I shrug, too casual. “Nothing.”
She snorts. “Por favor.You’ve been staring at the same patch of sky for ten minutes.”
My mouth opens, then closes again. Because the truth is, my head is absolutely chock-full of him. Long gone is my preoccupation with my job and what my next move might be. Instead, it’s full of the sound of his laughter at the picnic. The way he looks at me across the table, unflinching, even with Nicole’s eyes like knives between us. The feel of his hand steady on my waist, brief and too much all at once.
“It’s not… him,” I say finally, picking at a loose thread on my towel. “Not exactly. It’s just… the group. The Nicole thing. Everything feels tense now, and I… Whatever.”
Camila hums, not pushing, but I can tell she’s not buying my deflection. She never does. There’s a glint of curiosity in her face, but she lets it slide, stretching her arms overhead like the question was just idle chatter.
In my head, I add what I can’t say out loud:This won’t last. He’ll retreat. He’ll fold back into whatever life is waiting for him once this trip is over. And I’ll be left with nothing but the echo of all these too-long glances.
The thought lodges sharp behind my ribs. I dig my toes into the warm stones, grounding myself, but it doesn’t help. It’s been easy to pretend this is all temporary, something light and contained. But the truth is, he’s gotten under my skin. And if he walks away—when he walks away—I’m not sure what will be left of me here.
I close my eyes against the glare, swallowing the words before they can get out and ruin everything.
35
MANUELA
Camila flips onto her stomach,adjusting her bikini straps an hour later.
“Don’t let them eat you alive,” she mutters, face pressed into her towel. I don’t know if she’s talking about the group or herself. We’ve been lounging in silence for an hour, absorbing the heat and the sun like it’s the last day of the season.
We let the heat press down on us until it’s unbearable, the sun turning everything sluggish. My skin sticks to the towel at my back, the stones under it radiating enough to toast bread. I’ve just about convinced myself to roll into the lake when a shadow falls over us.
“Christ,” George mutters. “You two trying to roast yourselves alive?”
I squint up. He’s standing above us, shirt unbuttoned halfway, sunglasses perched on his head. Beside him is Connor. His hair is damp, curling slightly at the edges like he’s just showered, his T-shirt clinging to his shoulders in a way that makes my mouth go dry.
Camila props herself up on her elbows, the picture of unbothered glamour even with sweat running down her temple. “What, jealous you didn’t think of it first,honey?”
George smirks, offering her a hand up. “Come on,babe. Let’s go raid the kitchen before Elle has the staff hide the good bread again. You get angry when you’re hungry.”
“It’s called hangry, you brute.”
“Whatever you say,baby.”
Camila groans but takes it, putting on her breezy coverup and handing George her towel. She glances at me once—something unreadable flickering in her eyes—before she lets George tug her back toward the path.
And just like that, it’s only me and Connor.
The silence stretches. I’m suddenly hyperaware of everything: the sweat rolling down the back of my thigh, the faint buzz of insects in the grass, the way the air feels like it’s vibrating between us.
“You’re going to get heatstroke,” he says finally, dropping his own towel on the ground near mine. He crouches down in the little scrap of shade cast by the tree, close enough that I can smell the faint citrus bite of his soap. “Seriously, Manu, you’re flushed.”
“I’m fine,” I say, too fast. My voice is scratchy from the heat.
His eyes catch mine, steady, skeptical. Then he reaches out, thumb brushing across my temple like he’s testing. The touch is nothing, barely pressure at all, but it sparks across my skin like fire.
“Connor—”
“Too hot,” he murmurs, ignoring me, still watching me like I’m hiding something.
I sit up, heart thudding harder than it should from a little heat and a little touch. He doesn’t move his hand right away. Thespace between us shrinks, and suddenly the whole world feels like it’s holding its breath.
“You really think I’m going to let you pass out here?” he asks, but his tone is different now. Lower. Rougher.
“I told you, I’m fine.”
