At one point, a sea turtle appears, swimming lazily past us with indifference to our presence. I make an excited sound through my snorkel, pointing, and Michael nods, his eyes crinkling at the corners in what I know is a smile behind his snorkel.
Time loses meaning as we explore. The underwater world is meditative, requiring presence in a way that's rare in our busy lives. There are no emails here, no meetings, no deadlines, just breathing and gestures as we point out discoveries to each other.
Eventually, Michael taps his wrist where a watch would be and points to the surface. I nod, understanding that it's time to head back. My muscles are pleasantly tired as we swim toward shore, and I realize I haven't thought about last night for hours.
We emerge from the water onto the beach, removing our masks and snorkels. My hair is plastered to my head, and I'm sure my makeup (what little I applied) has washed away entirely. Michael doesn't look much better, his usually perfect hair slicked back and dripping.
"That was..." I search for the right word. "Amazing. Thank you."
He smiles, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. "You're a natural. Most first-timers panic at least once."
"I had a good teacher," I say, then immediately regret the compliment when his smile falters slightly.
"We should probably head back," he says, gathering the equipment. "Get cleaned up before lunch."
Just like that, the wall is back. I nod, keeping my expression neutral. "Of course."
As we walk back to the villa, I wonder if this is how the entire week will go. Moments of connection followed by swift retreats to safer ground. The thought is exhausting. But maybe it's for the best. In four more days, we'll return to New York, to our normal professional roles where the boundaries are clearer.
Back in my room, I shower away the salt water and change into a sundress for lunch. My skin feels tight from sun exposure despite the sunscreen, and my muscles ache pleasantly from the swimming. I should feel relaxed, refreshed. Instead, I feel oddly melancholy.
I reach for my phone, then remember I've confiscated both our devices for the duration of the vacation. No distractions, doctor's orders. Usually, I'd bury uncomfortable emotions in work or social media scrolling. Without those escapes, I'm forced to sit with my feelings.
The real problem, I realize as I brush my hair, isn't that Michael retreated last night. It's that I wanted him not to. Despite all professional boundaries and office rules, I wanted him to confirm my theories about the real man behind the CEO mask. I wanted him to let me in.
And that can only mean one thing… I'm in much deeper trouble than I thought.
Chapter 5 - Michael
I'm an idiot.
This thought keeps cycling through my mind as I stand under the shower, letting hot water pound against my shoulders. What kind of fool pushes away someone who sees through them? Who actually sees them?
"Yes, you're wrong," I replay my own words, cringing at the memory. The hurt that flashed across Elena's face before she smoothed it away into professional blankness haunts me. I lied to her face when she had the courage to speak the truth.
And for what? To protect myself? To maintain some illusion of control?
I turn off the water and grab a towel, roughly drying myself. The snorkeling had been a brief respite—underwater, with only gestures to communicate, we'd found our rhythm again. Elena had been magnificent, fearless and graceful in the water, her eyes wide with wonder behind her mask. For those hours, exploring the reef together, it felt like we'd transcended last night's awkwardness.
But the moment we returned to shore, reality crashed back. I retreated again, unable to handle the simple warmth of her compliment without panicking.
I dress in casual clothes, linen pants and a light shirt, feeling oddly vulnerable without my usual armor of tailored suits. Part of me wants to skip lunch, avoid another painful interaction, but that would be cowardly. And whatever else I am, I've never been a coward.
When I reach the terrace, Elena is already there, her hair still damp from her shower, wearing a simple sundress thatsomehow looks more elegant than the designer gowns I see at charity galas. She's reading a paperback novel, completely absorbed. I take a moment to just look at her, unobserved.
This is how I want to see her: relaxed, at ease, not constantly vigilant around me. Not overthinking her responses to avoid triggering my retreat.
"Good book?" I ask, announcing my presence.
She looks up. "Just something light for vacation."
I sit across from her as the staff brings out our lunch—a fresh seafood salad and cold soup that looks perfect for the hot day. "I didn't know you were a reader."
"There's probably a lot you don't know about me," she says lightly, but there's an edge there.
I deserve that. "Probably," I concede. "Though not for lack of interest."
She glances up, surprise flickering across her face. "The snorkeling was wonderful. Thank you for teaching me."
