The Boiling Point | ✔️

38 | after the rain

SUMMER

When I get back to the house, the last thing I expected was to walk in on Mr. and Mrs. Villa in a heated argument right there at the bottom of the staircase.

I barely have time to take in the intense scene before her eyes skip to me, followed by his. A shiver goes through me when those piercing blue orbs stab into me. He looks more handsome than ever, and he's just come from the airport. Maybe it's the whole unruly, angry thing going on. I've never heard his voice raised, never seen his fists clenched like that.

God, is there something wrong with me for finding anger hot? Is that even normal?

Mrs. Villa storms over, flashing a piece of paper in my face. "Care to tell me about this nude drawing?" She holds up a finger to Mr. Villa before he has a chance to cut in.

He leans on the staircase railing, exhausted, motioning for me to answer. I shut my gaping mouth and look at the paper.

"Oh my gosh, he wasn't nude," I stumble out the words, taking in my portrait of Mr. Villa. "I did that on the yacht. It was just for fun."

She stares at me like she's attempting to scoop out my soul. After a minute, she gives a huff and accepts my answer, scrunching up the paper before she rages away. Mr. Villa gives me an apologetic look as he goes after her.

"Welcome home," I say under my breath, picking up the crumpled ball that was my drawing.

My baking sketchbook has given me way too much trouble today.

Not wanting to ruffle her feathers more than I already have, especially after our conversation (blackmail) this morning, I instantly get into the kitchen and start the dinner she's expecting. A warm, wine-infused coq au vin. She's calmed down by the time I've set the table, an eerie switch that flipped like it so often does with her. She explains how she found the drawing and jumped to conclusions, and I don't even hesitate with my apology.

She could blame me for anything, tell me to do anything, and I wouldn't fight it. I couldn't. It's her now, Mrs. Villa, who holds my future in her wrinkly hands.

After I've done the dishes and cleaned the kitchen, I retreat to my room to give her space. To make my presence so scarce that maybe she'll forget I'm here. All I have to do is fly under her radar for the rest of my time living in this godforsaken house.

An hour into studying, a knock on my door pulls me from the French I'm trying and failing to drill into my head. I know it's Mr. Villa before he's even walked in. Not only because of the distinct difference in their knocks, but because I figured he'd want to talk when he got back from New York. I've pretty much ghosted him since that text, after all.

"Hi," he says, keeping the door open behind him.

"Hi." I twist around in my chair. "Again, I'm so, so sorry about that drawing. I wouldn't have done it if I knew it would cause trouble."

He waves me off. "If I just showed her on the yacht then it wouldn't have been an issue at all."

"Is she still mad?"

"Nothing a bubble bath can't fix. And some groveling on my part. I've already promised to take her on a weekend getaway, so that should do it." His smile falters as he looks me over. "She told me what happened. The videos, the drastic measures she's taking... I'm really sorry it's come to this, Summer. I can try and-"

"Don't," I interject. "Getting special treatment from you is only going to make it worse."

He looks a little taken aback at first, a little offended, but then he nods. "Yeah, you're right. I don't want to make things worse for you," he says, glancing out the door. "And I don't want to make things uncomfortable for you either, which is why I owe you an apology for that text I sent."