“Oh shush,” I say, like this might not be one of the kindest arrangements of words anyone has ever gifted me with. Maybe I can be all those things, a new, hopeful voice inside me whispers. Maybe I already am. Maybe I don’t have to be the outcast, or the model—I can just focus on being a good person surrounded by other good people in beautiful places, and that’s more than enough.

“Yes, sure thing,” Oliver says, then winks at me. “Well, you can rest assured there’s no boy drama here.” He raises a fist like he’s making an invisible toast. “To friendship.”

I have to laugh as I mimic the gesture, clinking my fake champagne glass against his, my chest warm with affection. “To friendship.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Friendship is the last thing on my mind when I hop off the bus.

Cyrus is waiting there on the stone pavement, and as our gazes meet for the first time since I snuck out of his hotel room this morning, he smiles at me, sincere and almost shy. It’s the kind of smile that makes you forget everything. The sun. The sky. Gravity. Every major and minor hurt I’ve ever endured. Every name that isn’t his.

At least for a second.

Because in the daylight, it’s easier to pretend the intimacy of last night was only a spell, an embarrassing mistake made in the moment. Easier for the old doubts to creep in, to remember the Incident and all the years of pain that preceded this, why I owe it to my younger self to at least keep my revenge plan on the table. Even if my heart can’t quite make up its mind about Cyrus, I shouldn’t let myself weaken.

But something is going to happen between us today—of this, I’m entirely certain. There’s a rhythm to these things, like the melody leading into a chorus.

I’m just not certain if it’s a blessing or a curse that we’re given half an hour to explore the village we’re visiting on our own. Right now, it might actually be easier to have a contest to win, something to focus on, anything that could distract me from the hot, jittery feeling inside me. If there are butterflies in my stomach, their wings must be on fire.

Revenge or desire? Since when did the two feel so similar?

“Should we go?” Cyrus asks me.

I glance around us. The others have started to split off down the bridges and canals and winding streets, where red lanterns swing from the eaves. “Okay,” I say. I don’t ask where to; I don’t really care.