Chapter 9
ALEJANDRA
Se Iluminaba - Fred de Palma, Ana Mena
The ceremony was everything Alejandra had ever dreamed for Sofia since they were just little girls playing weddings on the sand with seaweed veils and mismatched flip-flops.
Sofia looked radiant in her white dress, the kind of ethereal beauty you only see in movies or fairy tales, her eyes betraying her emotions. Ilias, on the other hand, beamed before she even reached him as she walked down the makeshift beach aisle with her mother and sister.
As soon as the opening notes of Creuza de m? started playing—Sofia’s late father's favorite song—Alejandra almost lost it. That damn song. Antonio used to sing it all the time when they were kids. It was in her playlist, too. And now, it broke her open like a wave slamming the shore.
Wrapped in her dress, black hair whipping around her face thanks to the ever-present Tarifa wind, she didn’t even try to fight the tears during Sofia’s vows. And when Ilias spoke, the whole ceremony became a puddle of emotion.
Then Sofia turned to her and said, “Ale, I think you deserve a special thank you, because you were the one who pushed us toward each other. And we’ll be forever grateful.”
She choked down a fresh wave of tears and smiled, thankful and messy and glowing all at once.
After the ceremony, she stayed behind for photos.
Between her, Gabriella, Elvira, and Amira, they made sure everything moved smoothly.
But the second she finally got to her table; she noticed two things: The Nerd Trio was sitting with her, but more specifically, Callum was seated to her right.
That was definitely Sofia’s doing. Alejandra wondered if she had planned before or after she had expressed her interest towards Callum.
“Hello,” she chirped to Callum, who looked undeniably fuckable in a fitted suit that did dangerous things to her imagination.
Images of him fingering her last night in the darkness returned to her mind.
His blue eyes—her favorite goddamn color—met hers.
No, devoured her. They scanned her entire body, slow and hot, before snapping back to her eyes like he’d just remembered eye contact was polite.
“Hello, Alejandra.”
Gosh. His voice. Low. Sexy. She didn’t know exactly where he was from, but wherever it was, his accent went straight to her clit.
“Enjoyed the ceremony?” she asked, taking her seat beside him, still feeling her heart rate in the triple digits.
Carlos was too wrapped up in his own failed triangle with Amira and Asma to notice the literal sexual tension tsunami crashing next to him. Thank God.
“A lot,” Callum said, sipping his wine. “You were stunning, by the way. Especially while trying not to cry.”
She laughed, cheeks warm. “Was it that obvious?”
“That you’re gorgeous or that you were trying not to cry?” He grinned, raising an eyebrow.
Okay, no, this man was dangerous. Carlos needed lessons from this guy. He was smooth as sin and extremely tempting. Or maybe she was just really desperate for more than just his fingers inside her.
“Both, maybe,” she teased, swirling the wine in her glass.
He chuckled, and it vibrated right through her. If her ovaries could talk, they’d be screaming. If her thighs had a mind of their own, they’d be pleading.
“Goal for the day?” he asked casually.
“Figure out where your accent is from,” she replied, watching him intently.
He smirked. That smirk. “Want me to tell you, or do you want to play a game?”
She raised a brow. “What do I win if I guess right?”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Whatever you want from me.”
Joder.
“Sounds fair.” She crossed her legs under the table, trying to ignore the ache building between them, knowing perfectly well she was going to win. “Is it from the UK?”
“Yes.”
“Are there waves where you live?”
“Yes.”
She grinned. “Wales? I’ve heard there are some sick waves there.”
“It seems you’re a winner, Alejandra,” he said with a grin that promised everything.
“Then I’ll just have to figure out what I want to do with you,” she replied, voice dropping, eyes flicking to his lips.
“Whatever you want.”
Her body buzzed. She was quite certain that he did it on purpose. Something easy so he could give her more than just his fingers. She bit her lower lip, only for her father’s voice to cut the tension like a blunt knife.
“Alejandra! Turn for a picture con este hombre tan sexy!”
She groaned. “Papà, por favor...”
“?Es guapísimo!” her mother chimed in from across the table.
“Mamá... ?estás borracha?” Alejandra asked, horrified.
“Podría ser, no podría ser. ?Quién sabe?” her mother replied, waving a wine glass.
“She’s definitely drunk,” Alejandra muttered under her breath. She glanced at Callum, who looked way too entertained by her family circus. “They want a picture of us.”
“I’m okay with that,” he said smoothly, standing. His hand landed on her shoulder, warm and possessive as he pulled her in for the photo.
“?Quesooooo!” her dad yelled.
She looked up at Callum, he was already looking down at her. They both turned to the camera, laughing under their breath.
“I’m not sure how this photo will turn out. My parents are completely wasted,” she said, sitting back down, grateful for the distraction... sort of.
“Mamá, ?cállate la puta boca, por favor!” Carlos screeched, as their mother made very loud observations about how gorgeous both Amira and Asma were and how purple her son’s face was turning.
“Your family is hilarious,” Callum said, popping a piece of bread into his mouth.
“They were genetically engineered to embarrass us,” she muttered, downing the rest of her wine.
Callum refilled her glass immediately, a subtle gesture that made her heart flutter in a way it shouldn’t have.
Meanwhile, Leif and Asma were now deep in a debate that apparently needed Callum’s opinion.
“Tell Leif smut romantasy books are still fantasy books!” Asma said, desperate.
“I’ve never read one, A. I can’t help you with that.” Callum shrugged.
“But I can,” Alejandra declared proudly. “I love those books. They’re only called smut because women write them. No one calls any book by Declan Byrne smut, and half of it is sex and murder.”
Asma gasped. “I love you already. Who’s your favorite author?”
“Cleo Torrente for romance. But I’m a Maia Solo’s fan too. Lately I’ve been deep-diving indie authors.”
“Oh my God. Yes. I just finished her latest series.”
Alejandra clutched her chest dramatically. “Chef’s kiss.”
“We lost them,” Leif muttered.
“Oh, come on.” Alejandra turned to Callum. “Don’t tell me you only read books written by men?”
“Actually, no,” he replied. “I just prefer straight fantasy over fantasy-romance.”
“Why?” she frowned, genuinely offended.
He shrugged.
“I’m sending you a list,” she said.
“It’s a lost cause,” Asma muttered. “I’ve tried to make them understand the superiority of a book written by a woman.”
Oh, but if Callum knew how many positions she’d tried thanks to those books… Would he be intrigued? Turned on? Or terrified? Honestly, she didn’t care. He looked like the type to not just read the instructions, but improve them.
As everyone turned to watch the DJ announce the arrival of the bride and groom into the garden, Alejandra leaned in, whispering just loud enough for him to hear over the applause.
“I’ve learned a lot from those smut books. You should give them a try.”
Callum didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe you could teach me a thing or two then,” he whispered back, his hand sliding under the table, fingers grazing her thigh.
Her breath caught.
Her entire body snapped to attention like he’d flipped a switch.
Her eyes darkened with lust as she turned her face toward his. He smelled like clean linen, sun, and a little bit of wine. Her mouth was inches from his.
“I’ll show you later,” she murmured, heat curling in her belly.
His fingers squeezed her thigh, firm, slow, confident.
“Whatever you want, Alejandra.”