“They like things to go according to plan.” She plucked at a thread on the towel. “And they’ve got the resources to make sure they do.”
“Resources,” he repeated dryly. “I love a vaguely rich word.”
Allegra sat up, knees to her chest. “Whoa, I didn’t say rich.”
“You didn’t need to,” he said, grinning. “Let me guess. Big apartment in Vienna. Ski holidays in St. Moritz?”
“Okay, rude.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Fine. Yes, my upbringing was comfortable. And, like, claustrophobic.” She swiped at the air as if she could clear the invisible ceiling ofdo what we tell youhovering above her.
“So Geneva is the dramatic escape?” He sat up and arched an eyebrow. “Roughing it for the summer with inflatable tubes?”
“Oh, sure,” she said, mock-solemn. “My rebellion arc.”
He snickered, but it was short-lived. His fingers found the skin under his chin, rubbing absently. “Honestly, I get it, though. The feeling everyone else owns a piece of you.”
Allegra’s throat tightened at that, her jaw locking for a second. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She hadn’t come here to feel seen. She’dcome here to vanish. She forced a smile. “Careful, birdman. You’re getting deep.”
“Sorry. I’ll make a joke about trust funds to rebalance us.”
She nudged him with her foot. “Says the unemployed actor just hanging out in Geneva.”
“Ah. Suspicious deflection.”
Allegra snorted. And then—oh, hell—she realized her eyes were glued to his mouth. Not in a casual, “yep, that’s for talking” way. No, this was full-on, “how has no one written a sonnet about this masterpiece?” level of fascination. That ludicrous, tilted smirk. The way his lower lip was a little fuller than the top, like the universe had taken its sweet time perfecting the ratio. Damn it.
She grabbed her water bottle, chugged, and promptly sputtered all over herself. Warm. Horrifyingly warm. “Ugh,” she muttered, wiping her chin and flopping back onto the towel. “That’s foul.”
Nate’s chuckle was a velvety sound that did nothing to help the situation. He lay back and stretched out. Not touching, but close enough that their shoulders hovered in that charged no-man’s-land where every inch felt intentional. The breeze lifted her hair, sliding it across her cheek, and she could feel the heat rolling off him, seeping into her skin.
Her fingers twitched, her pinky brushing his.
She tensed. Just a spasm, she lied to herself. A random firing of nerves. Happens all the time.
His pinky brushed back.
This time, neither of them pulled away. Then their little fingers hooked, tentative, almost apologetic, and electricity shot up her arm, blooming hot in her chest until it felt too full to breathe. The world went fuzzy at the edges. The gurgle of the river dulled. The whoops of tubers faded. Her thoughts bailed, slipping out the side door.
The spell broke, shattering like a dropped Dom Pérignon on tile.
Allegra’s internal alarm system blared.Abort. ABORT. She yanked her hand back and sat up so fast she nearly elbowed Nate in the ribs. “Bug,” she said, swatting at the air. “Huge one.”
Her brain scrambled, tossing out rationalizations like confetti. This was biology. Low blood sugar. Sunstroke. Two warm bodies and bad judgment. Anything but the terrifying possibility that she might actually care about Nate.
Because let’s be real, her world was all duty and smiling until her face hurt. His was whatever he felt like. You couldn’t just drop a man like that into a life of motorcades and PR statements. It would ruin him.
She exhaled slowly, pressing her palms into the towel. Stick to the plan. Sleep with Nate. End it. The sooner, the better. You’ll be doing him a favor.
She repeated it like a mantra.
By the fifth repetition, she almost believed it.
Chapter Ten
Nate had clocked his error approximately five minutes ago while attempting to warm his damp T-shirt under the bathroom hand dryer and catching his reflection looking smug.
