Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Sienna
The green cucumber mask is cool and tingly on my skin, already starting to crack at the edges from all the laughing we’ve been doing.
It’s just Aria and me in her villa, doing the kind of thing we used to do when we were teenagers—sneaking into each other’s rooms for midnight slumber parties.
There’s a half-eaten fruit platter on the coffee table, mostly pineapple, strawberries, and watermelon with melted chocolate to dip them in.
Aria sits cross-legged on the couch above me, her pink mask flaking as she carefully braids a section of my hair. I’m on the floor, back against the couch, legs stretched out, trying not to fidget even though my knee keeps bouncing against the rug.
The restless energy has been worse than usual tonight. My brain feels like it’s running a billion tabs at once, and every single one is labeled “Milo.”
“We haven’t done this in years,” Aria says softly, her fingers gentle as she twists another strand. “Just you and me. It feels… nice.”
I smile, even though the mask makes my face feel tight. “Too nice. I forgot how much I missed it. Remember when we used to do face masks every Friday night? You’d always steal my cucumber mask and then complain it made your skin break out.”
She laughs. “And you’d steal my chocolate one and complain it smelled too much like chocolate when you were trying to cut it out. God, we were ridiculous.”
“We still are,” I murmur. My knee bounces harder. I press my palm to my thigh, trying to calm it, but the energy just reroutes to my fingers, tapping the edge of the couch.
This is supposed to be relaxing sister time, but my brain won’t shut up. It keeps replaying last night in the hot tub—the way Milo’s mouth crashed into mine, teeth clashing, his hands gripping my hips like he never wanted to let go.
Aria tugs gently at my braid. “You’re bouncing again. What’s going on? You’ve been jittery since you got here.”
I exhale through my nose, staring at the ceiling. “I kissed him.”
Aria’s fingers pause mid-braid.
“Last night,” I continue, my voice quieter. “In the hot tub. I straddled him and kissed him like the world was ending. It was… God, Aria, I’ve never kissed anyone like that in my life.”
She’s silent for a moment, then lets out a soft, surprised laugh. “Finally! I was wondering when one of you would make the first move. Ethan owes me fifty bucks and a foot massage now!”
I twist my head slightly to look at her, mouth parted. “You… bet on us?”
A flush creeps up her cheeks. “Since the first night when I saw the chemistry between you two. Ethan said Milo would make the first move, but I know you. I knew you’d think too much about it and hyperventilate… and well, look at you now.”
“I’m not hyperventilating.”
She laughs. “You totally are.”
I groan, covering my face with my hands.
“It’s not funny. My brain is more scrambled than it already is.
I’ve known him for five days, Aria. And I’m sitting here thinking about his hands, his mouth, and the way he looks at me.
I never get like this. I’m pretty sure the sun is giving me sunstroke or something. ”
Aria laughs again, but it’s gentler this time as she resumes braiding. “It’s not sunstroke, Sienna. It’s chemistry. The kind that doesn’t care about timelines.”
I drop my hands and play with the loose thread on my shorts, my knee bouncing faster. “I failed chemistry for a reason—we just don’t get along. That’s why I’m a fun only girl. There are no complications that way.”
She falls silent, her fingers still working the braid. When she speaks again, her voice is soft. “Milo’s different, though. And the fact that you both live in New York? That’s not a coincidence. That’s fate. You’re meant to be together.”
My heart does a painful little flip. Fate. The word feels too big, too permanent. But the way Milo looks at me—like he sees every chaotic piece of me and doesn’t want me to change—makes something deep inside me ache.
I’ve spent forever convincing myself I don’t need anyone to stay, that moving is safer, that attachment is just another word for disappointment. Yet with Milo? Maybe… no, Sienna.
I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “It’s not fate.”
“It so totally is!”
“You live in a fairytale, Aria.”
She tugs at my braid as she ties it off with a soft scrunchie. “I live in a world where I believe in love. I wish you did too. It’s a beautiful thing, Sienna. Maybe you and Milo could—”
“You of all people know I don’t get attached,” I murmur. “What we have going on is just attraction, okay?”
Leaning down, she rests her chin on my shoulder, her cheek warm against mine. “Maybe you’re not supposed to get attached the old way. Maybe this time it’s different. Maybe he’s the one who can keep up with you without trying to slow you down.”
I shove a piece of pineapple into my mouth and chew it aggressively. The silence stretches for too long. Aria slumps back with a defeated sigh and mumbles something incoherent under her breath.
She’s always been the twin who talks about her feelings, who wears her heart on her sleeve. Me? I’m a closed door. I keep everything locked away. It helps me sleep better at night—for the most part, anyway.
I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve never let anyone close enough to matter.
One-night stands, occasional friends-with-benefits arrangements, but the second things get too real, I’m gone.
But this time, with Milo… something feels different.
I can’t explain it. I don’t know how to name it.
All I know is that when he looks at me, I don’t feel the urge to run.
I feel the urge to stay. And that terrifies me more than anything.
“Remember when we used to stay up all night talking about our dream futures?” Aria breaks the silence. “You always said you wanted to live in a different city every year. I wanted a tropical wedding with the perfect dress. Look at us now.”
I take a strawberry from the platter and twirl the stem between my fingers. “Yeah, look at us… You’re getting your tropical wedding next week, and I’m still bouncing around like a pinball. Some things never change.”
“Some things do,” she says softly. “You’ve been in New York longer than anywhere else in years. That’s an improvement.”
She’s right. I have been. It’s been a little over a year since I moved to New York on a whim after deciding I was done with Miami and its party scene, and I still haven’t felt the urge to leave. It’s starting to feel like… home, in a way I never expected.
Just as I’m about to answer, the door swings open. Ethan stumbles in, slightly drunk, cheeks flushed, grinning like an idiot. He’s carrying a beer and immediately zeros in on Aria.
“Babe!” he says, his voice loud and affectionate. He kicks the door shut behind him, makes a beeline for her, wraps his arms around her from behind, and presses sloppy kisses to her neck. “Missed you. Milo was boring without you. Come to bed.”
Aria laughs, trying to push him off without smearing her mask. “Ethan, I’m in the middle of sister time!”
He doesn’t let go but nuzzles into her shoulder. “Sister time can wait. I need cuddles. And kisses. Lots of kisses.”
I watch them for a second—the way he melts into her, the way she pretends to be annoyed yet leans into him anyway. It’s cute. Disgustingly cute. And it’s my cue.
I stand up and slide my feet into my sandals. “That’s my cue to leave before I see things I can’t unsee for a second time.”
“It was one time,” Ethan corrects with a smug smile. “And it’s your fault for not knocking before walking in.”
“It was my apartment.”
“Still should’ve knocked.”
I give him a blank look. “I still have nightmares about your micropenis.”
He gasps dramatically. “It’s not micro.”
“Miniature.”
“Babe,” he turns his head toward Aria with a pout. “Tell her my penis isn’t small.”
“It’s teeny, tiny, weeny, bitty, pocket-sized—”
A decorative pillow is thrown at my face, and I burst out laughing. Ethan scowls at me as I start walking toward the door. Aria stands from the couch and chases me.
“Ignore him. Stay longer,” she pleads. “We barely got to talk about Milo.”
I smile, but it’s a little tight. “We talked plenty. Love you. Night.”
Ethan waves over Aria’s shoulder, clearly forgetting the conversation we had a second prior. “Night, Sienna! You’re the best sister-in-law ever! Have I ever told you that? The best.”
I snort. “You’re drunk and talking out of your ass. I hope you have a terrible hangover in the morning.”
He gasps. “That’s a horrible thing to say, Sienna. Take it back.”
Grinning at him, I give Aria a quick hug before leaving. When I return to my villa less than five minutes later, Milo is sitting on the couch, laptop half-closed, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants that sit dangerously low on his hips.
His chest is bare, skin golden from the sun, hair slightly messy like he’s been running his fingers through it. I swear he deliberately wears those sweats on purpose because he knows they make me weak.
“You’re still up,” I say, my voice quieter than I mean it to be as I place the keycard into the ceramic bowl by the door.
He stands slowly, stretching just enough for every muscle in his chest and arms to flex. My mouth goes dry. “I waited for you. Wanted to make sure you got back safe.”
My heart squeezes. “That’s… cute. Really cute, actually.”
He steps closer, his hands loose at his sides as if he’s fighting the urge to reach for me. “You have a good night with Aria? You’re still wearing a face mask, so I’m assuming Ethan lied about going to see his parents and crashed your girls’ night instead?”
I laugh. “You’d be correct.”
“Not surprised,” he murmurs, tongue slowly dragging across his lower lip. “All he spoke about was Aria and how he’s the luckiest man in the world to get to call her his wife next week.”
“He’s so in love with her,” I smile softly. “It’s kinda… repulsive.”
Milo’s eyes soften, the corner of his mouth tilting up just slightly. “You don’t believe in love?”
My knee starts its nervous bouncing again. I bite my lip, meeting his gaze. “I never used to.”
His chest rises and falls a little faster, like he’s holding his breath. “And now?”
“Someone once told me that with the right person… it could be kind of extraordinary,” I murmur, fingers twisting the hem of his shirt draped over the kitchen chair. “So I guess I’ve been quietly hoping they might be right.”
He smirks. “That someone sounds pretty wise.”
“Hmm. And a little full of himself.” I tease.
“Confident.” He corrects, his eyes sparkling.
“Extremely confident,” I echo, fighting a smile. “Bordering on dangerous, actually.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, the kind that makes my stomach flip. For a moment, the air between us feels charged, like the tiniest shift could close the distance. I catch myself staring at his mouth.
I clear my throat and take a small step back, suddenly very interested in the floor. “Anyway. I should probably go wash this mask off before I break out. Good night, Milo.”
His gaze lingers on me. “Good night, Sienna.”
I stand there a second too long, just staring at him—shirtless, sleepy-eyed, and looking far too good for someone who’s been waiting up in the middle of the night.
The urge to close the distance and pick up right where we left off last night is so strong it almost terrifies me. But I stay rooted in place.
Forcing a smile, I grab his shirt from the chair and bunch it between my hands. “Goodnight, Milo.”
“You already said that,” he replies, one eyebrow lifting in that effortless, charming way. “You trying to convince me… or yourself?”
I let out a soft, nervous laugh and shake my head. “Both, probably.”
Before I can do something stupid—like walk over and kiss that smug, adorable look off his face—I slip into my room and close the door gently. The second I’m alone, I lean back against it, clutching his shirt like a lifeline. Without thinking, I bring the fabric to my nose and inhale.
A few deep breaths later, I peel myself off the door and flip on the bathroom light. The harsh light makes me squint as I head for the sink. I splash cold water on my face, watching the clay mask crack and wash away.
Too bad I can’t rinse away the butterflies.
Because I’m screwed.
And the scariest part? I think I might like it.