12. Aoife
Aoife
When I wake up, the villa is bathed in the golden glow of early morning, the quiet stillness of this place wrapping around me like a blanket. Waking up with Eamon’s warmth beside me, his arm heavy across my waist, has become a familiar routine.
It’s been weeks now, the days blurring together into something that feels like a dream. Sun-drenched afternoons on secluded beaches, lazy evenings spent tangled in each other, and nights filled with more heat and passion than I thought possible. I’d call it bliss if I didn’t know better.
Because the truth is, we don’t talk about anything real. I don’t ask questions. Neither does he. It’s unspoken—this thing between us. No strings. No complications. Just us, tucked away here where the rest of the world feels like it doesn’t exist.
I roll onto my side, propping myself on my elbow as I study him.
He’s still asleep, his face relaxed. The sharp intensity I’ve come to know so well is nowhere to be found.
Without that smirk or the intense stare he always wears like armor, he almost looks peaceful.
Vulnerable. It’s disarming seeing him like this, and the attraction I’ve been trying to ignore digs in deeper, stubborn and unwelcome.
I remind myself that this isn’t real. This is temporary. Nothing more than a stolen moment outside the lives we both clearly want to avoid. That any day now, I’ll wake up and be ready to move on.
But as I lie here, watching the rise and fall of his chest, I can’t shake the feeling that this is starting to feel too comfortable. There’s a pull between us, something I can’t explain, and I hate that I feel it. This isn’t supposed to happen.
We’re not anything.
Having great sex with a man doesn’t make him yours, and it sure as hell doesn’t make him safe. I’ve lived with secrets my entire life, and I’d bet anything he’s keeping his own.
The man is a mystery, and that’s all he should ever be.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I grab it and glance at the screen.
Ruairi: Call me today.
The knot in my stomach tightens as I swipe the message open. It’s short, clipped, and carries the weight of his concern, but there’s something else there too—suspicion.
It’s getting harder and harder to hide Eamon from him.
He knows me too well. Twintuition we used to call it when we were younger.
I haven’t returned his calls in days. He’s already been asking too many questions about why I’m still in the Maldives.
I usually don’t stay in one place for so long and I’m running out of excuses.
But Ruairi will continue to push, probe, and demand answers because that’s what he does. He never lets things go.
And if Ruairi finds out I’m with a man, he’ll shift straight into overprotective brother mode, demanding to know who Eamon is, whether I’m safe, and if I’ve lost my mind. I can’t let that happen. Not when I’ve worked so hard to show everyone I can take care of myself.
With a heavy exhale, I swipe the message away and set the phone down, forcing the tension in my shoulders to ease. When I roll over, I find Eamon watching me, his blue eyes now awake and alert. “Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
“Morning,” I reply.
He stretches, the sheet slipping dangerously low on his hips.
“You’re quiet,” he says, studying me. “Regretting something?”
I arch a brow, masking the way my pulse quickens. “I don’t do regrets.”
“Good.” He pushes up on one elbow, his gaze locked onto mine. For a moment, I feel like he’s about to say something else, something real, but then the corner of his mouth lifts. “Get dressed.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
He throws the covers off and stands, stretching his arms lazily as he glances over his shoulder. “We’re going out. Get dressed.”
“Where exactly are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he says with maddening confidence as he disappears into the bathroom.
A half-hour later, I’m gripping Eamon’s waist as the jet ski slices through the water. He’s reckless, pushing the engine harder than necessary. Every bump sends my heart into my throat.
“This is your idea of a day out?” I shout over the roar, my voice a mix of laughter and protest.
He glances back at me, his grin smug. “You said you wanted fun, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t say death wish.”
He laughs, speeding up until I’m clutching him tighter, torn between terror and exhilaration.
By the time we stop at a secluded stretch of white sand, my legs are shaking as I climb off the jet ski. “You’re insane.”
“You love it,” he replies unapologetically.
I roll my eyes, but I can’t deny the truth. Being with Eamon makes me feel alive.
Grabbing a small bag strapped to the back of the jet ski, he nods toward the shore. “Come on.”
My curiosity is piqued as I watch him unroll a blanket and unpack what he brought—champagne, fruit, and cheese. Simple but thoughtful.
“You’ve got layers, Eamon,” I say, popping a strawberry into my mouth. “This almost looks romantic.”
He leans back, watching me with that unreadable intensity. “Maybe I do, and maybe it is.” I laugh softly, shaking my head, but his gaze lingers on me, serious now. “What happens when you leave?” he asks, his voice low but pointed.
The question catches me off guard, and I pause, the strawberry frozen halfway to my lips. “Excuse me?”
“You can’t stay here forever,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “Eventually, you’ll have to go home. What’s waiting for you there?”
I force a smile, trying to play it off. “Why the sudden interest in my future?”
His fingers drum once against his thigh before stilling. “Because I want to know.”
The weight of his gaze presses against me, and I sigh, leaning back on my hands as I glance toward the horizon. “My father runs a business,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “He wants me to stay out of it. Says it’s not a place for me.”
He doesn’t move, but something shifts in his eyes, a glimmer of something darker. “And what do you want?”
“I want to work for him,” I admit. “Da underestimates me. Always has. I refuse to be someone who sits on the sidelines and lets other people make decisions for me the rest of my life.”
Eamon shifts, sitting up straighter as he studies me. “And you think this trip will change his mind?”
“When I get home, I’ll show him that I’m capable and can take care of myself. That I’m more than just his little girl,” I say, my voice firmer now. “He’ll have no choice but to take me seriously.”
There’s a pause, the weight of my words hanging between us.
“You’re stubborn,” he says finally, his tone almost amused.
I glance at him, my lips twitching into a small smile. “Takes one to know one.”
“You’re not afraid of the fight, are you?”
“No,” I reply, meeting his gaze. “Are you?”
His smile returns, slow and dangerous, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he picks up the champagne and refills my glass, his eyes lingering on me.
The conversation shifts after that, lightening as we tease each other over who was better on the jet ski. But Eamon’s question stays with me, the way he asked it, the way he looked at me like he was trying to figure out more than I was willing to give.
And for a fleeting moment, I wonder if he already knows.
I’m startled awake by the sharp, insistent ringing of my phone. My heart jumps into my throat as I blink into the darkness, disoriented. The room is still, the only light coming from the faint glow of my screen.
Ruairi.
I’ll call him tomorrow. The last thing I want is to argue with him right now. I swipe to deny the call and lay back against the pillows, trying to calm the sudden rush of unease.
The phone rings again.
He’s not going to give up. I exhale shakily and answer it this time, whispering, “What the hell are you doing calling me in the middle of the night?”
“Why are you whispering?” There’s a beat of silence. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”
“Hang on a minute,” I say as I slip out of bed, glancing toward Eamon’s sleeping form. He’s still, his breathing steady. Quietly, I slip out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me. “What’s going on that couldn’t wait until morning?”
Ruairi’s voice comes through, tight and unsteady in a way I’ve never heard before. “There’s been an accident.”
I freeze, the words not making sense. “What kind of accident?”
“Mam and Da,” he says, his voice thick. “They were on their way back from a fundraising gala. A truck hit them. Head-on. They didn’t make it.”
The floor feels like it drops out from under me, and I grip the arm of a nearby chair for balance. “That’s not funny.”
“Do you think I’d joke about something like this?” he snaps.
I stumble onto the sofa, the phone trembling in my hand. “You’re wrong. They can’t be?—”
“They’re gone, Aoife,” he says quietly, his voice breaking.
The words hit like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. My vision blurs, my chest heaving as I try to process what he’s telling me. They’re gone .
“No,” I whisper, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead like I can somehow stop the spiral of grief swallowing me whole.
Ruairi inhales shakily on the other end of the line. “You need to come home.”
I blink, unable to focus through the haze of panic and disbelief.
“The resort’s driver is waiting for you,” he says firmly. “I’ve chartered a plane. It’s ready for you at the airport.”
“Ruairi, I—” My voice cracks. I want to argue, to tell him I don’t know what to do, but the words won’t come.
“You don’t have to do anything except get on the plane,” he says, his tone softening, even though I know he’s barely holding it together himself. “I’ll be waiting for you when you land.”
The call ends, and I sit in the darkness for a moment, staring at nothing. I’m numb.
The words replay in my mind, over and over, a cruel loop I can’t escape. My parents. Dead. Just like that.
A sob threatens to break free, and I press a hand to my mouth to stop it. I can’t lose it right now. I don’t have time.
Standing on unsteady legs, I quietly walk back into the bedroom. Eamon’s still asleep, his face relaxed in the low light. Something in my chest cracks wide open at the sight of him.
This is it. The decision’s been made for me. It’s over.
I grab a small bag and throw a few things inside—clothes, a phone charger, my passport. My movements are quick and mechanical, my mind working on autopilot as I fight to hold myself together.
When I’m done, I grab a notepad from the desk and a pen. I pause, the pen hovering over the paper as I stare at the empty space. For a moment, I consider leaving Eamon a way to contact me. The thought lingers longer than it should, tempting me. But I quickly push it out of my head.
That’s not how this works. I press the pen to the page, steadying my shaking hand.
Eamon,
Thank you for everything—for the time, for the memories. For making me forget the rest of the world, if only for a little while.
But I’ve realized it’s time to go back to reality. I won’t forget this or you.
~Eve.
After setting the note on the nightstand, I pause, looking at him one last time, committing every detail to memory. He shifts slightly, a faint furrow appearing between his brows, and I turn away before I can change my mind.
With my bag slung over my shoulder, I slip out of the villa as quietly as I can. Outside, the resort’s driver is waiting just as Ruairi promised.
I slip into the car and close the door softly behind me, the sound echoing like a final goodbye. As we pull away, I stare straight ahead, refusing to look back. I don’t need to see the villa disappearing to feel the loss of the man I was never meant to fall for.
I tell myself this is for the best. That once I’m home, I’ll forget him.
But as the distance grows, I already know I’m lying.