CAMILA HAS ALWAYS been a heartbreaker. No doubt about it. So she never really understood what it felt like to have her hopes dashed.
From Laurent, she learned rejection. She was okay with rejection. But this? This was completely out of left-field.
She knows she has no right to confront him, or anyone, about his post. His account, his control. And in fact, Laurent was free to do whatever he liked in Europe, or wherever he traveled to. They weren't bound by any contracts.
But as irrational as the heart is, hers felt a little fractured after that night.
Then, as always, after every breakup, her mind goes back to the talk she had with Elle, when Camila broke it off with Aidan.
Like everyone around her, they pestered Camila about her reasons for letting someone as perfect as Aidan go. She always told them the same reasons: their futures would never align.
But Elle always understood her and her inner workings.
"You didn't choose him," Elle said. "Simple as that."
Because, as Camila has come to know, love is about choice, not fated lines. The excuses she gave never matched up to the gaping truth: she didn't choose Aidan. No matter how strongly she felt about Aidan Rivera, it wasn't enough to make her choose him.
It wasn't enough to make her choose long-distance relationship. She didn't choose timezone differences, she didn't choose the lack of intimacy, and she didn't choose him.
That was it.
And as her mind jumps back to that moment, where Elle with her ever smart head, looked her in the eyes and taught her the most important lesson about love: decision.
Fate was just an easy way to deal with the responsibility of a broken heart.
Because Laurent didn't choose her. He didn't have to—he never confessed anything. But Camila can't help feel that she was never an option.
Even her favorite smoothie can't calm her thoughts. From there on, from that night, Camila shifted. Infinitesimally. Just a sliver. But enough to raise a few questions.
"Why are you like this?" Jeremy asks.
She swivels on the piano chair. "Like what?"
"Why are you playing like that? Do your hands hurt?"
"Playing like what? I'm not doing anything, Jer," she says. "Don't interrupt me."
"Wow, Juilliard really changed you," he says. "Anyways, do you know where this is?" He pulls out his phone and gives her an address.
"Manhattan. Why?"
"I've got a date."
"Shut the front door, no you don't."
"It's a hot one too."
"Is it with Matt? Are you dating him? Don't band relationships always ruin the music?"
Jeremy gags. "Matt is the grossest person I've ever had to live with. He doesn't shower for days."
"Then what? I know you don't date."
"It's a secret." He smirks.
"You know what," Camila says. She gets up, takes Jeremy by his arm, and drags him out the door of her rehearsal space. "Learn to grow up."
"Cam. Jesus, you've gotten mean. Are you getting bullied or something? That wasn't nice, that really hurt my elbow. I don't think I can play the drums anymore. You've injured me."
"You're lucky Elle isn't here," she says, swinging the door shut on her way in.
An hour later, when Camila's done practicing, she opens the door to find Jeremy sitting on the floor, a bag of takeout next to his side as he texts. Smiling, she leans against the doorframe and peers over his shoulder. He can be surprisingly sweet when he wants to be.
"Sorry for kicking you out," she apologizes. "You were getting on my nerves, and I didn't want to resort to violence."
"Fair enough. You needed to practice." Jeremy shrugs, unexpectedly mature. "I took a stroll and got some food, if you're hungry."
Camila sighs, shaking her head. Then, she sits down next to him.
"Long day?" he asks, letting her lean on him.
"You could say that. Long month, actually." She rubs her eyes, breathing deeper. "Really, how's the band? You haven't kept us updated."
"Good, good. I mean, pretty good for a couple of guys right out of school."
"Yeah? I'm happy."
"For me?"
"Maybe."
"Wow, that's rare."
"You wanna come to my dorm? I don't know if my roommates back," she says. "Or, we could go take a walk."
"Or," he counters, "we go back to my hotel room and have a sleepover. Like old times. Elle's coming soon, isn't she? I dread it so I want to spend time with my favorite girl."
"You fake," Camila says. Either way, she packs a bag to go, trying to forget what she has to do, even if it's just for one night.
"Whatever."