Vanessa Barinov was Daisy's nemesis.

Actually, Daisy was Vanessa's nemesis. Not that it made a difference. It never had.

Vanessa pounced like a lion upon a gazelle, literally wedging herself between Hunt and Daisy until both had to take a step back to accommodate her. She hadn't switched up her signature perfume. The sickly sweet elderflower and apricot concoction was shooting Daisy six years into the past. Smells could do that—trigger good and bad memories alike.

Right now, Vanessa's perfume was triggering Daisy's fight or flight.

Somehow, Laia knew. She always just knew. She linked her arm through Daisy's. "Are you okay?"

Daisy tried to smile. "Of course." Not at all.

"You know my fiancé," Vanessa was telling Hunt, gesturing to a vaguely familiar man with dark hair shaved close to his scalp. His light blue eyes were almost dazzling against his brown skin.

Laia gasped. She brought her mouth closer to Daisy's ear. Kenji, Belle, and Honey inched closer to hear. Lai whispered, "Is that Zaid?"

Daisy scrunched her nose. "I don't know who that is."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"From Five of Hearts."

"I don't know what that is."

"They sang What Makes You Mine."

"I still don't—" Wait.

What Makes You Mine was Daisy and Laia's jam in year eight. They'd even caught Kenji bopping his head along once or twice.

Belle, ever the fact-checker, gawked at something on her phone. "Aren't they the boy band from that TV show? Teen Idol—"

"The It Factor," a new, deep voice corrected.

Daisy looked up. Vanessa's fiancé was grinning. His teeth weren't just white under the light of the aquarium, but blinding. From a glance down at the Instagram page Belle was hastily trying to close, it looked like he had a tooth-whitening sponsorship.

Good for him.

"Those were the days," Zaid said wistfully.

"They're long behind him," Vanessa announced on his behalf. "He's gone solo."

Zaid chuckled. "I went solo five years ago. The EP's still in production." He levelled a dry expression that Daisy reckoned might have meant something to someone more knowledgeable about show business.

Her friends continued their mini-freakout over meeting a D-list celebrity, which directed attention away from Daisy's mini freakout over running into her age-old rival. Who happened to be the ex-girlfriend of someone who'd just introduced himself as her boyfriend. Which was a lie.

Daisy's eyes went to Hunt, fully intending to shoot him silent warheads—of the nuclear kind. Within a second of seeing his face over Vanessa's shoulder, the urge to nuke him fizzled like flame submerged in water.

Hunt's expression was cryptic. He still wasn't smiling. Actually, he looked more uncomfortable than Daisy had ever seen him. And one of those times involved the two of them drowning in her friends' sex toy collection. In public.

"How do you all know Hunt?" Vanessa asked, edging closer to Zaid as he signed a serviette for Belle. The fish tank loomed in a sheet of blue behind her, coral and seaweed drifting in an eerie, ghost-like dance. In a tweed jacket and matching pink skirt, she looked like a sea witch. Like some preppy, Miu Miu-wearing siren preparing to drag Daisy to the ocean floor.

When Daisy didn't answer, Kenji cleared his throat. "Daisy and J—Hunt are dating."

Daisy flinched at how close he'd been to slipping up. If anyone knew that Hunt's first name wasn't Joshua, it was undoubtedly his high school sweetheart.

"You're joking?" Vanessa drawled. Finally, those hooded brown eyes dared to rise, latching onto Daisy's like a snake snatching a mouse. They flew over her face as though she was drinking it in—the dusting of freckles across her nose, the tangled hair she hadn't had a chance to comb since assaulting the pillar in the lobby. She offered a slashed grin that didn't make it to her eyes. "Funny—how things turn out."

Daisy didn't think it was funny at all.

"From Beergate to happily ever after. How romantic." Vanessa's nude lips were curving with amusement, but Daisy didn't catch the joke. "And to think, I have a whole week to hear about how that came to be."

The way she said it—'that'. Like Daisy and Hunt were two specimens in a lab. Like they were the fish on the other side of the glass, their existence reduced to a source of entertainment.

Laia's grip on her arm tightened. She levelled her face, bronze features awash in rippling blue.

Which made Daisy realise that her chin had lowered. Her shoulders had buckled under invisible weight.

"Excuse us," Laia said curtly. "It's getting late. And we all have an early morning."

Vanessa cut Laia a glare, appraising her like a snail on the side of a fishbowl. Daisy could tell she didn't remember her. They'd only met a few times, and while she'd told Lai all about Vanessa, her old dance rival had little reason to remember her best friend.

But Laia had the sharp tongue of her Spanish mother and the unshakeable composure of her Armenian father. She wasn't the kind of person you'd willfully enter a battle with. Which, unfortunately for everyone within a five-kilometre radius, looked exactly like something Vanessa was about to do. No one dismissed the granddaughter of Australia's youngest prima ballerina.

But it was Zaid who said, "You're right. Seven a.m. start, isn't it?" Laia nodded while Zaid handed Belle her signed napkin, throwing the blushing brunette the wink designed for the cover of a teen magazine. "Great meeting you all. We'll see you tomorrow."

Tomorrow.

The word stoked Daisy's temper all over again as Vanessa and Zaid slipped into the glittering throng. And then she was angry—at Hunt. Murderous, actually.

But, like the first time she noticed how withdrawn he'd become, she found her fury banking with one look at his face.

"We'll catch up with you in a second," she told the others when they aimed for their table. "We need a moment."

"I bet you do," Laia muttered. Something flared in her eyes, but Daisy didn't get a chance to figure out what before Kenji pressed a hand to his fianceé's lower back, guiding her away.

Hunt was already stalking to the door.

"Hey! Are you—"

"This was stupid," he said.

Daisy frowned, struggling to keep pace. Damn those long legs of his. "Well ... yeah. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"I didn't realise this thing went for a whole week." He came to a crashing stop, and Daisy hit the brakes two seconds short of slamming into him. He waved the brochure he'd gotten from Kenji. "And there's, like, a schedule. Activities all day, competitions at night."

"It's a couples' retreat, Hunt. What did you think it would be like?"

"I don't know ... a holiday? As in, we're not monitored twenty-four-seven. We can do what we want and go where we want. But we're in groups, Daisy." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "And guess who just told me she's in our group?"

Daisy didn't need to guess. She knew.

Still, she couldn't help but think that Hunt hadn't seemed so bothered when Kenji first showed him the brochure. He could have just been putting on a cool front, but he'd seemed almost excited about the activities her friend was talking him through. Until Vanessa showed up. And sucked every inch of life out of him.

She had that effect on people, it seemed.

"God." Daisy groaned, shaking off the unease sliding over her skin like fish oil. "This couldn't be less ideal if we planned it."

"You can say that again," Hunt muttered. He still sounded a little frazzled, but at least he was smiling again. Sort of. Or maybe he was grimacing. "How do you know Nes, anyway?"

Nes. A weight pressed against Daisy's chest. She tried to shrug it away, rolling her eyes. "We used to dance together. We ... didn't get along."

The understatement of the decade.

"You dance?" Hunt's eyes fell to her throat—to the necklace. The ballet slipper pendant.

His gaze, the question ... as good as a dagger to the heart. She looked away. "I used to."

"Dais?" Laia called from a few paces away. "We'll meet you at the room, okay?"

Daisy nodded, watching her friends leave, and noticed that most of the other guests were leaving, too. Hotel staff were sweeping into the function room with brooms and bin bags while the jazz trio packed up their equipment, chatting quietly. Kenji lingered a pace behind the others, throwing Daisy a strange look she didn't get a chance to unravel. Didn't get a chance, because when she faced Hunt again, his eyes were doing the same thing Vanessa's had.

Scanning her.

"Daisy..." he uttered softly.

She jolted. The way he'd said her name ... like he was tasting the word, chewing on every vowel, sucking on each consonant—

"Lazy Daisy!" he exclaimed.

Daisy blanched.

"What?" she blurted.

Hunt shook his head. "Sorry, I don't mean ... Just ..." He stepped closer, his wide, bright eyes dipping into the light. "Holy shit! I know you."

Well, that didn't sound at all like something a boyfriend would say to his girlfriend.

Daisy motioned around the emptying room. "Can you keep your voice down?"

"Daisy ..." Hunt snapped his fingers. "Collins."

Her pulse tripped.

She hadn't told him her surname.

"This is wild," he exclaimed, stepping closer—as though the knowledge of who she was banished the need for space between them. "You're like ... famous. Not famous-famous. But famous to me. God. Daisy Fucking Collins." He shook his head, disbelief stamped across his face when he ran a hand through his hair.

Daisy felt a twinge of guilt. Not only did Hunt know her full name, he knew the cruel nickname Vanessa crafted for her ten years ago. It added credibility to his claims of knowing her, and there she was, wide-eyed and clueless as to who he was. And ... famous? What the hell was that supposed to mean—

From Beergate to happily ever after ...

Daisy's stomach lurched. Flashing images lanced through her mind, slipping from her grasp like wispy bits of web.

Beer.

Sequins.

A white, blinding light.

A gentle, unfurling melody ...

"Vanessa's boyfriend," she murmured.

Applause.

Ballet slippers.

Someone shouting at her to go, go, go—

Daisy gasped. There. The thread knit together, weaving a picture in the darkest crevasses of her mind. "Vanessa's—"

Boyfriend.

Beergate.

Foamy brown liquid all over her—

The floor rippled below her heels.

"You prick!" Daisy shouted.

Loudly.

One of the musicians dropped his sax with a thud.

She barely noticed.

Because she was seeing the scene playing out inside her head as though it was happening right in front of her: her first ballet solo at a dance competition; the new, white costume she'd stayed up all night beading; her gut twisting and turning like a tumble dryer of butterflies as she waited in the wings, stretching her legs. A faceless blur emerging from the shadows ...

No, not faceless. That face, she realised, a hand fluttering to her mouth to muffle another gasp. That arrogant, rugged, infuriatingly symmetrical face belonging to the person standing right in front of her. Laughing right in front of her. Just like he had all those years ago—after he'd poured his beer all over her handmade costume and then laughed alongside Vanessa and everyone else in the wings.

Daisy pressed her palm to her lips. She was going to throw up. "You ruined my costume." No—she was going to throw down. "You sabotaged me!"

God. How hadn't she realised it before? Hunt; in the bar, when he told her his name, she'd thought it suited him. She couldn't remember why, but ...

Holy shit, indeed.

Hunt said something. Daisy couldn't hear him. Her ears were ringing. Maybe she'd repressed the memory of his face, but how hadn't she seen something in that obnoxious smirk, or been triggered by his smoky laugh? A laugh she couldn't stop hearing now, shadowed by so many others while fingers pointed and Vanessa sneered and the stagehand literally pushed Daisy onto the stage, beer dripping in her wake.

Whatever Hunt was saying was background noise. The ringing in Daisy's ears was overwhelming, and it took every ounce of willpower she had not to repay the favour from all those years ago—not to pour her champagne all over his shirt.

By the time the ringing cleared, Hunt had stopped speaking. His smile wilted. "Daisy—"

She shook her head. White clouds blossomed over her vision. "Fuck you, Hunt."

"Daisy," he said again, smile long-gone.

She was definitely blinking back tears, and that was definitely a bit childish, but as Daisy set down her glass and aimed for the doors, she felt like she was a teenager again. A teenager who was running from dance class, Vanessa's chants of Lazy Daisy following her all the way.

Daisy suspected the universe hated her.

No. It despised her.

The fragrant air crawled under her sleeves, skittering over her bones as she dipped into the rainforest. And walked. And walked. And walked.

While the couples' side of the resort was bunkering down for the night, the so-called other side sounded alive and well. Strobing lights seeped into the cozy darkness of the jungle, joined by the sound of throbbing bass and splashing water. Getting lost in music sounded like a dream, but Daisy knew it was futile. Knew it would only draw out what was becoming a living nightmare.

Twenty minutes passed. Another ten. She walked until her feet ached. Until she could take a breath without feeling like she needed to throw it up. She didn't know where she was going. Had a pretty strong hunch she was walking in circles. It didn't matter.

She'd been vulnerable with Hunt in that bar. Daisy had told him things she hadn't told Laia or Kenji. Like how shitty it was being the only single one in a group of couples, and how pathetic she felt knowing that Matthew and Honey would judge her when she told them about another failed fling. Worse—her friends would pity her. She'd opened herself up to someone who was as much her enemy as Vanessa was; Hunt was Vanessa's ex. He definitely still held a torch for her, or was at least bothered enough by her appearance that he'd turned into a ghost of himself when she stepped into the room. He'd been too rattled for Daisy to think otherwise.

Daisy hovered before a fork in the path, half of her face illuminated by silvery moonlight. She sighed. It was time. Time to meet up with her friends—and tell them the truth. She didn't want to. This was all so much worse than if she'd just told them that Joshua was a flake after all. But she was out of time. Out of options.

She was following the row of torches that led to the treehouses when her attention snagged on a tall shadow on the bridge. A hunched silhouette leaned over the wooden railing, peering down at a creek that disappeared into the trees. The flame from a nearby lantern glinted off a glass filled with amber liquid.

"I thought you didn't drink."

Hunt flinched. He mustn't have heard her slink up beside him. But he didn't take his eyes off the creek as he brought the glass to his lips.

"Sometimes," he murmured, "the universe tests our resolve."

And damn it if she hadn't been thinking the same thing.

She bracketed her hands on the railing. She opted not to look at him, throwing her gaze into a thicket of ferns gilded by warm light. Silence swelled, broken only by trickling water and the sound of a possum scampering over a drooping branch. But inside Daisy's head, everything was loud.

Her mind was racing. It told her to yell at Hunt some more. To throw something at him. Did he even know how much his stupid prank all those years ago had affected her? Haunted her?

But that wasn't what she asked.

"How do you know him?"

The silence pulsed.

"Zaid," she clarified, her voice little more than a breath. "Vanessa said 'you know my fiancé.' How?"

Hunt was quiet for so long she wondered whether he'd answer at all.

But he tensed, taking a sip of his scotch. "He's one of the guys she cheated on me with."

Daisy sucked in a breath. "One of?"

"I'm just glad one of them stuck."

"No you're not."

He took another swig. Cubes of ice clinked against the glass. "No," he muttered. "I'm not."

Daisy scanned his profile. Shadows claimed most of it, but she could see from a mile away that his dimples were long gone.

She knew she should have left. Should have let him wallow. He wasn't a good person. Her memories were clear enough on that.

"Why did you do it?" Her voice was so low, scratching the walls of her throat. "Why did you say you were Joshua?"

Slowly, Hunt dragged his gaze from the stream to his drink. He dipped his chin, dark hair curling over his temple. The torchlight didn't quite make it to his face, but she could see his eyes. Saw they were glazed. That wasn't his first drink. Wasn't his second. And he wasn't drunk, but he wasn't sober. After what he'd told her about Vanessa and Zaid ... hell, she couldn't blame him.

"When you left the bar ..." His voice was rough, and he cleared it. "You looked so ... sad. You looked like you were going to cry. You—who'd threatened to whisk me into cake batter three hours before. I couldn't just let you leave like that. Face your friends like that." Hunt shrugged. "I followed you. And then I saw the concierge's face when you were talking to him. You were right, by the way. He was very patronising."

She huffed her agreement, but it lacked her usual gusto.

"I don't know, Daisy. I just ... " He lifted his glass to his lips, thought better of it, and popped it down on the ledge. The ice inside rattled. "Before, when you asked what I was thinking? I wasn't. You just looked so small, and I wanted you to feel ... big." He looked like he was going to say something else, but shook his head, throwing his gaze away.

Daisy blinked.

Her eyes were water-lined. Her throat was thick with choked-back tears.

She traced a crack in the railing with one hand, wiping the moisture from her eyes with the other. She blamed it on a long day. One filled with too many warring emotions.

And yet ...

Daisy had always thought she was good at hiding how she felt. Good at lying—even to herself. But he'd seen it. Hunt—a stranger—had seen everything beneath the bravado, beyond the snark. He'd seen that she was upset. He'd skipped dinner with his friends just to make her feel big. And maybe, just for a moment, when they'd been walking through that mixer amongst other couples, arguing like a couple ... maybe she had.

But that was before