Page 5 of I Wish I Would’ve Warned You (Forbidden Wishes #3)

EMILY

“ C ontinue on this road for sixty miles,” the GPS chirps.

I knew it.

We’ve been driving for two and a half hours already, and there’s still no end in sight. My mom swore this would be a quick trip, but her sense of direction has never been reliable.

I flip through my phone, pretending to scroll, but my thumb hovers over a draft I left open last night. A poem that’s now tangled with someone I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

I open my messages and finally type:

Hey, it’s me. How have you been?

A reply comes quickly.

Depends on who you are, “me”...

I hesitate. He still doesn’t know my real name. I’m not ready to give it yet.

Amy. The girl who was almost a lot lizard.

Cole

I was beginning to worry about you, Amy…

I watched the news and hadn’t seen “Sexy as hell woman found dead on highway.”

Good to know you’re alive.

My cheeks heat. I’m still trying to think of a reply when he beats me to it.

If I’d known it would take you this long to text me, I would’ve just taken your number instead…

I was busy.

We’re moving again.

Where?

When I trust you, I’ll tell you.

Good answer. You’re learning.

I have a poetry reading coming up in NYC in a few weeks. If you’d like to see me again…

I would. Send me the details when you have them.

You’ll really show up?

I would show up for you now if you told me where you lived…

My cheeks flush deeper. I set the phone down, needing to think.

That’s when I see the sign.

Welcome to Southampton

Yeah… we definitely can’t afford anything near here.

My mom pulls us past a stretch of beachfront homes that look like they belong to retired celebrities or fictional billionaires. We take a turn down a private road lined with trees and crushed gravel, and just when I think she’s lost again, the house appears.

A massive, ocean-blue estate rises like something out of a dream—white pillars, wraparound porch, and a second-story balcony that seems to float over the dune grass. The Atlantic sparkles just behind it, close enough to hear the waves.

She pulls into the drive and cuts the engine.

“Welcome home!” she says, grinning like she just won a prize she didn’t pay for.

My jaw tightens. This can’t be real.

As we get out, a man steps onto the porch wearing a pale-blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled, tan slacks. Clean-cut. Smiling. But something about him gives me pause. I’ve seen him before. Maybe on TV. Maybe in a movie. I’m not sure.

Then he speaks.

“Well, hello there, Emily.”

And I know that voice. Not the name. Not the face. The voice .

“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now,” he says. “Your mom brags nonstop about your writing talent.”

I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you too. You have a beautiful home.”

“Wait until you see the inside,” he says. “I’ll give you the full tour—and I’ll have my son grab your bags.”

“Oh, that’s right,” my mom says. “He has a son who’s a little older than you. So you’ll have a live-in friend until school starts.”

“Son!” Aidan calls through an open window. “Hey, son?”

Silence.

“Warning,” he sighs. “My son’s a fuckin’ hardhead. Hold on…”

He pulls out his phone and dials.

“Haul your ass to the front,” he says. “My girlfriend and her daughter are here.”

A deep, lazy voice crackles through the speaker:

“What does that have to do with me?”

Something in my stomach flips. My skin tightens.

“Don’t start this shit with me today,” Aidan mutters. “Just come grab their stuff.”

The call ends.

He turns back to us, gesturing toward the beach. “Make sure you take advantage of the sand and water every day. It keeps me grounded.”

I barely hear him. I’m still staring at the door.

Because a second later, it swings open.

And there he is.

Cole.

He steps onto the porch in gray sweatpants and a white muscle shirt, his hair messy, his jaw tight. He stops cold when he sees me, his expression unreadable.

I feel like I’m falling through the earth.

He blinks once. Slowly. Then starts walking.

My pulse spikes.

“Thank you for blessing us with your presence, Cole,” Aidan says.

“You’re welcome.”

“This is Hannah’s daughter, Emily,” he says. “Emily, this is my son, Cole.”

Cole’s eyes stay locked on me. “Your name is Emily?” He smirks. “That’s funny. You strike me more as an ‘Amy.’ I feel like that’s what you’d tell me if we’d met before, isn’t it?”

My cheeks burn.

“You’ll get used to his rudeness,” Aidan says, laughing. “Come on in, let me give you a tour.”

I follow him inside, my mind spinning. But just before I step over the threshold, I glance back.

Cole is still there.

Still watching me.

But the smirk is gone—replaced by something hotter, darker, and far more dangerous.

The house is gorgeous. I’ll give it that. But something about it feels... off.

Warm-toned walls, curated furniture, and just enough coastal charm—driftwood sculptures, pale linen curtains, seashell vases—to look like someone tried to make it feel lived in. But it doesn’t.

It feels like a model home. Pretty, perfect, and soulless.

“Babe, we’ll be in here,” Aidan says, guiding my mom toward the master suite. “And if you ever get mad at me, there’s a guest suite down the hall.”

She giggles like a teenager and stands on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“Is the guest suite where I’ll be staying?” I ask, keeping my tone even.

“Absolutely not.” Aidan shakes his head. “Come on, let me show you upstairs.”

The staircase creaks under our steps. He stops at a white door and pulls out a key like he’s revealing a prize on a game show.

“This is your room.” He flips on the lights. “I told the designer you’re a writer, so she tried to reflect that.”

I step inside.

And stop.

A queen bed sits against a navy accent wall, ivory bedding tucked tight.

A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf spans one wall, already filled with titles I’ve read and loved—and some I’ve never seen before.

A writing desk with gold trim glints in the corner.

There’s a tufted chaise by the window, a soft throw tossed over the edge, and a glass lamp shaped like a wave.

“Is something wrong?” Aidan asks. “If you hate it, I can have it redone tomorrow.”

“No, I—” I shake my head. “I get this whole room to myself?”

“You do,” he says, grinning. “And you even have—” he opens a set of doors, “your own private balcony that overlooks the garden. Well, and the beach, of course.”

Tears sting, but I blink them back.

Even if this doesn’t last—and deep down, I know it won’t—I’ll remember this. A room that’s mine. A door I can lock.

“The only thing you do have to share is the bathroom suite,” he adds, gesturing to a door. “HOA won’t let me rework the plumbing, but your private bath at the main house will be ready after renovations.”

“You have another house?”

“This is just the summer place,” my mom says proudly as she steps in. “They’re remodeling his real one until autumn.”

Aidan pulls out his phone and shows her something. I go invisible. Again.

“Dinner will be around six,” Aidan says over his shoulder. “You’re welcome to join us—and get a better impression of Cole. If not, no pressure.”

The moment they’re gone, I close the door and lock it.

Shoes off. Straight to the bed. Face-down into the comforter.

I repeat it again and again:

This isn’t real.

This won’t last.

Don’t get attached.

Eventually, I move to the balcony. I pull open the doors and step out, letting the breeze roll over me.

The garden stretches into pale dunes, and beyond that, the ocean sparkles like it was ordered off a dream board.

And then I see him.

Cole.

He’s on the next balcony over, legs stretched out, jaw tilted toward the sky.

“Staring’s rude, Emily,” he says, not looking over. “Do I need to teach you a lesson about that, too?”

“I’m not staring,” I say. “I’m absorbing the sights.”

That gets a small laugh. Then he turns to face me.

“My mom said you’re a little older than me,” I say, folding my arms. “I can’t blame you for not wanting to move out of your dad’s beach mansion.”

“You’re making one hell of an assumption there.” His smirk returns—slow, crooked, maddening. “I’m only here temporarily.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two. You?”

“Nineteen.”

His eyes roam over me, slow and deliberate. “So… still hanging on to that thing I almost ruined?”

I blink. “What?”

He leans back in his chair. “Your virginity. Or do I have to pretend we never met?”

My mouth opens, then shuts. The heat in my face spreads down my neck.

“That’s none of your business.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Do you talk to all your future stepsisters like this?”

“I don’t have any others.”

I spin on my heel and slam the doors shut, locking them fast.

There’s no way this is really happening.