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Something about his tense posture pulls my focus from the woman staring at us and back to him.

And I regret it.

Because the unyielding set of his jaw and conveniently neutral look in his eyes set off the worst type of alarm bells.

Is she a woman he was seeing before?

I didn’t get a good look at her, but I saw enough to know she’s attractive.

Brown-skinned. Medium height. Soft angles on a pretty face.

My only concern right now is Adonis and why his eyes narrow like he’s in enemy territory.

Definitely another woman.

It never crossed my mind that there would be women outside of Chiara I’d have to deal with.

Fuck. This is what I get for hyping up a man. Even if it was in my head.

Indigo taught me better than this.

Angling my body away from his, I stare at the woman, waiting for her or Adonis to speak again.

I tell myself I’m prepared for whatever comes next, but I’m a fucking liar.

The woman looks timid, fidgeting with the strap of her bag before she says, “Delilah, you look so beautiful.”

Why does she know my name?

I try to convey the question with my eyes when I burn a hole in the side of Adonis’ face, but he won’t look away from the woman.

It’s clear that he knows exactly who she is. And she knows who I am.

“Who are you?” My voice is so hard the woman’s smile slips.

“Delilah, I’m Elodie. I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks and I?—”

“Elodie?”

My mom? The woman who birthed me is standing in front of me looking nervous right now?

No.

All the steak I had for dinner starts a slow crawl up my esophagus.

It burns and I have to clamp my hand over my mouth to stop the retching sound.

When nausea makes my eyes water, the woman staring at me blurs.

This is a joke. It has to be.

What is she doing in Wildwood?

What are the odds of us being at the same restaurant?

Why did she walk up to us?

Did Adonis invite her?