The shower burns my skin, and I welcome it. I let the water drown the ache. Let it blur the memory of lips that weren’t mine. Let it wash away the humiliation of believing something good could be real.
When I finally step back into the bedroom, eyes less swollen, face carefully neutral, he’s watching me like I’m a bomb he’s afraid to set off.
So I smile. A polite one. A safe one.
I don’t forget that he’s lethal. A trained killer. And my father’s best friend. I have to protect myself now, even if it is from him.
“Are you okay, Lily?” he asks.
I inhale slowly. “Yeah. Just the champagne,” I lie, rubbing at my temples. “I need more sleep.”
He sits up on the bed, the cover dragging down his chest. I stay where I am. Distance feels safer. Looking at him, even exhausted, still pulls something desperate and traitorous out of me.
Even now, some awful part of my soul still wants him.
“Want a cuddle?” he offers carefully, lifting the blanket. “We’ve still got time before we head to the jet.”
“No.” The word comes out too sharp.
“I mean—sorry,” I correct, softer but still firm. “Lying down when I’m hungover makes it worse. Could we just pack and leave now? I need to get home and sort the contract with Roxy.”
A complete lie. The contract’s already done. Signed. Sent.
Drago blinks like he sees straight through me.
“Lily,” he says, his tone shifting; there is command threading through it.
My spine straightens on instinct. “Drago.”
“We need to talk,” he tells me.
I lift my hand, shaking my head before he can say anything else. I can’t hear it. I can’t survive it.
“Look,” I say, forcing calm into my voice, “as fun as this has been… the vacation’s over.” I gesture vaguely between us. “And this ends here.”
His jaw tightens.
My heart fractures quietly. This is safer. Cleaner. I still get protection. My dad never has to know. No confrontations. No confessions. No detonating a family and a future all at once.
I can go home. Back to my gallery. Back to pretending none of this happened. We can be civil under the same roof this way.
And leave my heart in Monaco, where no one will ever see it bleed.
“This was just a vacation fling,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to hold it together.
But the words burn.
He nods slowly. Not blinking, not even taking a breath. No protest. No fight. No, please don’t.
Of course, he doesn’t feel the same.
“And that’s what you really want, Lily?” he asks.
No baby. No lastochka.
Just Lily. What I should’ve been all along. If he won’t even fight for this, then why should I?
“I don’t have time for a relationship,” I continue, even as my chest tightens. “Your job is dangerous. It wouldn’t work. And honestly? A fling isn’t worth ruining your friendship with my dad.”
