Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Milo
It’s nearing midnight 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.
Sienna turns to face me, one eyebrow arched in challenge. “You know how to slow dance, right? Or are we about to witness a tragic display of poor coordination?”
I step in close, sliding one hand to the small of her back and catching her other hand, lifting it to shoulder height.
“I’ve seen movies. That counts, doesn’t it?” I pull her flush against me, my voice dropping. “Besides, I’m a quick learner, especially when my teacher looks as beautiful as you do.”
She snorts, but she’s already melting into me, her body fitting against mine as if it were meant to be there. “That’s not reassuring at all. I’m a terrible slow dancer, Milo. I’ll probably break both your feet—and mine.”
I spread my hand wider across her lower back, pulling her closer. “Worth the risk.”
She feels perfect against me. Warm. Alive in a way that makes something in my chest ache. Her head tilts just enough to tuck under my chin, the purple wig tickling my throat.
We start moving—small, lazy sways at first, barely more than shifting our weight from one foot to the other—but it feels monumental. Her body moves with mine like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
Her fingers curl into my shirt collar, her thumb brushing slow strokes along the side of my neck, making my pulse jump. Every time she shifts against me or sighs softly, something deep in my chest loosens.
I keep telling myself this is just vacation heat, just forced proximity and incredible sex—even if that only happened one time.
But the truth is creeping in anyway.
She’s chaos and light and sharp wit wrapped in sparkles and sarcasm, and I’m starting to crave all of it.
Not just the nights we’re alone or the way she falls apart for me. I want the rambling, the laughter, the way she looks at me like I’m the only person in the room even when I’m not.
I don’t want just fourteen days with her.
I want her in New York.
I want her burning breakfast, dragging me on ridiculous adventures, and making me feel alive again after so long of feeling like I’ve just been existing… not living.
“You’re not so terrible at this,” Sienna murmurs into my chest. “I thought you’d be stiff, counting steps in your head.”
“I’m counting your breaths instead,” I say quietly, my thumb tracing slow circles on her lower back. “They’re uneven. You’re nervous.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “Maybe yours are just too loud, or maybe it’s because you’re holding me like you’re afraid I’ll disappear if you loosen your grip.”
I smile into her hair. “You’re deflecting.”
“Deflecting?” she echoes, pulling back to look at me. “From what, exactly?”
“From the truth.”
She raises an eyebrow, a playful challenge in her eyes. “And what truth would that be, Mr. Wet-Pants-Wonder?”
I let out a low laugh at the ridiculous nickname, but I don’t back down. My hand stays firm on her lower back, keeping her close as we continue to sway.
“From the real reason you’re nervous.”
She playfully rolls her eyes. “And what reason would that be?”
My lips curve. “I guess you’ll have to figure that out yourself, won’t you?”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“Nope,” I murmur, shaking my head. “Some things are more fun when you have to say them out loud.”
“Ugh. You’re so annoying.”
“And you’re insanely beautiful.”
Her cheeks flush a deep pink before she rests her head on my chest, and we sway in comfortable silence for a few beats. Her fingers keep tracing patterns along my neck. My hand stays on her back, anchoring her to me.
God, she wrecks me in ways I never expected.
One minute she’s making me laugh with her chaos, and the next she’s looking at me like I hold the entire world in the palm of my hand. Like I’m someone worth staying for.
I’ve spent years building walls, routines, and careful distance—protecting the empire I built from nothing. But Sienna crashes through it all with nothing but a smile and a sarcastic remark. She makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t in years.
I don’t know what happens when we leave this island.
I don’t know if she’ll run when real life creeps back in, when the vacation haze fades, and the complications of two very different New York lives press down on us.
But right now, with her in my arms, I know one thing for certain: I don’t want to return to the version of me that existed before she entered my life.
That version didn’t laugh like this. He didn’t stay up all night talking about dreams and fears. He didn’t feel this bone-deep pull every time a woman looked at him. And he certainly never slow-danced wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt and neon-orange Crocs.
Because of her, I’ve laughed more in the past week than I probably have in the past two years combined. She makes everything feel brighter, bigger, and worth risking.
For the first time in my life, I’m not sure I want to play it safe anymore.
“I gotta be honest,” I break the silence. “This is my first time slow dancing.”
She pulls back just enough to look up at me, surprised. “We danced on our first night here…”
“But that wasn’t slow dancing. Not like this.”
She blinks. “So you’re telling me the great Milo Reyes has never slow-danced in his entire life?”
I nod. “Never had a reason before. Never wanted to hold someone like this.”
Her expression softens into something tender and unguarded. “And now?”
“Now I have you,” I brush my lips against her temple. “And I’m glad my first time is with you.”
I feel her smile against my chest. “Me too.”
We keep moving in small sways that barely qualify as dancing but feel like everything. Every touch from her suddenly feels amplified. I just know this woman is going to ruin me.
She’s sunshine and storm clouds all at once, and I want to stand under both until she consumes me whole.
I think I’m falling, and for the first time in my life, I’m not sure I want to stop.
She must feel the shift in me because she tilts her head back again, eyes searching mine. “What are you thinking? You’ve got an intense stare going on.”
I swallow hard. “I’m thinking about how soft your skin feels and how much I want to take you back to the villa right now to spend the night reminding you that fourteen days with you still isn’t enough…”
Her pupils dilate, and her breath hitches. “Milo—”
“But we’re finishing this dance first,” I cut her off, my thumb still stroking her back. “Because I like holding you like this. I like feeling your breath against me. I like knowing everyone in this room can see you’re with me.”
“Are you forgetting that you got down on one knee earlier and proposed to me in front of most of these people?” She quirks a brow.
“Didn’t forget.” I shrug nonchalantly.
How could any man forget proposing to a woman as beautiful as Sienna Harlow?
Sienna laughs and rests her head back against my chest, right over my thundering heart. It’s silent for a moment before she speaks again.
“What’s the one memory you return to when everything feels too heavy?” she asks softly, her voice barely carrying over the music.
I take a moment, letting the question settle.
“When I was twenty-six and quit my corporate job to build Reyes Tech,” I answer, my voice low between us.
“I put every last dollar of my savings into it. I lived on ramen in a tiny studio that smelled of stale coffee and damp. I was constantly stressed, barely sleeping, convinced I was going to fail spectacularly. But it reminds me how far I’ve come.
That even the scariest leaps can lead somewhere worth landing. ”
Sienna listens without interrupting, her thumb gently stroking my neck’s pulse. When I finish, she lets out a small, thoughtful hum and tilts her head to look at me.
“You know,” she says softly. “I sometimes forget we have an age gap. Seven years, right? It doesn’t feel like it. You don’t feel older… you just feel steady. Like you’ve already survived the hard parts, and you’re still willing to jump anyway.”
I nod, pulling her a fraction closer. “Seven years. Not that it matters when you’re this close to me.”
She laughs softly, the sound vibrating pleasantly against my chest. “Smooth, Milo. But seriously, does the age gap between us ever bother you? You were my age when you started building your empire, and sometimes I feel like I’m too immature—”
She’s worried about this? About me seeing her as too young, too wild, too unfinished?
The thought twists something protective in my chest.
Because the truth is the opposite.
Sienna’s chaos is what drew me in. It’s the way she dreams big and runs toward the unknown without first calculating the risk.
And fuck if that doesn’t make me want her even more.
“It doesn’t bother me,” I admit, my lips brushing her temple.
“It turns me on, if I’m honest. You still see the world as full of possibilities, not spreadsheets and board meetings.
That energy… it reminds me of what it felt like before I got jaded.
You make me feel younger just by being next to me. ”
Her eyes search mine, a playful glint in them. “So, our age gap is hot to you, huh?”
I chuckle, dipping my head to brush a teasing kiss just below her ear. “Definitely hot. I like knowing I can steady you… and then watch you light the whole damn world on fire anyway.”
She bites her lip as a flush creeps up her neck. “God, that’s annoyingly sexy. You’re making it really hard to remember why I ever thought running was safer than staying.”
My chest tightens at her admission. She’s scared. I can feel it in the slight tremble of her fingers and the way her breath catches. But she’s still here, letting me hold her, and that trust… it’s more intoxicating than anything I’ve ever known.
Looking at her, I can’t help but think I want to be the man she deserves.
The one steady enough for her chaos and wild enough for her dreams. Seven years between us suddenly feels like nothing, like the perfect amount of time to have lived enough, built enough, and lost enough to know exactly how rare someone like Sienna is.
The song ends, but we don’t move right away. Sienna looks up at me, then rises onto her toes and kisses me softly. When she pulls back, she’s smiling like she’s keeping the sweetest secret.
“Come on,” she finally says, tugging my hand with a mischievous grin. “I think it’s time we head back to the villa. I can’t look at you in that pineapple shirt for another second without wanting to rip it off and trace my tongue along every inch of you.”
I follow her without hesitation, my fingers laced tightly with hers.
Because wherever Sienna Harlow goes, I’m starting to realize I’ll gladly follow.