“Journalist,” she reminds me. “It’s my job.”
“And what are you covering here in San Isidro?” I ask, changing the topic before she gets any closer to seeing the real me.
She narrows her eyes. “You’re deflecting again.”
“Sure am.”
She studies me for a moment, then sighs. “Fine. I’m here to cover the royal wedding.”
That, of course, makes sense. “The princess and her American groom?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “Princess Ximena. She’s a fashion icon who’s marrying an American tech. billionaire.” She waves her hand around in the air. “Old money meets new. International interest. Huge gossip appeal.”
“And you’re thrilled,” I say dryly.
She smiles, but then turns serious again. “I’m grateful,” Iris corrects. “It’s a big assignment. Especially for someone fresh out of school.”
“But.”
“But,” she echoes, rolling her eyes, “I don’t want to write about dresses and guest lists forever. I want to be a foreign correspondent. I want to cover genuine news. The kind that matters.”
Something about the way she says that, quietly and fiercely, makes my chest ache. “And this,” I say while rubbing the twitching spot on my pectoral, “isn’t genuine enough?”
She looks out at the city below. “San Isidro is a powder keg. You can feel it. Something’s coming. And everyone’s distracted by a wedding.”
She’s not wrong. I watch her over the rim of my coffee cup. “Ambitious.”
“Is that a criticism?” She scrunches up her adorable nose.
“No,” I say. “An observation.”
She smiles, satisfied, but looks down to hide it. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Why are you here?” she presses. “Really.”
I meet her gaze evenly. “Diplomatic relations. Cultural exchange.”
She snorts. “You’re terrible.”
“Am I?”
“Yes,” she says. “You’re too careful with your words and use too few of them. It’s suspicious.”
I lean in, voice low. “And you’re asking questions that could get you into trouble.”
“That’s my job. And there you go pointing out danger again. Are you sure you’re not threatening me?” Her eyes spark.
We hold each other’s gaze, tension winding tight. For a moment, I forget why this is dangerous. Why I shouldn’t want this. Why I shouldn’t wanther. “I should go,” I say abruptly.
She blinks. “You just got here.”
“I know.”
She studies my face, then nods slowly. “Right. Of course.”
I stand, then pause. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
