“It is absolutely the point,” Callum cut in. “What airport, what gate, and what the hell is happening that we’re not being told?”
Another muffled scuffle. Someone—definitely Ivy—hissed, “If you say one word about the gate number, I will cut your balls off,” away from the mic.
“So that’s not shady at all,” I muttered. “Where are you?”
“Not important,” she said. “Whatisimportant is that this just got bigger than a couple of conspiracy theories and viral fan edits, and we’re not doing the rest of this over speaker.”
“Right,” Callum said, bringing them back on track with that deceptively calm tone that always meant he was two seconds from violence. Internally, of course, because the man’s control was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Well, it was until I came into his life on a wrecking ball and taught him what it meant to unravel for someone on purpose. “Marco, what exactly did you tell Dom? Word for word.”
A rustle. A sigh.
“Dom goes, ‘How are the golden children? Any idea where they’ve run off to?’” Marco said, slipping into imitation. “‘PR says they’re off the grid.’ And I laughed and said, ‘They’re not off the grid, they’re on a sexcation in Milos.’” He paused and groaned. “It sounds worse than it was. But that’s it. That’s all I said.”
I covered my face with my hand. “Oh my God.”
“I didn’t mention the villa, I didn’t mention exact dates, I didn’t mention anything about… any of the other stuff,” he rushed. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Debatable,” Ivy muttered.
“Hey,” he said. “I might be a manwhore, but I’m not a traitor.”
“Charming. Since you’re so loyal, did you tell ourfriendsthat your parents are about to put you on the market for an arranged marriage? Or was I supposed to quietly manage that little PR nightmare forever, since I’m your so-called ‘PR Princess’?”
The line went dead silent for a beat. I actually heard three separate gasps—mine, Callum’s, and Marco’s.
“Ivy,” he hissed. “That’s not untilnext year, and I hired you so we could get ahead of it, not so you could announce it like a press release in front of the fucking grid gremlins.”
“I didn’tannounceit,” she shot back. “I hinted. Because you seem to forget I’m the one juggling your sponsors and your mother’s racist comments toward me while you run your mouth to Dom about other people’s locations.”
“I thought you liked my mother,” he said, offended.
“I like her more than I like you, which is not the compliment you think it is,” she snapped. “This is the same woman who looked me dead in the eye at that party a few weeks ago and said, ‘Bianchi men don’t marry English girls, they marry Italian women who can give them proper Italian sons.’ Forgive me if I don’t feel obligated to protect her feelings.”
Callum and I looked at each other over the phones, eyebrows both up. There was clearly more history there than either of them had ever admitted out loud. Which was news to both of us.
“Okay, wow,” I said under my breath. “That’s… quite a development.”
“Focus,” Ivy barked. “We can dissect Marco’s impending arranged-marriage crisis later. Right now, I’m trying to keep you two from becoming the planet’s next biggest scandal.”
“If I ruined your sexcation,” Marco added suddenly, and he sounded smaller than I’d ever heard him, “I will personally send you a nice bottle of champagne and lube.”
I made an involuntary sound that was half laugh, half strangled scream.
“There are so many things wrong with that sentence,” I said.
“He’s trying to apologize,” Ivy said. “Very badly. Look, the point is: the word is out that you’re not just hiding in Monaco or the Scottish Highlands or anywhere in fuckingFrance. People know you’re on an island. They’re speculating which one. And some of those people have important opinions.”
“Shocking,” I said.
“But we will talk aboutwhatthey’re saying when I’m not on a public line that can be subpoenaed,” she continued. “Right now, I just need you to know that the bubble isn’t as airtight as you think.”
The bubble. The little pocket we’d carved out here. Sea and sun and him and me and a ring I kept touching like it might vanish.
My thumb drifted toward it automatically. I stopped myself halfway, refusing to let the anxiety creep in.
“Okay,” I said, the word thin. “And Marco?”
“He’s on thin ice,” she said. “But unfortunately, he’s also our current source of information, so I haven’t murdered him yet.”
