Page 74 of Blackwood

BELLA:You coming or what?

I scroll up through our short thread. It’s nothing, really. Just a few innocent messages. The first one from me, sent with way too much second-guessing.

ME:Hey I know it’s been a long time, but I just wanted to say I thought your dance at The Row party was incredible.

Her reply came fast.

BELLA:Oh hey! Thank you! That night was wild.

A few more followed. Short. Easy. Safe. Until I overthought it, like I always do, and stopped replying. No reason. Just froze up, like if I kept texting, I might say something real. Something she’d see right through.

Now I’m here, floating somewhere off the Amalfi Coast surrounded by perfect water and perfect sun, and all I can think about is her.

Lex thinks I’m spiraling. That I fucked it up by giving her space. That I should’ve just gone for it. He says I’m wasting time chasing a girl who might not want us.

I haven’t been painting. Barely sleeping. Lex caught me scrolling through our texts at three a.m. the other night and nearly snapped my phone in half. Called me pathetic. Then kissed me and said,“Fine Cade. If she’s worth it then fucking act like it, babe.”

And she is.

She always has been. Bella’s been around forever. Since we were teenagers. She was the chaos in our guest room, the glitter trail in my Range Rover. The girl who used to sneak into my studio and pretend she wasn’t watching me paint. I never sawher like this, not really. Maybe in Nashville, but that was so long ago.

Maybe I’ve been ignoring it for years. Maybe now it’s too loud to ignore.

Jesus Christ, I don’tdothis. I don’t chase. I don’t unravel. I don’t obsess. That’s Lex’s thing. Lex is the one that falls fast and holds on way too tight.

I don’t even notice Ellie until she drops into the lounger next to Cal, curls wrapped in a silk scarf, sunglasses covering half her face.

“Cal, that’s gross,” she drawls, sipping something pink and probably illegal, “Bella will never go for you… or your dick.”

Cal scoffs, stretched out shirtless like he’s posing for a yacht magazine. “Why the hell not?”

Ellie snorts. “Because you’re Callum.You’re a walking thirst trap with a superiority complex. She’d chew you up and use your bones for contour.”

“She flirts with me all the time, she always has.”

“She flirts with everyone,” Ellie fires back. “It’s literally part of her job. She’s the face of Legacy. The center of The Trifecta. Flirting is branding, Cal.”

“She doesn’t flirt with everyone like she flirts with me.”

I close my eyes.

God, someone get me off this fucking boat.

“She’s just playing the game, Cal,” Ellie continues. “The Trifecta is a brand. Your Row parties elevate that brand. You? You’re a pawn. A hot pawn, but still.”

“Who wants Callum’s dick?” Dad’s deep voice cuts in, cool and amused.

We all turn and see Mom standing there with a tray of fruit and two champagne flutes, raising a brow. Behind her, Dad lowers his sunglasses and gives us his signature wink. The one that always means trouble.

“I mean,” Dad says, “if we’re talking dicks, I’m assuming someone lost a bet.”

“Dad,” I mutter. “Please stop.”

“Just trying to stay informed,” he says, settling in like this is perfectly normal.

Mom laughs, hands Dad his drink, and sets down the tray. “So. Who started the dick conversation and why is it always Callum?”

Ellie doesn’t miss a beat. “Because Cal thinks Bella wants him.”