Gabriel’s voice is low, heavy with regret. He reaches over the shattered shards of glass and takes my hand with a gentleness that makes my chest ache. “Nothing I say can change whathappened,” he murmurs, “but at least give me the chance to explain.”
His thumb moves slowly over my knuckles, soft and steady. Then he lifts my hand to his lips—those soft Spanish lips—and just like that, I surrender. Not with words, not with promises… but with the smallest tilt of my body toward his, the quietest sigh past my lips.
“I’m sorry about the roses,” I whisper, eyes stinging. I blink hard and step carefully around the glass, the sound of it crunching faint beneath my sneakers. When I reach him, the scent of him surrounds me—warm spice, crushed petals, and something uniquely his. I close the space between us, resting against him like I’ve been trying not to all along.
“Sweetheart.” He breathes, kissing the top of my head. His fingers smooth gently through my hair before tilting my chin up, his gaze searching mine.
“Let’s get this cleaned up, beautiful,” he says softly. “I’ll buy you more roses.”
It’s such a simple thing. But somehow, it feels like a promise.
21
ELIJAH
“Gracias, amigo,”I say, offering a slight nod.
The bartender slides my drink across the bar with a reassuring wink, then turns his attention to a shaker full of something fruity and overpriced.
Beside me, Alex lounges with the kind of ease that only comes after a power nap and a barefoot stroll along the beach. He looks refreshed, sun-warmed, and just the right amount of smug as he lifts his local beer to his lips and takes a long, contented sip. That signature, show-stopping smile of his flashes at the bartender—and, of course, it lands like a charm grenade.
The bartender’s eyes linger on Alex a little too long for my liking. But then he turns away, busying himself with mixing another round of cocktails. Still, I can’t help but wonder… does he recognize him?
It wouldn’t be a stretch. There’s a fashion magazine in the hotel lobby with Alex on the cover. He’s dressed like a Wall-Street shark—sharp suit, slicked-back hair—but that one-sided dimple? Dead giveaway. No amount of styling can hide that.
Not that Alex is out here flaunting his fame. If anything, he does everything he can to downplay it. He prefers the anonymity, the quiet corners of the world where no one’s snapping photos or asking for autographs.
But anonymity isn’t really in the cards when you’ve got a face like his. That dimple. Those eyes. The easygoing charm that makes people want to be near him—even if they have no idea why.
“It feels so good to be here,” Alex says with a happy sigh, absently picking at the label on his beer bottle. His eyes are fixed on the horizon, the endless sweep of ocean stretching out before us. “I really needed this time away.”
The light hits his face just right, the sun’s glare bouncing off the waves and catching in his eyes, making the hazel flecks shimmer like fragments of glass.
“You have island eyes,” I murmur, sipping my bourbon as I glance at my watch. “We’ve got about an hour before we need to head out. Reservation’s at eight.”
“Okay,” he says, exhaling slowly, like he’s savoring the moment. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. “Ana gave me a list of things to sample. I hope they’re on the menu.” He chuckles, unfolding it. “I’m looking forward to eating some authentic Spanish food… but I’m also not so sure I trust her recommendations anymore.”
I laugh, tossing a plantain chip into my mouth. The fresh garlic bursts across my tongue, and I let out a quiet moan.
Alex grabs a chip, examines it like he’s not quite convinced, then pops it into his mouth. The shift in his expression is immediate—pleasant surprise, then quiet satisfaction—as he reaches for another.
“Have you spoken to Gabriel?” he asks casually, still focused on the snack bowl.
But the question lands differently between us. Like a slow tide easing up on shore—gentle, yes, but impossible to ignore.
“Actually, I was just about to call him,” I say, fishing my phone from the pocket of my shorts. “He was supposed to take the girls out to lunch.”
I try to keep my tone neutral—casual. But something in the way Alex drums his fingers lightly against the rim of the bowl… something in the way he doesn’t look at me… tells me the question wasn’t casual at all.
Then again, it’s probably my guilt reading too much into nothing.
I lean the phone against the bowl of chips, tap FaceTime, and scoot a little closer to Alex, our shoulders brushing as the call rings, echoing faintly against the distant crash of the waves.
Gabriel answers on the second ring.
“Elijah,” he purrs, lips curled around a bright blue straw. He’s lounging somewhere misty and dim. He takes a sip of what looks like a strawberry daiquiri, condensation beading down the glass like sweat. “You are on vacation with Alex, and yet you arestillcalling me?I must say—I’m flattered.”
He raises his glass with a smug, lazy smile. “I could be on the next plane out if you’d like to make this a threesome?”
