I clear my throat. “I’m observing.”
Her lips curve. “Of course you are.”
“You’ve got glitter on your lip.”
“Then fix it.”
The challenge in her eyes is unmistakable. My pulse kicks up as I reach across the small space between us. Slowly, I brush my thumb along her lower lip, wiping away the pink sparkle. Her breath catches. Then her tongue grazes the pad of my thumb, but it’s gone in half a second.
I’m lying if I say my heart doesn’t slam hard against my chest.
Before I can recover, Sienna beams like nothing happened and shoves her phone into my hand. “Photo evidence! Bothwrists in frame, obviously. And make sure you get this pineapple. I need Aria and Ethan to see this thing.”
I lift the phone, fighting a smile. “Bossy.”
“Efficient.” She corrects, scooting her chair closer until her shoulder presses against mine and her coconut-scented curls tickle my cheek.
She lifts her wrist beside mine, aligning the matching heart tattoos, then hoists the ridiculous hollowed-out pineapple like a trophy. A drop of condensation slides down the carved fruit and lands on her bare thigh. She doesn’t even notice.
“Smile, Mr. Wet-Pants-Wonder.” She teases, tilting her head so her temple brushes my jaw.
I snap the picture. Then another. Then one more, because she’s still leaning into me, still smiling like sunshine and trouble, glitter sparkling on her lip like tiny stars.
When she takes the phone back, her fingers linger against mine for a beat too long. She scrolls through the photos, biting her lip, and remarks that I managed to look “human” in at least one of them.
After sending the best picture to Ethan and Aria, we finish our cocktails before heading back to the villa. When we arrive, there’s a small wicker basket with a lid outside, along with a note in Aria’s bubbly handwriting.
Supplies for your “couple’s painting” square. Mess is highly encouraged! Have fun! We can’t wait to see the final product! —Aria & Ethan
Sienna picks up the basket and heads straight for the deck. She places it on the table, takes a seat, and begins unpacking. Inside, there are brushes in various sizes, tubes of acrylic paint, and two A4 white canvases.
She glances at me and wiggles her brows. “You ready to immortalize my face on canvas?”
“Only if you immortalize mine,” I respond, taking a seat opposite her. “Fair warning, though: I’m terrible at art.”
“You know the best thing about art?” She starts placing the acrylic paints neatly between us. “You can be as creative as you want with it. Nothing is ever truly bad in art.”
I grab the easels and set them up, then place the canvases on them and turn Sienna’s toward her. She dips a brush in blue and starts with broad strokes. I watch her for a second—tongue caught between her teeth, brows furrowed, curls falling forward every time she leans.
She tucks a curl behind her ear, leaving a streak of blue on her cheek. She looks ridiculous. Beautifully ridiculous, and something tugs at my chest.
Clearing my throat, I pick up a brush and start with her eyes—dark brown with gold flecks when the light hits them just right. The brush feels clumsy in my hand, but I keep going, trying to capture how her gaze sharpens when she teases me and softens when she thinks no one’s watching.
She glances up when she feels me watching. “You’re staring at my mouth.”
“How else am I going to capture your smile?”
Her cheeks flush as she laughs. She dips the brush into the green acrylic, then flicks it at me with a playful snap. The cool paint splats directly onto my cheek.
I gasp. “You did not.”
She smirks, but it quickly turns into a gulp when I dip my brush into red acrylic and lean across the table. Her mouth falls open, lashes fluttering frantically. “Milo—no.Oh my God!”
I smear red paint across her cheek in one smooth stroke. That’s all it takes for the chaos to erupt. She retaliates by swiping green paint across my nose. I drag my brush down the side of herthroat in return—just below her racing pulse—leaving a thin line that makes her breath hitch.
Laughter fills the air—loud, breathless, and real. I haven’t laughed like this in years. Not since life became serious and controlling. Not since I forgot what it felt like to let go and have fun.
And it’s all because of her.
