Paula's driving is worse than Mum's, and Mum's is pretty bad. But with Paula, it's like Fast and Furious gone wrong.

Still, somehow, someway, we arrive at the Marina in one piece. The car does shudder to a stop. I grip my seatbelt tight even when she tugs the key out of the ignition, and it's not until I feel solid ground again that I can push my mortality aside.

Paula threads her arm through mine as if she hadn't almost caused our untimely deaths and tugs me away from the car. I glance over my shoulder, confronting her dangerous driving head-on. The car is askew, parked across two spots rather than one. I should drag her back, tell her to try again, but it isn't going to fix anything. In fact, knowing Paula, trying again will only make matters worse.

It's a miracle she passed her driving test in the first place.

"Hurry up," she says, utterly oblivious to the carnage left behind us. "We're late."

"Late? I thought we were going for lunch."

That's what she said anyway. Promised a gorgeous Bifana and much-needed sister time. I want to pick her brain. In fact, if I'm honest, I need to. It's one thing for Spencer to call me with an impossible question and a complete other for me to call him with an answer. Yet, the latter glints every time I turn my mind to it.

"Look." She stops abruptly and takes my hands in hers. "I know what I said, but I lied."

"Lied?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because we have a surprise for you."

"We?"

"Well, Mum and Dad and the Harris'. It's also not really for you, either, but for you and Isaac. Anyway, don't worry, all will be revealed in a moment."

Only I did worry. What happened to sister time?

There's a small boat waiting for us at the edge of the docks. A smiling man with a thick greying beard and kind hazel eyes welcomes us aboard. He offers me a hand. I grip onto it as I trip into the boat, almost tipping both him and me into the icy blue depths that lap against the sodden wooden decking.

"For you," he says, handing me a life jacket. Although I tighten it, he tugs at the ties until I feel suffocated.

"Better safe than sorry," I wheeze, fingering the straps nervously.

He only smiles and shouts at the dockworkers as he takes his seat at the helm of the boat. Actually, it's more a dinghy. A flurry of activity explodes around us, and a cooler is thrown on, landing between Paula and me before we jet off across the still waters.

"Is this the surprise?" I laugh as a mist of salty water arches over us.

"Not yet," she grins.

But then I see it. Or should I say him?

Isaac towers over us at the back of a yacht. His thin blue linen skirt billows around him. It's rather attractive, you know, if you're into the whole Leonardo Dicaprio, Kate Winslet fantasy.

Except it's not a fantasy. Not a movie I can pause or change when it gets awkward or boring. It's real life. So I can't switch the channel when Elle slinks over. She smiles sweetly as she places a hand on his shoulder. I squint, watching as his own smile wavers. But then it's not a smile; it's a laugh. A loud, taunting laugh that skips across the sea until they disappear and rings on in my mind even after the fact.

If this is the surprise, I'm not sure I want it.

The dinghy slows, and crew members appear on the yacht. We're helped up onto the deck and showed to the hull. Essie and Henry are cuddled up on a bench. It's nauseatingly sweet.

I pretend to retch as Essie pulls me in for a hug.

"Oh shut up," Henry laughs once Essie releases me. "You should've seen Lizzie and her ex. They took PDA to a whole new level."

"I think you mean her boyfriend." Isaac's breath is warm against my neck. It's accompanied by the familiar scent of lemon and lime and an involuntary shiver. He slips past, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and throws an arm around Elle. She burrows into his embrace, smiling right back at him.

"What are you talking about?" Henry snorts. "He's definitely her ex."

Isaac shrugs as he nods at me. "Ask her," he says.

To an untrained eye, Issac's calm, entirely in control. But the words come with waves of silent anger that crashes against my already unsteady body and leaves me drowning. Henry's stare adds to the confusion, and although I try to wade through the hostility, I eventually give up, allowing it to fill my lungs.

"Lizzie," Henrys says, glaring now. "Spencer is your ex, right?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" he hisses, bounding over in two short strides and staring down at me. It's actually quite intimidating. I didn't know he had it in him.

Still, intimidating or not, I'm not so scared I can't tell the truth. Henry will have to do a little more than growl to frighten me into submission.

"He's not my boyfriend," I say, relieved to see Henry's relief. "I'm just figuring things out."

He's angry again.

Fuming.

Foaming.

It's absurd.

"Figuring things out?" he asks. "Figuring things out? Gosh, Lizzie, he cheated on you!"

"I know. I was there."

"Okay, so then you know there's nothing to figure out. He cheated. He hurt you. He can't do that again. I won't let him."

I laugh. It's probably not the best moment for it, maybe it could've waited until he wasn't frothing, but I can't help it. Henry has never exactly activated overprotective alpha brother mode before. It's as ridiculous as it is unnecessary.

"I can handle myself," I say, side-stepping past him.

"Clearly, you can't," he shouts after me.

"Clearly, this is none of your business."

"You're stubborn," he says, pity and exhaustion colouring his tone. "Do you know that?"

"Right back at you," I mutter.

I tear my backpack from Paula's grasp and stalk towards the back of the boat.

I can't believe he did that.

No, actually, I can't believe he did that in front of people.

I could've handled his wrath alone. Could've justified myself and fought a little harder. But the audience made things ten times worse. Isaac made things worse.

I drop to the decked floor and unzip my backpack, pulling out my sketchbook before I have a chance to second guess myself. Flicking to a new page, I grab a pencil from the bottom of my bag. It's a little blunt, but with no sharpener and no desire to join the others, I make do.

My lines are thick, brutal, connecting at sharp points that give way to shadows and a hidden subtly that lurks beneath the anger. Not that I know who I'm angry with.

It should be Spencer. Even in all the confusion, I know this all boils down to him and what he did to me. But I can't bring myself to blame him, because if I start, I may never stop.

So I turn to Isaac and Henry. Mostly Isaac. It's easier to blame them for the embarrassment. Plus, they're here. Here to shout at and insult. Not that I will. At least, I'll try not to. There's no point ruining everyone's day, especially when our parents have gone to such lengths to ensure we enjoy it.

A hand lands on my shoulder, and my head falls back. Paula smiles down at me. I peer up at her, the bright sunbeams blinding me a little, and swallow a groan. "I'm fine," I say. She sits down anyway. "Honestly, Paula. I'm okay."

"Your sketchbook tells a different story." She plucks it out of my hands and traces the harsh figures that crowd the page.

"Don't worry about it," I mutter, snatching it back.

"What's going on with you?" she asks, reaching for my hair and straightening out a tightly coiled strand at the nape of my neck.

It snaps against my skin just as I snap at her. "Everything's fine," I say. "I'm fine."

"You really expect me to believe that?" She gives me the look. The patented, I'm disappointed in you look. It sends a jolt of shame running through my body and forces a sorrowful smile to cling to my lips despite the annoyance that trickles through too.

"Spencer called yesterday," I say. "And although I should've probably put the phone down the moment I realised it was him, I didn't."

"What did he want?"

"To say sorry, I guess. To tell me he loves me. To be the Spencer I know."

"The Spencer you know?"

"My Spencer. Not the guy who fucked me over for Penelope."

She reaches for my cheek and forces me to meet her intense stare. I squirm beneath it, desperate to escape unscathed. "Is he both Spencer's?" she asks, her hold tightening.

"Yes," I say, the words barely a whisper. "But I think he's my Spencer again."

"He was always your Spencer," she says, her thumb brushing against my sunburnt cheek. "But he was also always the Spencer who cheated. The question is, can you live with yourself knowing that that part of him will always be there?"

"What happens if I can't?" I ask, turning to the view. The yacht leaves large ripples of foam in the otherwise undisturbed swathes of blue. "What happens if I never forgive him?"

"I don't know," she admits. "But trust me, if you decide that you want to be with him, you'll have to forget it ever happened."

"And what, start over?"

"Yes."

Forgetting seems easier than confronting him. Forgetting means I get to hold onto it, onto us. But forgetting means I'll have no one to blame but myself if it ever happens again. And with Spencer, it doesn't feel like I'm holding out for if, but when.

When he decides I'm not good enough.

When he decides that he needs another.

And the thing is, I don't know if my Spencer is enough to justify the existence of his—the selfish boy who chucked me aside like a useless, flearidden ragdoll.

"There's no point thinking about this right now," Paula says, jumping to her feet and offering me a hand. "It's not like he's here. But we are. On a gorgeous boat, out in the gorgeous Atlantic sea. Enjoy it."

"And Henry?" I ask.

"He'll behave. Although, I can't say the same for Isaac. What happened between you two?"

Laughing, I take her hand and let her haul me up. "Nothing happened. I mean, he's Isaac. He hates me."

"If there's one thing I know about Isaac, it's that he's never hated you."

~*~

Paula's words stay with me for the rest of the day. I try to ignore them, push them aside, shove them into a box, and hide them underneath a mountain of pressing issues, but they continually spring out like a broken jack in the box. First when we're swimming in the cove, then when we're sunbathing on the deck and later when we're eating lunch. They simply swirl, slinking in just when they're not wanted.

It doesn't help that he's spent the entire day with Elle. Not from a jealousy standpoint, obviously. I don't have a right to be jealous. But their sudden obsession with one another has meant that I haven't had a chance to explain. Then again, I'm not sure he wants an explanation. If he did, he wouldn't have run away yesterday.

His arm is wrapped around her shoulder, and her head is nestled into the crook of his neck. They look happy, sitting there staring up at the pale pink sky. Picture perfect, even. If I had my camera, I'd snap a photo and title it young love.

"I didn't think that would happen." Henry nods at the happy couple. He sits beside me, handing over an open bottle of beer.

I wipe away the condensation from the brown bottleneck and toy with the curling label before bringing the thick rim to my lips and gulping down the cold, bitter liquid. "I hate beer," I mumble, dragging the back of my hand against my mouth.

"She must be ecstatic." Henry ignores me. "She's clearly into him."

"Are we still talking about this?" I ask, taking another tentative sip. Not that it changes anything. The beer is still disgusting.

He only hums and takes a swig from his own bottle. "What did you do?" he asks, tapping the damp glass against my thigh. It leaves a massive wet splotch.

"Who said I did anything?"

"One minute Isaac's making moony eyes at you, and the next he's all over her."

"Moony eyes?" I snort, taking another furtive sip. Maybe it's not so bad. "What are you? Five?"

"You get the point. So what happened?"

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you," he says, laughing.

"You don't have to."

"Come on." He shoves me. My bottle tips too far, and a sticky dribble of beer trickles down my chest. "I'll find out eventually," he says, the threat undermined by his teasing smile.

"Nothing happened, okay. Like I don't know what Isaac's said to you, but nothing's changed."

"So what?" he asks. "You'll just go back to fighting?"

"I don't think we ever stopped."

I stand up and pick my way across the hull, heading for the back of the boat. Essie's managed to stick her feet under the railing. She swings them through the air as the yacht bobs along.

"Mind if I join you?" I bring my legs into my chest and hold them close as she nods, smiling softly.

"You're really pretty," I say, mindlessly tearing the peeling label on my beer bottle to shreds. "Like really, really pretty."

She laughs—even that's beautiful, effortless—and wraps a warm arm around my ball like frame. "You're really, really pretty too," she says.

"Not like you," I sigh, "or Elle. God, Elle is gorgeous."

They're all legs and kind, bright smiles that give way to cheekbones and soft, glowing skin. They're perfect. Like an Instagram filter come to life. While I'm a raggedy old mess.

"Is this about Isaac?" she asks, her arms tightening around me.

"Of course not."

"I saw you two," she says. Her voice is low, conspiratorial, and worried. So, so worried.

"It was nothing," I insist. "We're nothing."

"You can trust me," she says. "I won't tell anyone, promise."

"It's fine, noth—"

"—I just want to know," she says. "For Elle's sake, I've got to know. So if something is going on, I'd rather you say. You know, so I can prepare her for the inevitable."

If I say yes, I'll clear a path directly to Isaac. There'll be no more gorgeous Elle, just me and him and time. But then there's Spencer. The root of all flipping evil, it seems. If I say yes, what happens to him?

I don't want to think about it. Can't. Every time I do, my brain throws a huge, glaring error sign that flashes red and pulses like the thumping bass of an EDM track. So I sigh and shake my head, clearing the angry cross. "It was all a mistake," I say. "A massive misunderstanding."

"Sure, but which part?"

"All of it."

***

I'm not so convinced by Lizzie.

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xxx