Chapter 17

Charlotte opened her eyes and immediately regretted it.

The room was bright, painfully so, the sheer curtains doing very little to block out all the white. She could hear the gentle hum of voices coming from downstairs, but Sloane's bedroom was empty but for her. Her stomach roiled, and it felt like a tiny person with a jackhammer now lived inside her head.

She didn't dare sit up.

Instead, she closed her eyes again, took some steadying breaths, tried to piece together the events that had landed her in this state.

Trivia…she remembered trivia. She remembered winning and getting a lot of questions correct herself. She remembered margaritas— tequila . So much tequila. The drinks had gone down easily, and they'd tasted amazing. More blurry images floated through her sluggish brain—the parking lot, the ride home, Sloane's bedroom, Brighton, puking in the—

She bolted upright, immediately regretting it and pressing her fingers into her pulsing temples, but she stayed where she was.

Brighton.

Brighton had taken care of her. She was sure of it—Brighton's hand on her forehead, smoothing over her back as she got sick, the gentle hum of a song as she finally drifted off.

But there was something else, something that Charlotte—

I miss you.

Oh god.

I've never loved anyone like I love you.

Oh, holy shit.

Never will .

Oh, fucking hell.

Had she really…? Did she…?

"No, no, no," Charlotte said out loud—another mistake, her voice's vibrations rattling her skull. She dug her fingers into her scalp, massaging her aching head, hoping to press out the entirety of the last eighteen hours as well, but no luck there. She found a half-full glass of water on the nightstand and gulped, then popped two more Tylenols and tried to convince her mouth to stop watering in warning. Honestly, she wasn't sure if the nausea was from alcohol or what she'd said to Brighton.

Both. Definitely both.

She was supposed to be moving on . That's what she'd decided, what she'd declared to both of them in the Winter Berry restroom. She was supposed to be in control, for Christ's sake, but here she was, hungover and nursing the effects of what pretty much amounted to a declaration of love to her ex.

Jesus Christ, how did she get here?

She shook her head—mistake number 1,293—and shoved back the covers. She swayed on her feet, but she pushed through it and made it to the bathroom unnoticed, where she took the hottest shower possible. After that, she pulled on a pair of tight black jeans and a black turtleneck before smoothing her hair back into a perfect low ponytail. She put on mascara and her reddest red lipstick, then looked at herself in the mirror.

She could still do this.

She was still in control.

All she had to do was act like last night had never happened. Easy as knocking back a Mistletoe Margarita.

Downstairs, everyone was gathered around the dining table, feasting on toasted bagels topped with over-easy eggs. Charlotte's stomach rumbled. Food sounded both divine and like a terrible idea, but she needed something to soak up all the booze still floating in her blood. She walked confidently to the table and sat down in an empty chair next to Manish, then grabbed a bagel and started spreading it with butter.

The group went silent, but she simply smiled, made sure her butter was touching all the edges of her bagel, and took a bite.

"Tequila!" Manish said, breaking the silence.

Everyone burst into laughter, and Charlotte felt her cheeks redden. But she just smiled brighter, took a surreptitious deep breath, and felt a calm settle over her bones.

She could do this.

She was great at this. When one had an indifferent mother as their only parent, self-soothing was a priceless skill, a matter of survival, even. She'd learned at a very young age how to take care of herself, control her emotions, and wear expressions that fit the situation so no one asked questions or suspected she wasn't okay.

Because she was okay.

She was goddamn thriving.

"Yes, yes, have your laugh," she said to the group as she took another bite of her bagel. Brighton sat across from her, putting her in the perfect position to look directly at her ex as she chewed.

She smiled.

Made sure it reached her eyes.

"You feeling okay?" Brighton asked.

"Great," Charlotte said, then shrugged. The best lies held some truth. She laughed. "Okay, not great, but I'll make it."

"I'm pretty sure the state of Colorado ran out of tequila after you descended on Watered Down," said Adele.

"All the better," Nina said. "Tequila never did anyone any favors."

"That's the truth," Charlotte said, smiling at her host. "I don't think I'll be partaking again anytime soon."

"Hang on," Sloane said. "Mom, do you have some tequila stories?"

Nina waved a hand and got up. "Not today, Satan."

Adele and Sloane looked at each other, then shot up from the table, both following their mother into the kitchen.

"Rehearsal in five!" Charlotte called after Sloane, her raised voice nearly splitting her head in two. Still, she smiled.

Smiled and smiled and smiled.

"Ugh, seriously?" Manish asked. "But we're going to Greenbriar Ridge this afternoon."

Charlotte took another bite of her bagel to hide her grimace, chewing slowly. She'd forgotten about the overnight trip they were taking to Briar Lodge in Greenbriar Ridge, a town about an hour away. Sloane and Adele's stepmother's family owned a ski lodge, which she and Raymond Berry had just renovated. Raymond had booked them all cabins, given them all access to the slopes and spa.

"It's supposed to snow a lot too," Elle said. "We should probably leave sooner than later."

Charlotte nodded, but they hadn't rehearsed yesterday either, and she needed the calm that only her violin provided before heading off into the snowy wilderness with this crew again.

"A quick one," she said.

"Three songs," Manish said.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. "Six."

"Four."

"Deal."

Manish's eyes widened. "I won." He gripped Elle's arm and shook them. "I won."

"You didn't win," Elle said. "It's called compromise."

"That is a win where Charlotte is concerned."

"Actually, I like odd numbers," Charlotte said, smiling wryly at him.

"Nope, nope, you said deal on four. Four it is. Four is law," he said, then slid out of his chair. "I'm going to go tune my viola. Elle?"

"Good idea," Elle said.

"Don't think we've forgotten about Compliment Charlotte," Manish said as he ambled out of the room, and Charlotte frowned at him.

"Who?" she asked.

"Brighton knows," he said, winking at Brighton before he and Elle scurried down to the basement, laughing and whispering something about someone being pretty and—

Oh, for fuck's sake.

You are very, very pretty.

The parking lot memory hit Charlotte like a slap. She stuffed the rest of her bagel into her mouth.

Smiled at Brighton, who, she realized, was now the only other person in the room. And Brighton was looking right at Charlotte, a tiny smile on her lips. Her eyes…god, they were lovely. Dark and surrounded by thick lashes that used to brush her thighs when—

No, no, that wasn't the point. The point was that Brighton's eyes were shining. They were what one might call starry . Brighton released a little laugh and looked away, ran a hand over the back of her neck.

She was nervous.

She was…flushed, her cheeks pink. And she was blinking a lot, those damn lashes fluttering like butterfly wings.

Oh, dear devil in hell, what had Charlotte done?

"So…," Brighton said, lifting those moon-soaked eyes to Charlotte's once again. "Last night—"

"I can't remember a single thing that happened," Charlotte said. She knew her posture was too straight, too tight. She forced her shoulders to drop a little. Forced a tiny, shy laugh of her own.

Brighton's expression froze, her mouth open in a small circle. "You…you don't?"

Charlotte shook her head. "Not one thing. I hope I wasn't too obnoxious."

Brighton swallowed, looked down at her plate, and pressed her forefinger into some errant poppy seeds. "No. Not at all."

Charlotte nodded. "Good." She wondered briefly if she should offer up some thanks for Brighton's care last night, but then that would indicate she remembered the care, and that would lead nowhere good.

Complete oblivion was best.

For both of them.

She popped her last bite of bagel into her mouth—the food actually was doing wonders for her stomach—and dabbed the crumbs away with her napkin. She was feeling good—decent, at least.

In control.

She cleared her throat and stood up, knowing that she needed to say one more thing to Brighton to wrap up the conversation, something casual and breezy.

Except when she moved her confident gaze to Brighton's, Brighton was already looking at her with her eyes slightly narrowed. Had Charlotte been less in control of herself, she would have startled at Brighton's piercing expression.

The kind of expression she used to use on Charlotte all the time, usually followed by a bevy of questions about Charlotte's feelings .

Well, that sure as hell wasn't going to happen right now. Or ever, for that matter.

"What do you have planned this morning before we leave?" Charlotte asked, keeping her tone light.

Brighton pursed her mouth. "Oh, I don't know. But I had an idea to run by you."

"Oh?"

Brighton nodded, leaned forward with her elbows on the table. "If you're open to it, I was thinking we could room together at Briar Lodge. The cabins are small—made for two people, Adele said—and I think it might be good for us. You know, for moving on ." She stretched out the words like taffy.

Charlotte smiled without showing her teeth, perfectly controlled, but her mind was whirling, panicking, imagining being in a tiny cabin in the snowy woods with Brighton overnight.

Still, no wasn't an option here. No meant she remembered last night. No meant she was affected. No meant she couldn't handle Brighton Fairbrook so close.

"Of course," she said. "That'll be…fun."

"Fun," Brighton said, her eyes still fixed on Charlotte.

Fuck, she needed a minute—many minutes, a whole week to prepare for this one night. "Yes, fun." She picked up her plate and escaped to the kitchen.

"You okay?" Sloane asked. She was scrubbing the egg pan while Adele loaded the dishwasher. Nina sat on a barstool smiling down at her phone. "Need more Tylenol?"

"I'm okay," Charlotte said, pausing to squeeze Sloane's shoulder. She wanted to slow down, talk to her friend, ask her all the questions about Wes she'd thought of yesterday at Speed Date and Decorate, but her hands were shaking, her brain so overstimulated that she couldn't get the words in the right order. "I'll be right back."

She made her way upstairs and closed herself in the bathroom. She pressed her back against the door, let her breath go shaky, let tears swell into her eyes.

Just for a few seconds.

One…two…three…

I miss you .

She squeezed her eyes closed, wiped her face clean. She could do this. She could do anything. She'd survived neglect and abandonment and made herself a fucking star in the classical-music world. She could spend one night in a little cabin with Brighton Fairbrook.

She smoothed her hair back, stepped up to the mirror. She reapplied her lipstick like armor, then rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin, preparing for battle.