Sienna lit up. “Oh, it’s all happening so fast. Mid-winter, right after the season ends. Lakeside in Italy—Como, actually. Snow on the mountains, floating lanterns over the water. It’s going to be magical.”
Mia nodded, forcing her smile to stay even, her throat tight. “Sounds beautiful.”
“I really wanted to do it at Lucas’s villa in Nice,” Sienna went on, glancing up at him with playful reproach. “Right on the Med, sunset over the water. The pictures look spectacular for the gram. But he wasn’t keen. Said it was too… I don’t know, predictable? He hasn’t even taken me there yet. I keep teasing him that he’s hiding some secret lair full of old trophies.”
She laughed again, light and teasing.
Lucas’s jaw tightened—more than a fraction this time. Mia caught it. Their eyes met over Sienna’s head.
A look. One single loaded second that stretched into eternity.
Their villa. The summer they’d spent there—lazy mornings tangled in sheets, evenings on the balcony with wine and laughter, nights when the world narrowed to just the two of them, skin on skin, no cameras, no contracts, no future they had to plan around. It had been theirs. A private place. A sanctuary.
He hadn’t taken Sienna there.
And he wouldn’t. Mia saw it in his eyes—the quiet refusal, the lingering claim on that piece of their past. The knowledge hit her like a wave: relief, pain, a fierce, unspoken connection that made her breath catch. They were both hurting, both pretending, both holding onto something neither could name.
Lucas looked away first, clearing his throat. “The lake’s betterfor winter,” he said to Sienna, voice gentle but final, a touch strained.
Sienna squeezed his arm, unaware of the undercurrent. “I know. I’m just impatient.”
Mia swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’ll be perfect,” she said quietly. “Wherever it is.”
Sienna beamed. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”
A beat of silence, heavy with everything unsaid. Then Lucas spoke, his voice rougher than before.
“You heading up?”
Mia nodded, not trusting herself to say more. “Early flight tomorrow.”
“Safe travels,” he said. The words carried more weight than they should have—regret, care, the echo of old goodbyes.
“You too. Good luck in Miami.”
He gave a small nod, eyes lingering on her face. “Thanks.”
Sienna waved. “Nice seeing you, Mia. Really.”
“You too.”
They walked toward the lifts. Mia watched them go—Lucas’s hand at the small of Sienna’s back, protective, automatic. But she saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his steps were just a fraction slower.
She stood there a moment longer, the lobby lights soft overhead, her heart pounding in her ears.
The jealousy burned, dull and persistent. But so was the pride. So was the quiet certainty that she’d done the right thing walking away, even if it still hurt to breathe sometimes.
And underneath it all, the look they’d shared—a silent acknowledgment that some places, some memories, belonged only to them.
She turned toward her own lift, pressed the button, and let the doors close behind her.
* **
Lucas
The doors of the lift slid shut with a soft chime, and the space felt suddenly hollow.
Lucas stood still, Sienna’s hand warm in his, her thumb brushing his knuckles absently. He could still see the exact place Mia had been—arms folded, chin up, that small, steady smile she wore when she was bracing herself. The way her eyes had locked on his over Sienna’s head when the villa came up. One second. And it had cut straight through him.
