6. Unspoken Desires Mila
Isit on the bed, spooning ice cream straight from the carton, staring at the wall like I’m in a trance. After the talk by the fountain, Father sent Layla and me to our rooms while he took Rafael to his office, no doubt for some business discussion.
Rafael didn’t ask for my number. He didn’t say anything more. Just… nothing. It’s been two days now. And it’s the same as it always was: dead silence.
I actually thought this time would be different. I laid it all out there, peeled back everything, hoping maybe he’d give me something. But it’s like that whole moment by the fountain didn’t mean a thing to him.
The second he was gone, I went back to the fountain, pulling his note out of the water before I could talk myself out of it. It was a crumpled mess, the paper soggy and blurred. I managed to flatten it out. I could barely make out the letters, most of the ink having bled away, but one word stood out, clear as day: Justice.
I stared at it, this one hard word that he’d left behind, while mine was some naive little wish to go back to how things used to be. I didn’t even see my note floating in the fountain, it probably sunk, my silly little wish dissolving with it.
Layla waltzes into the room, catching me mid-scoop. I instinctively pull the ice cream to my chest like it’s the last pint on earth. She laughs as she heads towards me, and before I know it, she’s snatched the spoon right out of my hand and is shoveling a big bite into her mouth.
“Ew, Layla, my spoon!” I screech, half-laughing, half-exasperated, swatting at her, but she just grins, taking another obnoxiously large bite.
She flops down next to me, and I lean my head on her shoulder, sighing. Guilt twists in my stomach—I was so jealous of her earlier. She was so natural with Rafael, so effortless, able to talk to him without second-guessing every word. Meanwhile, I was a complete mess, too tongue-tied to even manage a normal conversation.
Layla glances at me with a sly smile, taking another bite of my ice cream. “So… possessive of him, are we?” she teases.
I nearly choke, trying to hide my reaction. “What? Possessive? Of who?” I say quickly, pretending to be deeply interested in smoothing out the blanket on my bed. I really thought she wouldn’t bring it up.
“Oh, please,” she says, nudging me with her shoulder. “You know, when I was talking to him at dinner, you looked like you were ready to murder me on the spot.”
I stiffen. “That’s ridiculous. Why would I care?”
“I was waiting for you to launch across the table and yank me away from him.”
I roll my eyes, hugging the ice cream tub a bit tighter. “I wasn’t going to ‘yank’ anyone away. Besides, you’re reading way too much into it.”
“Right,” she scoffs. “And you definitely didn’t shoot me a death glare when I asked to go with you guys to the fountain.”
I bite back a groan, heat prickling at my back. “Look, it was… I just thought it’d be weird if we all went, that’s all.”
“Oh, totally,” she says, her grin widening. “Not because you wanted some alone time with him, right?”
“I promise, Layla,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “There’s nothing there. I just… I just wanted some semblance of closure, that’s all.”
Layla’s face softens, her teasing forgotten. She reaches over, threading her fingers gently through my hair, trying to comfort me. After a quiet moment, she asks, “Did you get it? The closure?”
I take a shaky breath, struggling with my answer. “I don’t know. I got some answers, but…” I pause, staring down at my hands. “I guess… I was hoping for something more. For us to go back to how we were, maybe?”
She sighs, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “He’s different now, Mila. He’s not the boy you grew up with anymore, not really. You shouldn’t get your hopes up. Just… be careful, okay?”
I believe her, as much as I don’t want to.
“This is the first time you’ve defied Father, probably since you were a kid begging for extra candy. It was epic.” Layla exclaims, and somehow looks a bit proud.
I bite down on my lip, her words sinking in. She’s right. I’ve never wanted to disappoint him. It’s why I didn’t study physics at university, even though that’s all I wanted to do. Instead, I majored in English Literature—“something less manly,” as he put it. I hated every second of it, but I did it to make him proud. I haven’t touched pizza or croissants since I was fourteen because he says they fatten everyone up. Everything I’ve done has been to keep him happy.
And now, Rafael’s come back into my life and, somehow, with just a few conversations and half-shared glances, he’s made me slip up—without even trying.
Layla’s eyes narrow as she studies my face. “So you feel nothing for him? Nothing other than… nostalgia?”
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Okay then, come on, let’s forget all about him and have some fun. I know just the thing,” she says as she walks to my closet.
I take the moment to pull myself together. God, my attachment to him is so embarrassing. I need to forget about him, just like he forgot all about me.
Layla digs through my closet with all the confidence in the world, tossing a few options onto the bed until she finds what she’s looking for. She pulls out my favorite bikini, a tiny black thong bottom with thin, adjustable side straps and a matching triangle top that ties at the back and neck.
She grins, holding it up against herself. “Mind if I borrow this?”
“You’re just gonna take my favorite bikini, huh?”
“Of course,” she says, slipping into it and adjusting the straps with a shameless little wink. The suit barely covers her, accentuating every curve and making her look like she’s straight out of some tropical photoshoot. Then, she tosses me a different one, my bright red bikini with a thong bottom and a plunging top. “You’re wearing this one. Trust me, you’ll look amazing.”
“Alright, alright,” I mutter, pulling it on and adjusting the straps. The red pops against my pale skin, the thong bottom hugging my hips. It’s the kind of bikini that shows off a lot, probably more than I’d wear around anyone but her.
We make our way to the indoor pool, the water warm as we ease in and start to float around. Layla, as usual, dives straight into the gossip.
“Did you hear about Bianca Esposito?” she asks, barely containing a giggle. “Apparently, she’s hooking up with someone from the Albanian mafia. A total scandal, considering the families have been at each other’s throats.”
“No way!” I gasp, swimming closer. “Her father would have a heart attack if he knew.”
“Exactly,” Layla says, smirking. “And apparently, they met at some gala in Rome. She slipped out of the reception with him at midnight, and, well… I don’t think they were talking about family business.”
I laugh, picturing the scene. “So, she’s risking a full-blown family war… for some guy?”
“Guess she figured if she’s gonna defy her father, might as well go big, right?” She gives me a knowing look.
I splash Layla at her comment, water splattering everywhere as she squeals. She flips her wet hair back, ignoring my attempt at vengeance. “Feel like grabbing some wine?”
“Perfect idea,” I say, dragging myself out of the pool, water streaming down as I head toward the kitchen. The cool tile is a shock against my wet feet. I reach up into the wine cabinet, snagging a bottle, and turn around, practically colliding with a solid chest—definitely not Layla. I look up, heart skipping a beat.
Rafael.
He’s drenched now too, navy suit ruined as the water clings to him, outlining every powerful line and muscle. He’s so close I can barely breathe. His presence is overwhelming, towering over me in that infuriating way that’s both unsettling and… thrilling. I barely come up to his shoulder, but the heat rolling off him makes me feel like I might melt on the spot.
His hands steady me, fingers gripping my arms lightly. The touch sends a jolt through my skin. It’s so casual, but it’s like he’s branding me. I try to hold my ground, even though my legs feel like jelly under his touch.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, fighting to sound unaffected, but my voice gives me away, coming out breathier than I intend.
Rafael doesn’t answer right away. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a cigarette, and lights it, all without breaking eye contact. He takes a drag, the smoke curling slowly as he blows it out, right in my direction.
“Had a meeting with your father,” he says finally. He shifts closer, his gaze darkening as it roams over me, lingering a bit too long. “Needed the bathroom. Got mixed up.”
His gaze is all over me, sweeping down from my damp hair to my bare shoulders, over the slick fabric clinging to every curve. I’ve never felt this exposed in front of any man before. The way he’s looking at me now feels intense, like he’s seeing past the swimsuit, past everything, like he owns the air between us.
“Want one?” He holds out another cigarette between his fingers, and I hesitate. His eyes narrow slightly, a hint of amusement there, daring me to take it.
I reach out, fingers brushing his as I grab it. I hold his gaze as he flicks open his lighter, flame jumping to life between us. He leans closer, his scent all smoke and something warm, making my breath hitch as I inhale the first drag. It burns my lungs, but I can’t look away, his eyes never breaking from mine as I cough.
“Not a fan?”
“Never tried,” I admit. He smiles, an almost-smile, his eyes dipping briefly to my lips as he takes another drag from his own cigarette.
“First and last time you try this, yeah?” he orders, like it’s a rule I’d better remember. “Unless you’re with me.”
I nod, and he reaches for the wine bottle, plucks it from my hand, twisting it open. Lifting it to his mouth, he takes a long drink, tipping his head back, throat moving as he swallows. He pulls the bottle away, offering it to me, and the look in his eyes tells me exactly what he’s thinking. Nasty things. Dirty things that shouldn’t be shared between childhood friends.
I bring the bottle to my lips, eyes still locked on his, and take a slow sip. The wine is rich and bold, warming me from the inside out. I feel a strange thrill as I drink from where his mouth just was. It’s almost like his lips are on mine—an indirect kiss. The thought makes my cheeks flush, and I pull the bottle away, only for a little wine to spill, trailing down from my lips to my neck and further.
Rafael’s gaze follows that red drop, his expression darkening as he watches it drop into the valley of my chest. He doesn’t move, doesn’t reach out to catch it, but the way he looks at me…
I hear footsteps behind us, and I almost have a panic attack. My father’s voice cuts through our moment. “What’s going on here?”
I turn quickly, stubbing and then hiding the cigarette behind my back. “Rafael accidently stumbled into the kitchen while looking for a bathroom,” I blurt despite my effort to appear natural. “And then he helped me with the wine, that’s all.”
His eyes flick between me and Rafael. “That’s all?” His voice is dangerously calm, he’s livid.
Rafael’s face is unreadable, his whole focus is on me, he doesn’t acknowledge Father at all.
I insist that’s all that we have done, and take a step back, hoping to slip away to the pool, but my father moves faster. His hand grips my arm, hard enough that it aches, and he leans in close, his voice a low hiss. “You better not have done anything with him,” he warns low, only for my ears.
My cheeks burn with humiliation and anger, but I nod, keeping my face as blank as I can manage. He lets go, and I quickly pull my arm away, walking back toward the pool without a word, feeling his warning echo in my mind with every step.