandma and grandpa?”

She nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “Can you take me to the giant castle house when you get back?”

Ever since I’d shown Scarlett online photos of the Victorian house I purchased last week in the Hamptons, she began referring to it as the castle house. She brought it up almost every day, elated that she’d be able to hold tea parties in the turret we planned to transform into a playroom.

“The real estate agent is a good friend, so I think a visit could be arranged.”

Mom winked, taking Scarlett’s hand in hers as she said in Spanish, “Entonces, así es como llamamos a las ex novias con las que acordamos comprometernos en estos días? ‘Buenos amigos?’”

If she’d asked me her cheeky question in English, everyone within earshot would have understood her to say, “So, is that what we call ex-girlfriends we agree to get engaged to these days? ‘Good friends?’”

“Ma, stop exaggerating,” I said, shaking my head to emphasize my denial. “It’s a fake engagement. I’m only helping Giana out.”

Dad, who up till then, had his nose buried in his phone, flicked his attention to me, eyebrows raised to the sky. “What’s that? You and Giana are back together?”

Mom linked her arm in his, guiding my father and Scarlett, toward their car. “Come now, Guapo. I’ll explain everything to you on our way home.”

CHAPTER 8

Giana

* * *

“I hope you’ve dusted all the cobwebs off your hooha. You two are so gonna fuck.” Stacy’s sing-songed declaration bellowed through my speakerphone like a megaphone at a pep rally.

I’d been strolling along leisurely, sipping coffee as I worked my way back to my hotel room at Royal Barbados Resort when Stacy finally called me back.

Of course, my no-holds-barred bestie couldn’t kick off her end of the conversation with a simple: How was your flight? or How’s the hotel?

“And,” she went on, “don’t bother telling me I’m on speakerphone. If after all these years you still haven’t learned my mouth will spew F-bombs, I can’t be held responsible for what anyone around you may have just heard.”

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