He frowns at me and I think a protest is on the tip of his tongue, but he only nods and drops his hand so he can head back to his closet to finish getting dressed.
“I’ll drive you home on my way into work,” Cristiano calls out to me. “Keep the shirt.”
I smile down at it. “You know, my dad would kill me if he saw me wearing this. He’s an LA Galaxy fan.”
“Well, we’ll have to get him to a Real Madrid game, then,” he says, walking out of his closet in a black button-down shirt and dark jeans. He’s buckling a silver Patek Philippe on his right wrist, and instead of backing out of the bathroom to give him privacy, I watch him step up to the sink and finish getting ready. He’s good with his hair, working a little pomade into it so it’s in place but not stiff. His jaw is smooth, so he must have already shaved—pity I missed it.
His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I turn and march out of the bathroom. Cristiano’s quietness has made me feel like I’ve overstayed my welcome. I have every intention of quickly collecting my purse and phone, but then I look at the rumpled bed and last night comes back in a blinding rush. Cristiano’s teeth scraping down my thigh. My hands tangled in his thick hair. His low, satisfied groan as he buried his face in my neck.
Cristiano walks out of the bathroom and finds me standing there frozen. When I look back at him, tension marks his brow.
“Isabel—”
I shake my head, panicked. Every ounce of self-preservation screams at me to cut him off.
“Just realized I’m seriously running late for meeting up with Simone.”
The lie slips out in my panic, which is a shame because deep down, I’m curious about what he was going to tell me. There’s the chance everything is starting to feel real for him, too. Last night might have been markedly different for him in the ways it was for me. I know it would be better to tell him the truth, but we have to leave these feelings alone, cut off their air supply, seal them away somewhere they can’t grow.
I have to go back to California.
He sighs, loosening the tension in his shoulders as he comes toward me. He takes my purse out of my hands and sets it down on the nightstand. Then he steps closer and reverently cups my cheeks, tilting my head up. He pauses to study me, and I can’t begin to imagine what I look like: messy hair and wide eyes and dark circles. He bends to kiss me then, and it lingers and builds and promises.
When he finally pulls back, leaving me breathless, he smiles. “I’m not letting you leave without a cup of coffee.”
An hour later, Cristiano drops me off at my apartment before his first meeting of the day, and I feel a little silly walking into the lobby wearing his oversized shirt, especially when the elevator doors open and Thalia and Mia step out dressed like they’re headed for the beach. They see me and wave.
“Just getting in?” Mia asks with a coy smile, eyeing my shirt.
I shrug. “Where are you guys off to?”
Thalia hikes her bag higher on her shoulder. “I’m taking Mia to our surf spot, going to see if I can get her up on the board today. Wanna join?”
“I’d love to, but I need to catch up on life stuff, call my family, laundry, all that.” I roll my eyes for emphasis.
She grins. “Yeah, I get it. How’s Annika holding up?”
I frown, confused. “Holding up? Is she sick?”
They exchange a glance. “Didn’t she tell you what happened last night?”
Immediately I’m alarmed.Is she okay?“No. I got cut early and we haven’t talked.”
Thalia grimaces and leans in, lowering her voice even though there’s no one else in the lobby to overhear us. “She caught Ethanthe idiotmaking out with another girlduringhis shift. Right in front of her! Hugo was seriously pissed when he found out, threatened to fire him.”
“Wait, wait.” I step back, shaking my head, trying to catch up. “Ethan was kissing another girl? Annika saw him do it?”
Thalia’s eyes widen. “Yes.It was so brutal. I hate all the men on this island. They think they can get away with anything.”
“Seriously,” Mia grumbles.
“Isn’t that the case everywhere, though? Summer flings…”
She snorts. “No. Men on Ibiza are notorious. Believe me.”
God, poor Annika.
I ride the elevator up, trying to decide if I should text or call her, but the decision is made for me when I enter my apartment and find her sitting on the couch. She’s looking out the window and doesn’t move to face me when I close the door.
