On the Tuesday before Sabor a Sol’s grand opening, Cristiano comes to the beach and watches me surf. Afterward, he shows me the outdoor shower at his house, nestled in the trees. Completely open, but private. We rinse the sand off each other, then Cristiano strips me out of my bikini and washes the rest of me. We come together under the warm Ibiza sun, and then again, inside on his bed.
Wednesday, Cristiano sneaks away from his work so he cantake Annika, Simone, and me to wander through Hippy Market Punta Arabí. It’s sprawling and mazelike, with hundreds of artists and artisans lining pathways and whitewashed buildings selling everything from colorful clothes and vintage jewelry to paintings and furniture. Cristiano explains that the market has been on the island since the seventies, and if the vendor has an “original de Ibiza” badge, you know they belong to the local association of craftspeople, a guarantee of authentic artistry.
I’m in a stall admiring a pretty sundress while Cristiano carries on a conversation in Spanish with the owner. She’s an older woman with white hair and tan skin, wrinkles beautifully framing her eyes and wide smile.
“She says that for you, it’s half price,” Cristiano tells me with a wink.
“Oooh, that’s lovely!” Simone says, pointing to my dress before another one catches her eye. “Oh! But thisgreenis divine!”
Cristiano ends up insisting we each pick one, and he’s already paid for them before I can reach for my wallet. As we walk away from the stall, Annika bumps my shoulder. “Maybe I’m wrong, you know. About the summer fling stuff. Ethan is—”
“Horrible.The absolute scum of the earth,” I finish for her. In recent days, he’s started dating the girl Annika saw him kissing at Aura. He’s flaunted her around the apartment complex and the club, rubbing salt in Annika’s wound. Simone won’t even let Annika say his name in her presence anymore. She’s “liable to strangle him” if he so much aslooksat Annika ever again.
Annika smiles wistfully at my assessment of Ethan. “Yes, he’s all of that and more, but Cristianoisn’t.” I give her a sardonic look, and she laughs. “He’s beensonice, rescuing us fromthe club on Friday and playing tour guide this morning. I really could be wrong about him.”
Before we leave Hippy Market Punta Arabí, Cristiano insists we eat a late lunch, sampling all the street food. I finally get to taste hierbas ibicencas. At a busy cart, a man lines up rows of chupitos—frozen shots of the aniseed-flavored liqueur—for us to enjoy. Cristiano shoves euros into a jar and retrieves a shot glass for each of us. Before we drink, we follow Cristiano’s cheers.
“Pa’ arriba, pa’ abajo, pal’ centro, pa’ dentro.”
The liquor is sweet and smooth, with just the slightest hint of licorice.
Cristiano and I leave the market hand in hand while listening to Simone strategize what she’s going to buy the next time she visits.
Ibiza seems to swell with tourists as the days stretch out and grow hotter. My shift at Aura that night is somehow busier than any that came before it. The club reaches max capacity two hours after opening, and rumor is the line out front is causing a traffic jam. I skip my first break, though Thalia tries to insist I should take it. She’s behind the bar, slinging drinks so fast it looks like she’s moving at twice her normal speed.
“I’m not leaving you!” I insist. “We’re in this together.”
After my shift ends, Antonio is waiting for me and my friends outside with a to-go bag from Cala Luna—Cristiano took me to eat at the restaurant a few days ago and I loved it. Antonio straightens when he sees us, smiling at me only for a moment before his attention slips to Annika, and his eyes widen. Quickly, he grabs the to-go food and pockets his phone, stepping up so he can offer to carry Annika’s bag.
Annika seems surprised. After all, he hasn’t made any move to get Simone’s or my bag.
“Oh, it’s fine. I’ve got it, thanks.”
Simone and I exchange a secret smile, then surreptitiously hang back so Antonio and Annika naturally fall in step together ahead of us.
I try to reach Cristiano when I get home, but he doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t call me back until the next morning, when my buzzing phone draws me out of a deep sleep. I tiptoe out into the living room so I can answer without waking up Simone.
“I’m sorry, nena,” Cristiano says, sounding tired. “I was at Sabor a Sol until twoAM.”
“It’s okay,” I quickly reassure him.
“There’s an issue with a gas line. It’s a fucking disaster. We’re supposed to have a pre-party there tonight for investors before our grand opening on Saturday. I’m already driving there now to meet with my contractor. Still, I should have called you last night. Antonio told me you got home safely. Did you get dinner?”
“Yes, thank you. It was too much so I shared it with Simone and Annika. I’m sorry you’re having trouble at the restaurant—”
He curses. “Isabel? I have to take this call.”
He rushes off to hang up, and I try not to let it bother me. There’s nothing that can be done. If Cristiano is busy, he’s busy. I should stay busy, too. Now that I’m awake, I don’t bother trying to lounge in bed. I talk to my parents and try to call Lita as well, but she doesn’t answer, so I go for a run. I get coffee and breakfast in the cafetería, and when Thalia asks if I want to surf, I excitedly agree. Friday winds into Saturday, and though Cristiano hastexted me updates and sent a car for me and Simone, I’m still antsy on the way to Sabor a Sol’s grand opening.
“Your leg is going wild,” she points out. “What’s wrong?”
I hadn’t noticed how much I was bouncing my foot. I take a deep breath and smooth my hands down my minidress. The pink silk wraps softly around my neck, leaving a dramatic open back. Winnie loved this dress and the bright heels that tie around my ankles.
“You don’t need to worry, you look fab. Also, since when are you soposh?”
She’s referring to my jewelry. For the first time since I arrived on Ibiza, I had a good excuse to pull out a few of my De Vere staples, layering our iconic heart bracelet with a thin gold cuff. I twist Winnie’s ring around my finger and shrug.
The truth is on the tip of my tongue. Now would be as good a time as any to tell Simone who I really am. I doubt she’ll care, but our driver pulls up outside the restaurant and the moment is hijacked by the chaos awaiting us.
