She’s known this whole time.
“Marisol—”
“I’m not blind,” she continues. “Neither is anyone else who works with you two. The way you look at her when she’s not watching? The way she looks atyou?We all see it.” She pauses. “So whatever you’re planning to say tonight, make it count.”
Then she straightens, gives me one last knowing look, and heads back to the filing cabinet like she didn’t just gut me with maternal wisdom.
I sit there alone, trying to process what just happened.
She knows.
Marisol knows. Raeni knows. Ysela knows. Thorne and Keon definitely know. Probably Sable, too.
My entire team has been watching me fall apart over this woman for six weeks, and not one of them said anything.
Christ.
Tonight’s going to be fun.
By seven,Raeni has outdone herself. My personal chef has cooked up grilled fish with island greens and rum cakes that smell like cinnamon.
Ysela coordinated the whole thing with surgical precision, and Keon transported everything onto the terrace before disappearing into the service area like a ghost.
I know Thorne is in the security office right now, monitoring external feeds. The terrace cameras are angled for perimeter threats, not for whatever disaster I’m about to create over dinner. Sable is somewhere on the property doing her evening patrol, staying out of range unless I need extraction.
Which I might.
I hear footsteps on the stone path before I see her. When Amara rounds the corner onto the terrace, backlit by the villa’s exterior lights, I forget how to breathe.
She’s wearing one of those cotton poplin dresses she favors here, the kind that moves with her body in ways that make me want to peel it off with my teeth. Her hair is loose, catching the breeze off the ocean.
No legal pad tonight.
Just her, looking at me with a poker face.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.”Real eloquent, Corin.
I pull out her chair. She hesitates for a fraction of a second before sitting. I take the seat across from her, and the table between us feels both too wide and not wide enough.
“This looks amazing,” she comments, glancing at the spread.
“Raeni’s work,” I reply. “I just provided the funding.”
She almost smiles. “You’re good at that.”
We eat in silence for the first few minutes. It’s not uncomfortable per se, but it’s weighted. Like we’re both waiting for the other to detonate first.
Finally, she sets down her fork. “The clinic is doing well.”
Safe territory. I can work with this.
“Better than projected,” I agree. “Marisol says we’ve helped twenty-five families renegotiate their lease terms. With three more contracts under review.”
“Donor interest is up, too,” Amara adds. “That reporter from the town meeting wrote a favorable piece. It’s generating traction.”
“Saw that.” I take a sip of water because I need something to do with my hands.
