“You’re—what?” I sat up too fast, the room tilting for a second. “You’re flying here. Right now.”
Marco made a wounded noise. “You sound like that’s a bad idea.”
“Marco, you can’t even go to the grocery store without causing a scene,” I said. “You think four public figures booking last-minute flights isn’t going to ping someone’s radar?”
“Three public figures,” Lucy corrected. “I’m in disguise.”
“You’re wearing your own merch,” Kimi said. “With your name on it.”
“Incognito,” she insisted. “Because why would I wear my own merch? That’s, like, the opposite of stealth. No one expects me to be this obvious.”
She had a point. None of us wore our own merch unless we were being paid to. Walking around in your own name felt like bragging about your status, and in our world, that was just… icky.
Callum snorted. “Point to Lucy. Also, did any of you assholes book first class?” Crickets from their end of the call. “Realdiscreet, guys.”
“Enough. This is exactly why we have to come,” Ivy cut in firmly. “If people are going to start circling, I am not letting physios and PR vultures be the first ones through your door. We’ll figure the rest out when we get there.”
Physios. PR. Vultures. The words lodged somewhere low in my spine, but I didn’t follow them. Not yet. Not until I had more information. I looked at Callum. He was already looking at me, jaw tight, eyes dark and unreadable and so, so familiar.
My bubble felt like it had a hairline crack now. But I had my person beside me, so even as the outside world started to pour in, so did the sunlight that waslove.
“We’ll talk more when you get here, then,” he said finally, voice steady.
“We’ll be there tonight. Try not to spiral before then, okay? And please, for the love ofGod, Aurélie—” I flinched at her use of my name, because she only used it on me when she was lecturing me, “—donotgo onto your socials yet.”
“No promises,” I said.
“Of course not,” she said softly. “Look, if shit is going to hit the fan, I’d rather it hit all of us at once. Love you, Frenchie.”
“Love you too.”
We hung up. The line went dead. For a second, there was nothing but the sea and the fan and the rush of blood in my ears.
I stared at our blank phone screens for a long moment.
“Okay,” I said eventually, eloquent as ever.
“Okay,” Callum echoed.
We sat there in the middle of the rug, our skin cooling, the imprint of what we’d just been doing still vivid in my body. The villa felt… different. Same white stone, same blue horizon, same champagne bottle sweating on the table from last night. But something had shifted. A pressure change, a new weight.
“Rumors,” I said, mostly to myself.
He watched me, jaw working. He seemed agitated. “We knew it wouldn’t stay quiet forever.”
“I know,” I said. “I just thought we’d get more than a week before everything caught up.”
He sat up and reached for my hand.
Instinct snapped through me; I snatched it back, hiding my left under my right. It was a panic-inducing reaction. Our friends were going to be here, and a very famous stranger, and what did that mean for ourelopement?
Callum’s brows kicked up. “Aurélie.”
“I just—” I swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of the band around my finger, of how easily a camera could catch the way it caught the light. How much I’d truly let my guard down already. “I’m not ready to have that conversation with anyone else, Cal. There’s always questions and big emotions and I just want this to beusfor a little longer.”
“I wasn’t planning on flashing them the ring on the tarmac,” he teased wryly.
I huffed out a laugh that sounded a little too thin. “You say that, but you also jokingly proposed, like, thirty times beforeactuallyproposing. Your judgment is… romantic, but not always practical.”
