Page 92 of Rush

“Too much,” she tuts—sweet, playful. Almost flirty.

They look at each other like horned-up teenagers, ready to rip each other’s clothes off. At the rate they’re going, I’ll be an aunt by next year.

“Or maybe not nearly enough.” Riley laughs, handing Philippa a fresh drink. “My room literally makes me feel like I’m about to be ravished by Mr. Darcy.”

“I’m more of a Heathcliff girl myself,” I say.

“Heathcliff, huh?” His voice slides in, smooth as silk. “The broody, jealous kind?”

Broderick.

I sip my drink, cutting him a glance. His eyes sparkle—because I know exactly how jealous he can get. I remember the Hamptons. The way he sulked at Philippa and Andrew’s Bachelorette party.

“Explains why you were so into that Alex guy. Tortured actor and all—your taste in men sucks.”

My head snaps towards Andrew.

Ouch.

His words punch all the air out of my lungs.

Broderick’s expression darkens. Fury flashes across his face, aimed at his best friend. He throws an arm around me instinctively, a shield. But I recoil, stepping back.

Riley looks like she’s about to slap him.

“Andrew,” Philippa snaps, hurt cutting through her voice. “Why would you say that?”

She looks genuinely upset.

“What? I was kidding,” Andrew scoffs.

“Dickhead,” Riley mutters, shaking her head.

“Excuse me,” I manage barely, already stepping away, biting back the sting.

Broderick’s hand grazes mine, but he doesn’t stop me. I dash toward the powder room, heels clicking against the floor—another set of footsteps close behind.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to make a scene, trying not to ruin Philippa’s night. Best behavior, I promised.

But the tears are already clawing at the corners of my eyes, humiliation coursing through me like poison. My wounded heart cracking open with each broken beat over the first man I ever let in—who threw me away like I was nothing.

Because I am nothing.

The shame is overwhelming. The mistake I carry in choosing Alex haunts me like a ghost. The guilt of the feelings I still can’t quite shake.

And I’ve buried it, pushed it down, pretended I’ve moved on. But one careless jab, and all of it comes rushing back—raw and merciless.

I shove the door open, chest heaving as I try to swallow my sobs. In and out, in and out—pacing like a madwoman.

I was used to Andrew’s playful teasing, but how he brought it up tonight—like it was sport.

For weeks, I’d managed to avoid the topic of Alex, he only lived quietly in the back of my mind, in dreams and thoughts that haunted me at night before sleep eventually claimed me. But hearing him mock my choices—because I dared to follow my heart for the first time in my life.

“Elena.” Philippa slips in after me, her voice soft and urgent. “I’m so sorry—I’m?—”

“If I wasintoAlex,” I hiss, spinning on her, “then what the fuck are you doing marrying someone likehim? He’s a fucking asshole.”

Her face drops. Humiliation flickers across her delicate features.