Back when he was on tour, I’d secretly hoped he’d ask me to come along. That we’d explore cities between competitions. That I’d get to exist somewhere inside his world instead of orbiting it from home.
But back then, there was only surfing. He was determined to prove himself to his father and to every doubter who ever questioned him. I understood it, even admired it, but I was always the thing waiting on the sidelines. Waiting for his texts, his calls, and waiting to matter as much as the next competition.
Maybe that’s why having him here with me, on my timeline, feels so surreal—and tomorrow, I might blow all of it up. My stomach tightens at the thought of the conversation waiting for us once we leave the resort. Once he knows what I did, I don’t know if he’ll forgive me. I don’t know if I’d forgive me either.
“Are you okay?” Gabriel calls over the wind, and I realize I’ve tightened my grip around him.
I force myself to loosen my hold. “Sorry. Just nervous.”
His hand slides down to squeeze mine briefly where it rests against his stomach, steadying me.
“It’s just a scooter, Red,” he says. “You’re safe.”
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see it. Easy for him to say because he’s the one driving.
I exhale slowly, trying to think of ways I can keep myself busy so that my mind doesn’t wander back to the impending conversation. I slide my hand from his stomach, drifting a little lower along the front of his shirt. He doesn’t seem to notice at first, but when my fingers brush the front of his pants, his shoulders tense.
“Zalea,” he wants.
I bite back a smile. “What?” I ask, innocently.
“You’re trying to kill us.”
“I’m trying to distract myself,” I say as I brush the front of his pants again, very deliberately this time.
The vespa wobbles slightly and I squeal. “Jesus—” he mutters, straightening it quickly. “Put your hands higher.”
“But you said I was safe,” I tease.
“You are,” he says. “From the road.”
When I don’t move my hand, his comes down and catches my wrist, dragging it back up to rest against his firm stomach, and he doesn’t let go.
“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters.
I laugh into the back of his shoulder, the nervousness finally fading as I enjoy the rest of the scenic ride. It lasts for over an hour, and just when I think we’re heading back, he turns off the road and into a narrow alleyway tucked between stone buildings.
“What are we doing here?” I ask when he kills the engine.
He pulls off his helmet, grinning. “I booked us a pasta-making class,” he says, glancing at his wristwatch. “Looks like we’re right on time.”
He climbs off and turns toward me, breaking into a fit of laughter.
Heat creeps up my neck. “Why are you laughing at me?”
“You look adorable in that helmet,” he says, unclasping it. “Kind of reminds me of that bright pink one you used to wear.”
“It was purple,” I correct, hopping off.
“Pink, purple—same thing.”
“There is no universe where those two colours are the same thing.”
He grins and takes my hand, leading me toward an iron door around the corner. He holds it open for me as I walk through, and we climb a narrow staircase that opens into a bright open kitchen space filled with long wooden tables. A few other couples are already here.
“Ciao!” A tall, slim man greets us. “You must be our last couple, Gabrielle and Zalea?”
“It’s Gabriel,” he corrects.
