I love Summer, but she has very precise, very definite ideas for my life, and I don’t necessarily agree with them all.

She must’ve told Callum where I was, redirecting him from his pending trip to Ireland to Greece. And he, the charming boyfriend that he is, decided to surprise me. When I got a text from him, I couldn’t stay in the room watching the face-off between Mal and Ashton. I ran down to the lobby, threw my arms over Callum’s neck, and pretended to be elated to see him.

As I should be.

“Missed you, love. Have you lost a little weight?” He frowns, chuckling. “Looks good on you,”

He leans down and gives me his customary peck on the mouth. The kiss seals my guilt on my lips, like a closed envelope.

Mal kissed those lips yesterday afternoon.

Right after shoving a chocolate bar into them that had been shoved between my other pair of lips.

“Let’s get you settled!” I grab his hand.

I already know I’m going to tell Callum what happened. And I already know he is probably—rightfully—going to break up with me. What I have yet to find out is whether it’s possible to live with myself after doing what I did to Callum.

I tug him toward the elevators, frazzled, and punch the button five hundred times, turning back to him with a giant, fake, plastic smile.

“Yay!” I wave my fist around. “Reunited. Again. Awesome.”

Just shut up, you idiot. You’re making it worse.

“Rory.” Callum’s voice is laced with worry, his eyebrows pulled together. “Are you drunk? You know I don’t take well to public lewdness.”

“Totally sober.” I let out a nervous laugh.

The elevator doors slide open, and, of course, Mal is standing on the other side, looking devilishly gorgeous—for a homewrecker, that is.

“I was looking for you.” His expression softens until he notices Callum behind me.

His whole face changes again. It’s painful to watch. He looks…disappointed. Not that he has any right to be.

“Malachy,” Callum greets him from behind me, stepping into the elevator. I step in as well, swiping the electronic card over the screen and pushing the button for Callum’s floor.

“Shiny Boyfriend,” Mal answers, his voice dripping ice.

“How’s the writing going?” Callum asks.

I jump into the conversation before Mal gets the chance to offend Callum.

“Well, Richards is flying back to Ireland, so Mal can see to his arrival. You and I can stay here.”

I just want to save face. Truth is, in approximately ten minutes, I am going to deliver some harsh truths to Callum, after which neither of us will have the ability to stomach my existence.