Miguel glanced at Alex and shook his head with a grin. “She’ll insist she was just resting her eyes.”
“She’ll insist on a lot of things,” Amelia muttered before turning back to me. “Come on then, let’s get you to the guest house before you join her and fall asleep right here.”
I smiled, trailing after them.
The guest room was impossibly cozy. I’d unpacked just the essentials, tucked my shoes away near the wardrobe, and freshened up quickly before changing into something more presentable for dinner.
When I stepped into the dining room, the housekeepers were still arranging the last of the cutlery, the scent of roasted garlic and herbs drifting in from the kitchen. Amelia was there too, sleeves rolled up, helping them place serving dishes as if she’d been part of the staff her whole life.
I paused at the archway, my gaze sliding toward the living room. Earlier, Alex had been sprawled out on the couch, dead to the world, but now the cushions were empty, a throw blanket tossed carelessly over one armrest.
Instead of heading straight to the table, I lingered for a moment, my eyes tracing the far wall. A neat arrangement of framed photographs climbed from the console to the ceiling. Archer mid-swing on a clay court, and Alex powering through a forehand, face set with focus. In another, she was crossing the finish line of what I think is a triathlon, and she’s grinning despite the sweat and exhaustion. The energy in each photo was almost tangible, and I found myself stepping closer without realizing it.
Miguel appeared beside me, following my gaze with a faint smile. “That wall has seen more miles than most people’s passports,” he said warmly.
I glanced at him, nodding toward the polished shelves lining the wide living room. “These are all yours?” I asked, pointing at the rows of gleaming trophies.
Miguel chuckled, the sound warm. “Oh no, those belong to the twins. Archer’s are from his junior tour days, and Alex’s... well, hers are split between tennis and triathlon. We like to keep them all together, it reminds us how far they’ve come.”
He stepped closer to the display, his fingers brushing over a silver cup topped with a miniature swimmer in mid-stroke. “Some of these have been here since they were barely teenagers.”
I tilted my head toward a cluster of gold and crystal trophies in the center. “And these?”
They caught the light just so, like they’d been polished that morning, not a single smudge or dust mote in sight.
“Archer’s. He went on a bit of a streak in his last year of juniors, every final, every title, right before he turned pro. I think he was more exhausted than he let on, but he never admitted it. Too stubborn.”
My gaze drifted to a neat row of trophies and medals with bright, unfaded ribbons. “And Alex?”
The trophies caught the light, polished so well they could’ve been won yesterday. I found myself wondering how many early mornings, blistered hands, and rain-soaked training days were hidden behind each one.
Miguel’s expression softened. “She’s been doing triathlons since she was eight. Just decided one day she wanted to race, and for years it was her whole world. Then, when she was thirteen, she suddenly picked up a tennis racquet and began trying to juggle both sports at that young age.”
I hesitated, then asked, “Does she still do triathlons?”
He paused, trying to find the right words. “She decided tennis would be her full-time sport. She’s never really explained it, and I’ve learned not to press her on those kinds of decisions.”
Of course, she hadn’t explained it. Make a huge decision, commit to it as if her life depended on it, and leave everyone else guessing. Somehow, I found that... oddly endearing.
From the dining room, Amelia’s warm voice carried over. “Dinner’s ready, you two! Come eat before it gets cold.”
Miguel smiled, giving the photo wall one last fond look before nodding toward the table. “Shall we?”
When I stepped into the dining room, the table was already set.
“Alex’s not joining us?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
Amelia let out a small chuckle, not unkind. “Alex is still recovering from whatever late-night rabbit hole she got lost in. We tried waking her, but she just mumbled something about needing more sleep, dragged herself to her room, and insisted she’d eat later. On her own terms, as usual.”
Miguel rolled his eyes fondly. “We’ve long stopped trying to argue with her on things like that.”
“And Archer won’t be arriving until the day after the graduation,” Amelia added. “He’s stuck in London finishing a press thing.”
I nodded, sliding into the seat they offered. A quiet part of me felt... relieved. No tension humming across the table like an invisible net. Just a calm dinner.
Dinner was easy, almost comforting. Amelia kept the conversation light, asking about how I’d been settling in, while Miguel chimed in with dry humor that made me smile more than once. The food was incredible, homemade and warm, and for a little while, it felt like I could breathe.
Now, hours later, I was lying in bed in the quiet of the guesthouse, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come, no matter how tired I was. My body ached with exhaustion, but my mind refused to shut down. Some habits never changed; I couldn’t sleep without a warm glass of milk.
