I rummage through my closet and I hold up a bikini that I got as a birthday present from Rachel two years ago.

“What do you think about me packing this bikini, as well as my one-piece?”

He eyes the bikini thoughtfully, scratches one of his freckles with a sheepish look, and then looks at me. “Are you going to fix your hair?”

“What do you mean? Of course I’m fixing my hair.” I tug the careless ponytail I’m wearing and roll my eyes.

“Then I like it.” He grins.

I continue packing, suddenly shooting him a sideways frown. I like that he’s honest, I prefer honesty over the pure bullshit I got from Paul. But I love wearing my ponytail when I’m relaxing or when I’m having a bad hair day. A ponytail is so much easier than spending hours with the flat iron.

“I better shower and get ready to leave,” I say when I notice the time. Our flight leaves in three hours.

Trent glances at the time too and nods at me with a wink, looking cute in a baseball cap and a blue tee as he helps me zip up my luggage.

I check my phone and see a text from my mother.

Heard your message, Gina! Glad things are going well, we miss you and hope to come home for Christmas this year and meet this boy of yours! Love from Mom and Dad

“My parents want to meet you,” I say.

“Wow. I’m so ready for that,” he says, stunned but obviously happy.

I purse my lips thoughtfully, then realize I will never be able to change my parents. I know that they love me in their own quirky way, but they never really loved spending time with me more than they enjoyed spending time with each other.

I will never come first.

They will never rush to answer my phone calls, my texts, my messages.

But they want to meet my boyfriend now, and I’m grateful that they’re even moderately interested.

“You know what?” I say thoughtfully. “Me too. I feel so good about this trip, Trent, I really want to spend time with you.”

Aiming to prove to him how much I mean it, I spend half an hour after showering to flat-iron my hair, determined for him to drool over me the entire long weekend.

BEACH HOUSE

We arrive in Florida at 3 p.m. The humidity is so high that my hair starts curling within minutes of standing out on the airport sidewalk while waiting for a taxi. I end up having to pull my hair back in a ponytail and “I really like you with your hair down best” Trent pouts sadly.

“Complain to the humidity.” I realize I sound cross and this is not how I wanted our vacation to go, so I force myself to lighten up and nudge him. “Come on, it’s still me.”

He frowns. “Why are you hitting me?”

I pause and straighten. “Hit you? I was just…nudging you…whatever.” I shake my head and laugh to myself.

My stomach sinks a little. I remember all the things about myself I had once tried to change to please Paul. Does every relationship require that to work? Do you need to change stuff you like or do simply to deserve being wanted and loved?

I push my dark thoughts aside when the cab halts at a massive wrought-iron gate with a CC emblem at its center.

Once we’re allowed to pass, the cab pulls over before an Architectural Digest-worthy Mediterranean mansion that consists of a pristine white building plus ten villas spread across the beach. Every villa is facing the waves and sand. Callan greets us when we arrive, hair mussed and sexy as only he and his gang of playboy friends can look. His date is a petite brunette—Sandy—who’s trying to prove to the elusive billionaire how good a hostess she is by offering drinks every couple of minutes to anyone who crosses her path.

She shows us to our room and I fall in love instantly with the simple, sophisticated décor. Everything is done in neutral tones with the exception of colorful pillows strewn on the bed and patterned art deco curtains on the massive glass doors that lead to the terrace. The terrace has an outdoor shower and a private pool.

Trent and I get settled in record time then meet up with everybody at the main pool. Drinks and conversation flow as Rachel, Wynn, and I lie on deep orange chaise lounges and the men sip drinks in the pool. Saint playfully leaps out of the pool to join Rachel¸ stroking his hand up and down her tiny, nearly four-month-pregnant belly. The adoration in his eyes is heartwarming and I can’t help but feel a flood of happiness for them, for my best friend.

But as the hours pass and the sky starts casting a pink-orange glow across the horizon, I realize I’m not having as much fun as I expected as I would.

Maybe because I can’t help but notice that everyone is here…

Everyone but Tahoe.

* * *

Even after a full day at the pool and a tray full of margaritas, I can’t sleep that night. I find myself wandering out onto the terrace. I’m wearing a flimsy camisole and shorts and I’m enjoying the way the warm spring Florida night feels on my skin. I take one of the terrace lounge chairs and stare out at the waves. The sky is pitch black with only a sliver of moon, one of the few lights I can see.

My eyes are drawn to the only other light nearby, flooding out of the villa next door.

Its windows are open, and the gauzy drapes billow softly with the wind.

The villa was vacant, as far as I knew, because I heard it was supposed to be Tahoe’s. Did he finally arrive? I expect to hear moans and groans at any moment now.

Instead there’s movement, and as my eyes adjust to the shadows, I realize there’s a man sitting outside too. His blue eyes glimmer in the dark, and there’s a light smile curving his lips as he lifts his fingers in a peace sign.

My stomach, my heart, my whole body seems to clutch and spasm in reaction.