thirty-seven #2
That shut him up. He nodded once, almost imperceptible, like he was tucking it away for later. But his silence wasn't ease—it was brittle.
By the time we reached the villa, the air between us felt heavier than the heat outside. I peeled away toward the bedroom without waiting for him, pulling clothes from the suitcase with clipped movements. A sundress, sandals, something simple.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him linger in the doorway like he wanted to say more. Instead, he tugged on a clean shirt, slid his phone from his pocket, and disappeared into the next room.
It didn't take long before I heard him—low voice, controlled, the edge of something strained. Phrases carried through the wall in pieces. "Wasn't supposed to... yeah, I know... I'll handle it."
Damage control.
Of course.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, hands shaking as I twisted my hair up. The dress fit fine, but I barely saw it. What I saw was a girl who'd run halfway across the world just to end up in the same place she always was—his secret, his liability, his staff.
And for the first time since we landed, the villa felt too big, too quiet, like it had been built to remind me exactly how alone I was in it.
The restaurant glowed golden in the dark, strings of lights looping between palm trees, music low and easy. It should've been perfect. The kind of place you wanted to linger, sip wine, kiss across the table.
But all I felt was tight.
Brooks kept trying, though. His smile didn't reach his eyes, but he was leaning in, saying things about the menu, about the wine list, like if he acted normal hard enough, it would make me forget what had just happened.
"They have sea bass here. You like sea bass?"
I kept my eyes on the page. "It's fine."
"It'll probably go good with that wine," he pressed, tone light. "What do you think?"
I nodded my head. My throat was too tight for food.
"Hey." He tilted his head, like he was trying to catch my eye. "I know what happened earlier upset you bu-."
I forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just tired."
He studied me for a long beat, then nodded, flagging down the waiter and ordering for both of us without asking. The confidence in his voice made the couple at the next table glance over. They smiled at him like they recognized him. Of course they did.
Once the waiter left, Brooks leaned his elbows on the table. "It was good running into Dan. He's harmless. Likes to talk too much, but—"
"Yeah." My fork scraped the plate. "Very friendly."
He frowned at my tone. "Amira—"
"You not what, I'm not fine and I'm not tired either." The words cut out of me before I could stop them. "Staff member? That's what you went with?"
His jaw tightened. "I was improvising."
I laughed softly, bitter. "You've always been good at that."
"Amira." His voice dipped lower, steady but sharp around the edges. "I told you—it's complicated. People in my father's circle... they don't always understand."
I finally looked up at him, anger catching in my chest. "They don't have to understand, but you didn't even try. You erased me before I could even open my mouth."
He exhaled hard, leaning back. "So what would you have had me do? Tell them you're my girlfriend? That we're on vacation together?"
"Yes," My voice cracked sharper than I meant. The violinist's bow slipped on a note. I lowered my tone, but it shook anyway. "The fact that even sounds like such a crazy concept to you. It took you nothing to look at me and act like I don't exist."
"Don't." His hand curled around his glass, knuckles white. "Don't say that."
"Then what do you call it?" My laugh was quiet, flat. "Because it sure as hell didn't look like caring. It looked like shame."
That made his face harden, the mask slipping. "Don't put that on me. You think this is easy? Being here with you, knowing any photo, any rumor could—"
"Could what?" I pushed. "Cost you something? God forbid it cost you something."
We locked eyes across the table, heat and fury crackling between us while people at the next table went still, pretending not to listen.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. My chest was heaving. His jaw worked, like he was biting back words he didn't want to say.
"You fought tooth and nail for me to trust you," I whispered, voice sharp and trembling. "To believe I was someone you actually wanted. Someone you could commit to. For what? Just so I could sit across from you like this—like I'm nothing?"
His face went stone still. He didn't answer.
The silence hollowed out my chest.
Finally, I shoved my chair back, the scrape of wood on tile loud enough to turn heads. "I can't do this."
"Amira—"
But I was already standing, napkin falling from my lap to the floor.
The restaurant blurred as I strode out, heart hammering, heat stinging my eyes. The night air hit me sharp and cool, but I barely felt it.
"Amira!"
His voice cut behind me, heavy footsteps following. I kept moving, sandals slapping against the cobblestone street, weaving past couples laughing over wine.
"Stop," he said, catching up, his hand closing lightly around my arm.
I jerked it back. "Let go off me."
People were looking now, but I didn't care. "You can't chase me outside and suddenly decide I matter. Be careful another one of your dad's friends could be watching."
His chest rose hard with his breath, jaw clenched. "You do matter. Dammit, you matter more than you think—"
"Then prove it, Brooks!" My voice cracked into the night. "Prove it when it's inconvenient. Prove it when people are watching. Not just when we're behind closed doors."
His mouth opened, then shut again. Like he had the words but couldn't let them out.
And that silence was worse than any answer.
I shook my head, tears burning. "That's what I thought."
I turned away, this time quicker, before he could stop me.
"Amira!"
His voice echoed after me as I pushed down the narrow street, arms crossed tight over my chest, tears stinging hot at the corners of my eyes.
I heard his shoes on the stones, steady and determined. He wasn't letting me go.
"Amira, wait—just—slow down."
I didn't.
We walked in tense silence, the cobblestones stretching longer than they should have, Mykonos still alive around us—bars spilling laughter, music pulsing from open doors. It all felt too loud, too bright, against the hollow ache in my chest.
At the edge of the path leading back up to the villa, he tried again. "It's complicated. I'm new to this situation-."
I cut him off with a bitter laugh. "Don't. Don't feed me that line. 'Complicated' is just your excuse for everything."
He raked a hand through his hair, frustration sparking across his face. "I'm trying to protect you."
"No, Brooks. You're protecting yourself."
The words hit, and he froze. His silence was louder than any denial.
By the time we reached the villa, my legs were trembling from equal parts anger and exhaustion, but I didn't slow. I shoved the door open and walked straight inside, leaving him standing at the threshold.
"Amira—"
I stopped halfway down the hall, my back to him. My voice came out low but steady. "I want to go home tomorrow."
Silence stretched, sharp and heavy.
"Amira—" he said again, softer this time, like he thought he could reel me back. I didn't give him the chance.
The spare bedroom door slammed shut behind me, rattling in its frame, final as a verdict.