“Isabel?” he questions gently.
I shift my jaw back and forth, trying,trying,to quell these emotions. I don’t want to do this in front of him, in front ofanyone.
I already feel the tears gathering in the corners of my eyes, the tingling in my nose. “Please don’t.”
It’s all I can say, and I feel bad for not explaining more. I wish I could find enough courage to explain that this has nothing to do with him. I feel ashamed of my emotions. God, this is the opposite of a carefree summer fling. I’m supposed to be bubbly and flirtatious, easy and happy. But I was never the fun one. Winnie was.
A tear slips down my cheek and I squeeze my eyes closed before any more can follow. Already I’m reaching for my sunglasses again, haphazardly rushing to settle them back on the bridge of my nose as I pull away from Cristiano.
“Where to?” I ask again, stressing the question.
He lets me get away with it this time. I climb into the front seat, where I see he’s brought me breakfast and coffee. I thought ahead to stash my water bottle and a few snacks in my bag, but the açaí bowl covered with berries and granola and drizzled in honey lookssomuch better. Hopefully soon the tension in my stomach will ease enough for me to eat a few bites.
Instead of rounding the car, Cristiano stands at my door, crowding me as I settle in. Then he reaches for my seat belt so he can click it into place himself. He leans over me, warm and comforting. I inhale, and before he moves away, he looks at me with those soulful brown eyes rimmed with black lashes.
“I won’t press, nena,” he says solemnly. “But I need to know you’re okay. Do you want me to get Simone or Annika? I could call Caterina?”
This man.
I’m grateful that my strength hasn’t abandoned me now. “No. Thank you. It’s…” I shake my head and look out the windshield so it’s easier to force the words. “Sometimes it’s hard missing my sister. That’s all.”
That’s all.As if minimizing the grief will diminish it altogether. I wish it were that simple.
He nods, then steps back. “Good thing we’re about to cross something off that bucket list in her honor.”
Thirty minutes later, the sun beats down on my back as the salty Mediterranean breeze whips through my hair. Nervous sweat clings to my skin. A single drop rolls down between my shoulder blades as I stand on the jagged limestone cliffs of Sa Punta staring at the sea below.
We’re up so high. A nervous tremor runs up my leg, accented by the pounding excitement in my chest.
I glance over at Cristiano to see he’s smiling as he watches me wrestle with indecision. His hands are on his hips. His posture is all cocky confidence. He’s totally unbothered by what we’re about to do.
“Cliff jumping?!” I groan. “Seriously?Couldn’t we have started smaller?”
“It’s not as high as it looks. I’ve jumped this cliff a million times.”
With a deep breath, I survey the scene in front of me. The water stretches out forever, a mixture of bright blues and greens, its surface rippling under the sun. In the distance, I can just make out the faint outline of Ibiza’s neighboring island, Formentera, blurred against the horizon. I blink and focus on the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the rocks below.
A wild shout rips me back into the present as a young boy leaps off the cliff to my left, completing a perfect backflip before plunging into the sea. A second later, he breaks the water’s surface with a wild laugh, and then his friends all leap off the cliff to join him.
Cristiano’s still watching me, smiling.
“If a ten-year-old can do it…” I grumble to myself, trying to fight against the caution pulling me back to safety.
Oh god. Winnie, I hate you. Why did you want to go cliff jumping? Why couldn’t you include easier things on your list? Was trying different varieties of sangría not wild enough for you?
At my sides, I flex my hands and then relax them again and again as I edge closer to the side of the cliff, just enough to boldly glance over before immediately retreating.
“This is stupid. I’m going to impale myself on a rock.”
Cristiano chuckles. “No you won’t. You’ll jump in and then swim over to that beach, just like I told you. You can do it.”
“Yes, obviously Icando it. ButshouldI?”
Hasn’t this lesson been drilled into my head since childhood? Generally I try to avoid leaping to my death at all costs.
“Will you regret it if you don’t jump?” Cristiano asks, testing me.
I throw up my hands. “Yes! Obviously.” I need this win today.
