Chapter 18

Charlotte Donovan was full of shit.

Brighton had known it from the second Charlotte walked into the dining room with that immovable smile on her face—Anna Donovan's daughter was in control. Not Charlotte, and certainly not Lola.

She glanced at Charlotte as Nina's SUV, which the group had borrowed for the trip to Greenbriar Ridge, came to a stop in front of a huge log cabin–style lodge. They all piled out of the car, oohing and aahing at the beautiful building. Snow fell steadily from the sky, blending with the silver strands in Charlotte's hair. She had been drunk last night. Plastered , in fact. It was naive for Brighton to take her confessions as truths—or, at least, as truths that would be discussed easily in the sober light of morning. Still, Charlotte was lying her poised ass off when she said she didn't remember the night at all.

Charlotte remembered everything, every detail, and Brighton was sure of it. She was sure of it, and it pissed her off, this roller-coaster ride she'd been on since arriving in Winter River. Charlotte ignoring her. Charlotte kissing her back in the woods. Charlotte declaring them friends. Charlotte saying things like I miss you and then pretty much taking them back.

Brighton was tired, and tender, and goddammit, she was angry.

"Welcome, welcome!" a voice boomed as they entered the lodge. The space was open and warm, all whiskey-colored logs and bronzed-nickel light fixtures, a wide concierge desk to the right and a lobby area with dark leather couches covered in red-and-black buffalo-print throws, a fire roaring in the giant fireplace. A huge Christmas tree sat in the back corner, white lights gleaming, windows all around sparkling with fairy lights.

It was a true winter wonderland.

"Daddy, hey," Sloane said, wrapping her arms around a man with dark skin and salt-and-pepper hair. He wore black-framed glasses and a green sweater covered in embroidered snowflakes.

"My girls," he said, scooping Adele into his embrace as well, hugging both of them close. "Merry Christmas."

Brighton's throat suddenly felt achy. She still hadn't talked to her mom, though she'd had a few emails. She missed her parents so much she couldn't breathe sometimes, a state that only contributed to her irritability.

"This place is beautiful, Mr. Berry," Elle said after introductions were made.

"Call me Ray, please. And thank you. We like it," he said. "Nicole is teaching a ski class, so you'll meet her later, but right now, let's get you settled into your cabins before this snowstorm locks us all in!"

He laughed, but Brighton saw Charlotte freeze.

"Locks us all in?" Charlotte asked. "Is…is it going to do that?"

Raymond waved a hand. "Supposed to get around six to ten inches. Perfect for the slopes."

After Ray put on his coat and boots, he nodded them toward the back of the building, waving at a few guests lounging by the fire with books as he went, and led them back outside. The snowfall had lessened, though the sky was a thick white and gray, packed clouds swirling above them.

They followed a stone path, overnight bags in hand, toward a set of tiny cabins so quaint and perfect that Brighton couldn't help but smile. Each structure had a green tin roof and was about the size of a large room, complete with a holiday wreath on the front door and white lights bordering the windows.

"Heat's pumping, and room service is on me," Ray said as he dropped three sets of keys into Adele's gloved hand. "And these will get you on any slope you choose." He handed out passes to each of them, and the group offered a chorus of thank-yous.

"Just glad to have you," he said. "We'll see you for dinner in the big house at seven."

And with that, he kissed Adele and Sloane on their cheeks and tromped off through the snow.

"Okay, come and get 'em," Adele said, holding up the keys, their fobs numbered one through three.

Brighton grabbed number one before anyone else could say anything. "Charlotte and I will take this one."

Adele lifted her brow at Brighton. "Oh, really?"

"Really," she said.

"I hope you know what you're doing, baby girl," Adele said, quieter this time.

"I do," Brighton said, though at that moment, she didn't at all. She just knew she was done feeling small, ignored, forgotten. Done feeling like the whole disaster of her relationship with Charlotte was all her fault. They both shared some blame, and she needed Charlotte to understand that. Clearly, the only way to get her ex to slow down for one damn second and be real was to semi-trap her in a luxury cabin in the middle of Colorado. Brighton would have felt slightly guilty if she weren't so frustrated.

"Okay," Adele said, "though you realize this means you're making me room with my sister." Manish plucked a key from her palm and winked before he and Elle, two peas in a snowy pod, hurried off toward cabin number three.

"You'll survive." Brighton jiggled the key, then turned to where Charlotte was looking like a fox caught in a trap, her eyes wide, her mouth held tight. "Ready?" Brighton said to her.

"Sure," Charlotte said, rotating her shoulders back, a classic Charlotte move when she was bracing herself for something.

"I won't bite," Brighton said.

Charlotte said nothing, just looked at Sloane with a sort of "save me" expression, but Sloane simply looked back, a tiny crinkle to her brow.

"Hey, everyone," a deeper voice said just as Brighton slipped the key into the lock. She looked up to see Wes walking up to them all bundled up, a duffel bag over his shoulders. A tall Black man with shoulder-length braids stood next to him.

"Wes," Charlotte said on an exhale.

Brighton's jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached. She liked Wes. She really did. He was nice and smart and funny, but she swore to god, if Charlotte so much as slipped a pinkie finger into his palm, she'd lose her shit.

"What are you doing here?" Sloane asked, frowning. "Hey, Dorian," she said to the other man.

"Ray invited us for this shindig," he said. "Dorian, this is Charlotte, the woman I told you about. And that's Brighton."

"What's up?" Dorian said, smiling. "I've heard a lot about you, Charlotte."

"You have?" Sloane asked.

Adele coughed.

"I have," Dorian said, subtly nudging Wes in the side.

Brighton felt like she might scream, right there on the side of that mountain.

"All good things, I hope," Charlotte said, her tone suddenly light and flirty.

Brighton was definitely going to scream. She was going to yell at the top of her lungs like that little spoiled brat in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory any second now.

"Great things," Dorian said.

"Like what?" Sloane asked, her voice casual, but Brighton heard an edge there, the same edge she felt sharpening her own mood.

Dorian glanced at Wes. "Like…the quartet. You, uh, live in New York."

"Quite the biography," Sloane said flatly. "Adele, can I have our key?"

Adele handed it over wordlessly, watching as Sloane tromped through the snow to the next cabin. Wes watched her go too. So did Charlotte, for that matter, and then they locked eyes with each other, a wordless conversation passing between them.

"You're all a bunch of idiots," Adele said lightly before following after Sloane.

"Is it just me, or was that weird?" Dorian asked.

Wes just cleared his throat. "See you out there?" he said to Charlotte.

"Oh, I don't ski," she said, "but I'll come watch as you wipe out at the bottom."

Wes laughed. "Sounds cheery."

"Cheery and queery," Charlotte said brightly.

Brighton shoved the key in the lock and flung the door open, then hooked her arm around Charlotte's and pulled her gently. "See you later," she said to the guys. "Nice to meet you, Dorian."

"You too," he said. Brighton saw him say something to Wes she couldn't hear before she tugged Charlotte inside and closed the door. She pressed her back to the thick wood, watching as Charlotte took in the tiny living room–slash–kitchen, the warm log walls, the leather couch, the fire already crackling in the stone fireplace.

"This is nice," Charlotte said, setting her duffel down on the hardwoods.

"What the actual fuck?" Brighton said.

Charlotte whirled around. "Excuse me?"

"Who the hell even are you?"

Charlotte pressed her mouth flat. "What are you talking about?"

"The flirting? The breathless Oh, Wes. "

"I did not Oh, Wes him."

"Yeah, you kinda did."

"Well, maybe I like him."

"Yeah, maybe," Brighton said, then her next words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Or maybe you're using him as a crutch so you don't have to deal with anything real."

The accusation hung between them. Charlotte paled, her jaw tightening. Still, Brighton didn't regret saying it. Not one damn bit. They stared at each other, both of their chests heaving. Brighton waited for Charlotte to respond, to swear at her, to yell—Brighton would take anything at this point.

But Charlotte just picked up her duffel and headed toward one of the two bedrooms on either end of the cabin, calling out "I'm going fucking skiing!" as she went.