God, I wanted to kiss her.
I was right there—inches away, breathing her in, close enough to see the way her lips parted and her pulse fluttered.
But when I do eventually kiss her—and I will—I want it to be right. I want it to be when she’s ready. Not just because I want it, but becauseshewants it.
Chapter Eleven
Sienna
The villa glowsin the soft golden afternoon light, which makes everything feel a little like a fever dream as I walk in, the gift shop bag swinging from my fingers.
Milo is sitting on the couch, laptop balanced on one knee, typing away like the fate of the world depends on whatever color-coded spreadsheet he’s conquering.
He glances up when I drop the bag onto the coffee table with a dramatic thud. Closing the laptop halfway, he raises a brow. “What’s in the bag?”
I flop onto the couch beside him, close enough that our thighs brush. “I don’t know about you, but I came here to relax, not contort myself into a pretzel. I had no workout gear, so I picked up something for both of us.”
I dig into the bag and pull out black athletic shorts and a gray tank top for him, then a teal sports bra and high-waisted shorts for me. The bra has a low neckline—enough to be interesting without being inappropriate.
I had a “fuck it” moment while browsing the gift shop after spending most of the afternoon at the pool with Aria. If we’re doing yoga, I might as well look hot while sweating.
Milo holds up the shorts, looking mildly surprised. “You bought me clothes?”
“Don’t make it weird,” I say, waving him off even as my stomach does a little flip at how domestic this feels, sinceIwas the one teasing him about being domestic this morning. “Your khaki shorts weren’t exactly screaming ‘namaste.’”
His lips twitch. “Thanks. I think? Though I’m not sure ‘namaste’ is the vibe I’m going for.”
“Then what vibeareyou going for?”
He shrugs, stands, clothes in hand, and heads toward his room. “Give me ten. I’m gonna shower, and then I’ll be out.”
I watch him go with that easy stride that’s somehow both relaxed and controlled. Slouching further into the couch, I bounce my knee restlessly, waiting impatiently for his return.
Twelve minutes later, he emerges, anddamn. The gray tank stretches across his chest and shoulders, and the shorts sit low on his hips, revealing a tempting stripe of tanned skin as he lifts his arms.
I let out a low whistle. “Okay, I take it back. You look like you belong in a yoga ad. The kind that sells serenity and six-packs.”
He rolls his eyes, but I catch a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Your turn. We’ve got less than twenty minutes to get there.”
Fuck. Why didn’t I think to shower when he did?
Grabbing everything from the table, I head to my room, shower, and change quickly. Braiding my hair loosely while it’s still wet, I swipe on some gloss before stepping back out.
Milo is waiting on the deck, leaning against the railing, arms crossed as he stares at the ocean. When he hears my footsteps, he turns, his eyes flicking over me for a heartbeat longer than usual before he catches himself.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he answers, clearing his throat. “Are you?”
“I hate yoga,” I confess as we start walking. “I hate the pretending-to-be-a-pretzel part, the overly serene instructor’s voice, and especially the part where they tell you to ‘listen to your body’ like mine isn’t screaming, ‘Why the fuck are you doing this on purpose?’”
His mouth twitches. “Dramatic as always.”
“I prefer honest.” I shoot back.
The beach setup looks beautiful when we arrive, with mats laid out in a wide circle and tiki torches waiting to be lit as the sun dips lower. Several wedding guests are already here, including Aria and Ethan, who look annoyingly cozy.
Aria spots us the second we get close and barrels straight toward me, pulling me into a hug. “You never told me you were coming tonight! This is going to besomuch fun. We’re going to flow with the universe and all that jazz!”
