Today is the rehearsal dinner for Jenna and Lion's wedding.

Jenna's parents are waiting for her and Lion to finally head to the vineyard where the wedding will be celebrated. Everyone who's part of the ceremony has to practice their entrance.

You've been at Jenna's family home for a while, helping with last-minute preparations, addressing invitations, taste-testing champagne—anything to keep your hands busy and your mind off the fact that Nick, your ex, your stepbrother, is somewhere on these grounds. Of course he's here. He's Lion's best man and you're the maid of honor.

It's been four years since the breakup. Four years since he'd kissed Sofia in front of you, since you'd made your own mistakes with Michael, since everything had shattered between you like glass. And then he'd left for london, putting an entire country between you.

Now, as Jenna and Lion finally come down the stairs—Jenna in a sundress, Lion with his arm around her waist—the front door opens. And there he is again.

Nicholas.

He looks leaner. Sharper somehow, as if the city has carved away something soft in him. His eyes briefly meet yours before sliding away.

"Alright, everyone outside," Jenna's dad announces, clapping his hands together. "We need to get going if we want to make it before sunset."

You all file out into the warm evening air. The vineyard is about forty minutes away, nestled in the hills with views that Jenna has gushed about for months.

The cars are parked in a neat row. Jenna's parents head straight for the Mercedes, along with Lion. That leaves eight people and not enough seats. Jenna heads towards the second car with her cousins.

"Jenna, don't even—" you start, seeing the apologetic look on your best friend's face.

"Nick's car is empty... just travel with him. It's just forty minutes..."

Nick doesn't look at you. He just scoops up Jeremy—Jenna's five-year-old cousin—tosses him in the air with that effortless charm that makes children adore him, makes everyone adore him. "Ready to be my copilot, buddy?"

You climb into the passenger seat, slamming the door harder than necessary. The leather is soft, the interior immaculate. You stare straight ahead as Nick secures Jeremy in the back seat, pulling up a game on his phone to keep the kid occupied.

Then he slides into the driver's seat beside you.

The space instantly feels too small.

You can smell him—that intoxicating mix of his aftershave and cologne, cedarwood and something darker, something uniquely Nick. It hits you like a physical blow, dragging up memories you've spent years trying to bury.

Your hands clench in your lap.

Nick adjusts the rearview mirror, his movements precise and controlled. Then he starts the engine, and the car purrs to life.

You're hyperaware of everything. The way his right hand rests on the gear shift, fingers long and elegant. The flex of his forearm as he turns the wheel. The sharp line of his jaw, the slight stubble he hasn't bothered to shave. The way his chest rises and falls with each breath.

You need air. The smell of Nick is overwhelming, making your head spin and your body heat. You reach for the window control, pressing the button. Cool evening air rushes in, and you close your eyes, trying to breathe.

The window slides back up immediately.

Your eyes snap open. You turn to look at Nick, really look at him, for the first time since he came back.

"I'm hot," you say. Your voice comes out rougher than you intended—the first words you've spoken to him since your breakup.

Without a word, he puts on the AC. The cold air blasts directly at your face.

The gesture is so deliberately passive-aggressive that you almost laugh. Almost. Instead, you reach over for window button, but Nick slides the window back up. Again.