Mia’s cheeks heated. She typed back quickly.
Mia:You’re awful.
Dana:Seriously though—if you feel even a little uncomfortable, make an excuse and leave. Book a flight. Call me, I’ll talk youthrough it. You don’t owe him anything.
Mia exhaled, glancing around the quiet room.
Mia:No, it’ll be alright. We’re friends now. I can resist his charms. Probably.
Dana:Famous last words. Text me if you need an extraction. Love you.
Mia:Love you too.
She pocketed the phone, took a deep breath, and unpacked.
* * *
Lucas
They ended up on the terrace after she’d settled—the sky turning deep indigo overhead, the pool lights flickering on automatically and casting soft blue ripples across the heated water. The January air was chilly enough that Mia pulled a blanket around her shoulders, but Lucas barely felt the cold. He was too aware of her sitting close, too aware of the silence that wasn’t awkward yet but could become anything.
He leaned against the railing, glancing toward the open-plan kitchen visible through the glass doors. “Right. You’ve had a long flight. What do you want to drink? I… stocked up.”
Mia raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “Stocked up?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck—boyish, almost sheepish, hating how exposed the gesture made him feel.Don’t look desperate. Don’t.“I’ve never actually seen you drink. Not once. Not in Monaco, not in Vegas, not even when Jax tried to force tequila on everyone in Singapore. So I made sure there was plenty of non-alcoholic stuff. Sparkling water with lime, elderflower tonic, that fancy ginger beer you mentioned once. I’ve got options.”
She looked at him like she was seeing something new. “That’s… really sweet,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
He shrugged, like it was nothing, but inside relief flooded him.She noticed. Good.“Just didn’t want you to feel stuck with water all week.”
Mia glanced past him to the kitchen counter, where an open bottle of rosé stood sweating gently beside the non-alcoholic lineup. She hesitated, then met his eyes.
“If you’re having rosé…” she said, voice quieter now, “…I’ll take a small glass. Just here.”
Lucas paused, searching her face—looking for hesitation, for any sign this was a bad idea. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” She gave a small, steady nod. “I do drink sometimes. Just… in private. When I know who’s around me. Parties are different—too many eyes, too many variables. But here…” She gestured vaguely at the empty villa, the quiet terrace, the sea beyond. “Here feels safe.”
The wordsafelanded somewhere deep in his chest. He held her gaze a long moment—something soft and serious flickering behind his eyes.She trusts me. Here.Then he nodded once. “Here is safe.”
He stepped inside, poured two small glasses of the pale pink wine, and came back out. Their fingers brushed as he handed her one—brief, electric, enough to make his pulse kick.
“To unexpected group holidays,” she said, lifting her glass.
He clinked his gently against hers. “To unexpected group holidays.”
They both drank.
The first sip was crisp, cool, floral. Lucas watched her over the rim of his glass, the way her shoulders eased just a fraction. Neither of them spoke for a while. They just stood there—wine in hand, the villa quiet around them—letting the realization settle.
They were alone.
And for the first time in months, Lucas let himself admit how much he wanted that to mean something.
* **
Mia
