His warm breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of my neck, raising goosebumps and sending a fresh wave of heat cascading through me.
A soft, involuntary sound escapes me. I tilt my head back against his shoulder, eyes half-closed, and continue with the next line. My voice trembles with the weight of how much truth lives inside those words.
His hand begins a slow journey up my side, fingers tracing my ribs until they brush deliberately along the underside of my breasts—feather-light, but enough to send a sharp bolt of heat straight between my thighs.
I press further into him instinctively, feeling the unmistakable hard ridge of his cock pressed against my lower back. His breath hitches audibly against my neck, and theknowledge that I affect him this much makes my pulse race even faster.
As the final chorus hits, we turn to face each other again. The last note lingers in the air like a held breath. The music fades into silence, and for one breathless heartbeat, it feels like the world holds its breath along with us.
Then the room explodes into cheers and whistles.
But Milo and I stay frozen onstage, foreheads nearly touching, our chests heaving as we breathe each other in. His hands rest possessively on my waist, mine clutching the pineapple shirt until my knuckles turn white. The heat rolling off his body feels capable of igniting the whole island.
Milo’s eyes drop to my mouth, dark with barely restrained desire. “Sienna…”
I don’t answer with words.
I pull him down to me and kiss him like I’m starving. Our mouths collide in pure desperation, like gasoline on a flame. His hands tighten around my waist, pulling me flush against him as the flamingo squeaks pathetically between us. I thread my fingers into his wig and tug, earning a deep groan that vibrates through his chest and into mine.
When we break apart, we’re both wearing matching dazed grins. I look up at him, my heart so full it actually aches with a sweet, terrifying pressure. His arms remain locked around my waist, anchoring me.
And his eyes… they’re softer now, unguarded in a way I’ve never seen before. No walls. No careful masks. Just him open and real and looking at me like I’m the only thing in the room that matters.
Before I can second-guess myself, I lean in to kiss him again, the spotlight still warm on our skin and the taste of our shared longing tingling on my lips.
And for the first time, wrapped securely in his arms and the sparkling ring heavy on my finger, I let myself think about it.
Maybe… just maybe… I’m ready to believe in us.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Milo
It’s nearingmidnight when I finally ditch the sad, deflated flamingo—much to Sienna’s dismay.
The damn thing kept squeaking and deflating whenever I moved, and I got tired of inflating it every five minutes. It’s slumped pathetically beside me in the booth, even more tragic than when it was wrapped around my waist.
Sienna laughed so hard when I pulled it off that she nearly spilled her drink. Her thigh has been pressed against mine ever since, and her bare shoulder brushes my arm whenever she laughs or leans in to whisper over the music.
Every accidental touch feels deliberate now.
Every glance lingers a second too long.
A young, drunken couple steps onto the stage next, giggling hysterically. Then “Hero” by Enrique Iglesias starts playing over the speakers. Sienna groans dramatically the second she recognizes it and drops her forehead against my shoulder.
“No,” she mumbles into my shoulder like she can hear my thoughts. “Not Hero, Milo. I’d rather dance to elevator music or to that bird that screams at dawn outside our villa.”
I chuckle, the sound rumbling against her wig. “It’s the last square. We’re contractually obligated under bingo rules. You want to win that catamaran sail, don’t you?”
She lifts her head just enough to glare at me, her eyes are sparkling with that perfect mix of annoyance and affection that always gets me. “You’re enjoying this way too much. I can see it in your smug little smile.”
“I’m enjoying that you hate it,” I admit, my voice low and teasing. “It’s cute when you’re dramatic. The way your nose wrinkles and everything.”
She lets out a huff of laughter and slides out of the booth, tugging on my hand with surprising strength. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with before I get a headache and make you carry me back to the villa.”
Now that’s something I’d be more than okay with.
I let her pull me to my feet. The dance floor is already half-full of drunk people in various stages of coordination—some swaying romantically, others barely moving and laughing too hard to care.
