So the part where Logan showed up at my door, begging me to come back? That was for show. He has been manipulating me since the first second I saw him.
Logan didn’t come to New York to get me back. He doesn’t even want me back. He only wants my money.
That must be why my credit card was confiscated yesterday. Logan was probably messing with my account. He might have been trying to take a cash advance or something that triggered an alert. Or running some other scam that wasn’t supposed to show up. He shouldn’t have bothered trying. He’s not smart enough to get away with this. I still haven’t told him about my card getting confiscated. He thinks he is still getting away with his scheme.
I cannot believe I fell for his bullshit. How could I not have seen through all that bad acting? Is he even out with “the boys” right now? Or are the boys actually a girl? A girl who lost a necklace. A girl who uses lemon shampoo. I checked the bathroom. Logan doesn’t have any shampoo that smells like lemons. So why does his hair smell like lemons all of a sudden?
Logan has been playing me this whole time. He’s been treating me like some chickenhead he can manipulate, steal from, and then dump like garbage all over again.
Logan = Fake. Darcy = Stupid.
But here’s the thing.
I know what he’s trying to do. But he doesn’t know I know.
No one plays Darcy Stewart and gets away with it. Especially bad boys who get off on breaking good girls’ hearts.
No boy will ever make me feel stupid again. Starting right now. Starting with Logan.
I am a live wire. Thrumming with high voltage. Dangerous.
My revenge will taste sweeter than honey.
Ready or not, Logan. Here I come.
THIRTY-SIX
ROSANNA
BATTERY PARK IS A SWEET place to hang out. A mix of everyone from individual runners to families with little kids is here. A refreshing breeze is drifting in from the river. D is in one of his romantic moods. After the weird distance that has been between us, I’m happy he is coming back to me.
D put together another picnic dinner for us tonight. This time we’re eating outside on the grass instead of in his living room. It’s the first traditional picnic I have ever had with a boy. D spread out the blanket from Central Park movie night on the grass. He has a fancy picnic basket with real utensils and plates and glasses. He takes out a bottle of Martinelli’s sparkling cider, opens it, and pours cider into two wineglasses.
“Cheers,” he says, holding up his glass. “To summer.”
I clink my glass against his.
“You up for running tomorrow morning?” D asks as he starts opening takeout containers from the Palm. I marvel at how he ordered dinner from one of the most expensive restaurants for a picnic. He could have just made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or something.
“Now that you have me hooked.” I love running. My body is adjusting to the shock of moving its parts in ways it is not at all used to. I don’t know if it’s that running is something special I share with D or if I just needed some cardio action. Whatever the reason, I’m loving the challenge. I want to get better. I want to be able to run alongside D no matter how fast he goes. I don’t want him to have to slow down for me.
“I knew you’d love it,” he says.
“This smells amazing, by the way.”
“Yeah, you know—” D’s phone cuts him off with a ringtone I have never heard before. I assume he is going to turn off his phone. This is the first time we have seen each other all week. But he doesn’t turn off his phone. He answers it.
His volume is turned way up. That’s how I can hear it’s Shayla. How often do they talk? This is the second time she’s called D while we were together. Does she call him every day?
“What have you been up to?” she asks.
“Nothing much,” he says. “I can’t talk now. Call you tomorrow?” He hangs up after Shayla trills a byyeeeee!
Why didn’t D tell her about our picnic? Or at least mention that he was with me? It’s like he didn’t want to give the reason why he couldn’t talk.
“Sorry,” he tells me. “You know how it is with Shayla.”
“Do I?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do I know the whole story of you two?”
“We’ve been over this.” D extracts plates from their notches in the fancy picnic basket. “She’s going through—”
“—a hard time, I know. But I still don’t think you’re telling me everything.”
“What else is there to tell?”
“Why did you even answer the phone?”
“I didn’t know if it was another emergency.”
“What kind of emergency would it be?”
“The kind where she needs me.”
I chug the rest of my sparkling cider like it’s wine and I really need a drink. When did D start putting Shayla’s needs ahead of mine? Can’t I have just one night alone with my boyfriend?
“She’s a good person,” D says, refilling my glass. “She feels bad about interrupting our sundeck time. She wants to take us out for a drink.”
“Us or you?”
“She wants to get to know you. She knows how important you are to me.”
“How important is she to you?”
“She’s my friend. You know that.”
“And that’s it? You guys have always been just friends?”
D hesitates. “We kind of . . . dated. In high school. It was nothing.”
Aha! I knew it. I freaking knew there was more going on. So not only do they have this big shared history, they were a couple. Who kissed. Maybe more.
Going out for a drink with my boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend would be beyond awkward. I’d be sitting there like a dillweed while they lobbed inside jokes back and forth. She would laugh too hard, gushing over how funny he is. And I’m sure she would be clinging to his arm again. There is no way I’m watching that.
I clear my throat. “How old were you?”
“We were juniors. It was only for a few months. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get upset over nothing.”
“Stop saying it’s nothing. You were together. That’s something.”
“But it’s in the past. You’re my girlfriend now. It’s not like you don’t have exes.”
“Actually . . . it is. You’re my first serious boyfriend.”
D looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. Another breeze drifts over from the river, making his sandy-blond hair flash with gold highlights in the sun. His hazel eyes have flecks of gold in the sun, too. He’s my golden boy.
“I didn’t know that,” he says.
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
“You don’t tell me much. Every time I try to ask you about your life back in Chicago, you change the subject.”
“All that’s important is who I am now. Not who I was then.”
“I disagree. You are the person you were. You always will be.”
“Trust me. You don’t want to know who I was.”
“Try me.”
How much should I tell him? How much do I want to tell him?
I don’t give myself time to decide. I just start talking. “Do you know why I don’t have a cell phone?”
“You’re not a follower. You’re original. It’s one of the things I admire about you.”
“I don’t have a cell phone because I can’t afford one. My family . . . we struggle to get by. Money has always been tight. That’s why I’m putting myself through college.”
D blinks. “I had no idea. You don’t seem . . . your clothes look expensive.”
“They were from Darcy. She took pity on me and gave me like a whole new wardrobe. I wanted her to take them back, but she wouldn’t. She took the tags off everything and threw away the receipts. You take me to such nice places that I wanted to look like I belonged. But I won’t be wearing them anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I forgot mys
elf for a minute there. I felt like I needed those clothes to go out with you. But I eventually remembered who I am. Wearing clothes I didn’t buy for myself just isn’t me.” I glance down at my worn T-shirt and capris. Getting away with this outfit for a picnic is one thing. Getting dressed for more upscale dinners out with D will be interesting.
“You looked beautiful in them,” D says. He gives me the plate he made for me and starts eating. He doesn’t reassure me that I could wear anything and still look beautiful. His silence makes me feel worse about my situation. I can’t help feeling like he is ashamed of me. I thought I would feel better about having to measure up to his lifestyle if he knew the truth. Instead I’m still feeling like I’m not good enough for him. Like I’m not worthy enough to meet his family. Like there is something missing in me that he needs.
D is eating like we’re having a normal conversation. Like what he heard didn’t even faze him. I hid a part of my past from him, just like he hid a part of his past from me. Maybe he thinks we’re even.
We will never, ever be even.
But if there is a chance for us to make it, I have to tell him the rest. I put my plate down on the blanket.
D looks up from his food. “You okay?” he asks.
“Not really. I need . . . there’s more I want to tell you.”
“Okay . . .”
“There’s a reason why I don’t like talking about my past. Other than growing up poor.”
D puts his plate down next to mine. His laser focus intensifies.
“It has to do with Addison. She showed up at camp yesterday.”
“I thought she didn’t work at the other camp.”
“She doesn’t. She lied about that and she lied to Mica about me because she thinks I lied about something first. Something big.” My thumb is snapping against my middle finger. I twist my other hand around my fingers, forcing myself to stop. “I know Addison’s uncle. Or I knew him back home when I was younger. He . . . he was a neighbor my family trusted. I’d go over to his house to play games and stuff. He took me and my little sister out for pizza and to the zoo. He was like an uncle to us.” My throat gets tight. I take a sip of sparkling cider. “One day I was over at his house playing Scrabble and he put his lips on mine. He just came at me out of nowhere. I don’t know if he had been planning to start touching me or if it was a split-second decision, but he didn’t quit. Things just got worse from there.”
“Did he . . . how far did it go?”
“He didn’t rape me or anything. But it was bad.”
“Are you okay now?”
“Not really.”
D moves over next to me and hugs me tight against him. “I hate him for doing that to you. I want to track him down and beat him to a pulp.”
“My dad beat you to it. Then he ran him out of town.”
“So that’s why Addison’s such a psycho? She thinks you lied about her uncle?”
I nod against D’s chest, breathing in his familiar scent. Breathing in him.
“Now you know why the whole sex thing is complicated for me,” I say.
“I hope you haven’t felt like I’ve been pressuring you.”
“No. But I’ve been worried about how we’re going to move forward.”
D gently pushes away from me. His intense laser focus is back. “Don’t worry about that,” he says. “We’ll figure it out together. Okay?”
“Are you sure you still want to be with me?” I blurt.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You don’t think I’m, like . . . damaged?”
“Are you kidding? I couldn’t be more proud of you. What happened wasn’t your fault. If anything, I care about you more because I admire how strong you are. How resilient you are. I would be a mess if I went through what you did. You’re amazing.”
D is saying all the right things. And I feel better now that he knows the truth about me. So why do I still feel like, no matter what D says, I’m not good enough for him? Is this because of my own issues or because that’s how he makes me feel? All I know is that I shouldn’t be feeling this way.
And I don’t want to feel this way anymore.
The truth is, I deserve to find a kind of love that won’t make me compromise who I am. Before I met D, I wasn’t sure if I deserved to be loved the way I wanted to be. But D has taught me that I am worthy.
Sadie says there is an epic kind of love you can find if you believe it exists. Even after Sadie found out Austin was married, she still talked about finding it. Nothing can make her stop believing that true love is real and she can find what she’s looking for. I want to have that same certainty.
It’s dark enough now to see a few stars. Three points of light are shining in the night sky. But even on those nights when I can’t see any stars, I know they are still there. Shining just as brightly as ever.
True love isn’t about being swept away to fancy dinners or elaborate vacays. It isn’t about hiding who you were to become a person someone else wants. I want to get to the good part of life, where my insecurities and fears are behind me. Will D still be a part of my life when I get there? Maybe not. Maybe to get to the good part, I have to break away from everything holding me back. I can’t let the fear of how I will support myself keep making me so worried every day. I can’t let the fear of what Addison might do next take over my life. And I can’t let the fear of my relationship with D possibly coming to an end stop me from dealing with my past. I don’t want to be defined by fear. I want to let fear become an obstacle I proudly overcome, not a barrier preventing me from living my dreams.
Here’s what I know about the good part. On days you feel desperate, hopeless, and alone, we all have to remember this: You can’t get to the good part unless you keep going. And the good part will come.
I can’t wait to be the best version of myself.
I can’t wait to finally get there.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
WHEN I WAS IN HIGH school, every summer break had the potential for magic. Not that anything ever happened in Middle of Nowhere, NJ. But being an eternal optimist (even in my teen years, the worst time of my life), every summer began with a sense of infinite possibility. The possibility that I would have a boy adventure. The possibility that I would figure out who I really was and stop caring about what other people think. And especially the possibility that I would reinvent myself. I looked forward to every summer as the Summer of Reinvention, during which time I would completely transform myself into a girl kids would hardly recognize when school started. Of course that never happened. The important thing was that I believed it could. There was always the anticipation that tremendous things could happen over the summer, and that anticipation sparked my passion for this series.
Writing a series about summer love, self-discovery, and sisterhood has been a magnificent journey. But like the journeys of Sadie, Darcy, and Rosanna, I have not been traveling this road alone. My people pave this road, constantly smooth out new potholes, and plant lots of colorful flowers along the way. These are the friendly neighbors who glow brighter than the sun.
I am profoundly grateful for my editor and publisher, Katherine Tegen, who made it possible for City Love to shine. Emily van Beek, to whom this book is dedicated, is everything an outstanding agent should be and so much more. Thanks to Brandy Rivers for believing in the potential of City Love and working toward seeing this series sparkle on the screen.
Much love to the rays of sunshine at HarperCollins who make City Love glitter, like my publicity/marketing dream team of Rosanne Romanello, Lauren Flower, and Alana Whitman. Thanks to Carmen Alvarez, Margot Wood, and the Epic Reads team for spreading the city love.
Erin Fitzsimmons, Amy Ryan, and Barb Fitzsimmons are the most dazzling creative team who have designed yet another gorgeous cover. Ana Maria Allessi was extremely kind to interview me for a HarperAudio Presents podcast, and totally gets why dreaming big is essential for creating a happy life. Thanks to Kate Egan, Jen Strada, Kathryn Silsand, Kathleen Morandini, an
d Kelsey Horton for polishing this book to a high gloss.
There are so many authors who have inspired me with their radiant positive energy, support, and guidance over the years. I want to thank Jennifer E. Smith, David Levithan, Sarah Mlynowski, Blake Nelson, Laurie Halse Anderson, Sarah Dessen, Judy Blume, and Jodi Picoult for everything they have done for me . . . and for making this world a better place.
My friends continue to dazzle me with their insight, strength, beauty, humor, and talent every single day. You are like warm summer sunshine even on the coldest winter days. You know who you are and you know you are made of all awesome things. Thanks to my fitness for life support team, Careen Halton and Linden Hass, and to our incredible instructor, Kara Doyle. Infinite thanks to my soul mate, Matt. You are the most colorful sunset I could ever imagine. Here’s to the power of megadesk taking things to the next level in 2016. Go, karma.
Eternal thanks to my readers. Thank you for all of your warm fuzzies on social. Thank you for sharing your personal stories of hope and triumph with me, and for never giving up. Thank you for making this life possible. You are why I write. I hope the City Love series brings you those magical summer feels . . . and that you live every single day like anything is possible.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Jayd Jackson
SUSANE COLASANTI is the bestselling author of When It Happens, Take Me There, Waiting for You, Something Like Fate, So Much Closer, Keep Holding On, All I Need, Now and Forever, and the City Love trilogy. She lives in downtown Manhattan. You can connect with Susane at www.susanecolasanti.com.
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