Page 180

Arrogance.

I have to find a way to stop her.

But I can’t just accuse her like Tucci’s done with Emma. I have to have evidence. I need to make sure.

“What’s your problem with me, Simone?”

She flicks her hand up. “Let me count the ways.”

“No, tell me. Tell me what it was that I did to you that made you hate me so much.”

Her eyes narrow. “You truly don’t remember? This isn’t some act?”

“I’m not an actor.”

“Unbelievable.”

“What did I do?”

She pauses, maybe for dramatic effect, and maybe because she can’t quite believe that she has to tell me. “Aiden.”

Aiden.Aiden.

Oh my God, Aiden.

This isactuallyabout a boy?

I was eighteen and it was the end of high school. It was a few months after my parents died. I was taking care of fifteen-year-old Harper and, if I’m being honest, already resenting it.

It felt like all my dreams had been ripped away. I was supposed to be going to New York in the fall with Emma. We’d both gotten into the acting program at Tisch. But that was all on hold. I was stuck in Venice Beach, temping at my father’s advertising agency, a grown-up before my time.

I needed to do something. Anything that felt like the old, irresponsible me.

So I went to a party in the Valley with Emma.

A night for myself, I’d said.

One night where I could make stupid mistakes and be a teenager before Emma left and I settled into being an adult for real.

Aiden was the cool guy in our class in high school, the one everyone wanted. Six feet. Blond. Baseball team. You can imagine him, can’t you? Every high school has one.

I’d always crushed on him from afar—we didn’t run in the same circles. I knew he and Simone had been a thing at some point, but were they still together that night? They weren’t acting like it. I mean,hewasn’t. I don’t remember if she was there.

I just remember tossing back a drink and walking toward him while a slow smile played on his lips because he’d been watching me all night. Tracking me.

All I knew was I’d been chosen and I wasn’t going to say no.

We hooked up. You can imagine it.

The next morning, I collected my things from the floor of his room and snuck out of his house before anyone else was awake.

I wasn’t ashamed. I wasproudof myself. But I knew it didn’t mean anything. Not to him or to me. In fact, we never spoke again.

“Eleanor?” Emma asks. “What’s going on?”

“I slept with Simone’s boyfriend.”

“Recently?” Her eyes track to Oliver.