Chapter 2
CALLUM
Me Fui de Vacaciones - Bad Bunny
As the sun kissed his face the moment they stepped out of the apartment, Callum closed his eyes and took it in. The light in Tarifa hit differently, low and golden, heavy with salt, reflecting off whitewashed walls and pale stone. It sank into his skin instead of bouncing off it.
Growing up in Wales, then moving to Boston, and later living in London had somehow trained him to forget that the sun was warm, that it could feel this good, like a hand resting on your shoulder instead of a mirage behind grey clouds.
Taking a break from work—even though Asma hadn’t shut up about new projects during the entire flight down to Sevilla and the car ride to Tarifa—was something he truly needed.
The air smelled like sunscreen and seaweed, carried inland by a constant breeze that fluttered the linen curtains behind them.
His therapist said he was heading toward burnout.
So yes, a vacation wasn’t just suggested, it was necessary.
A Spanish–Italian–Moroccan wedding in the South of Spain?
Even better. An excuse to stop thinking about spreadsheets and projections for once.
The day before, he had closed the door to his London office with a rush of relief, knowing he had a long weekend ahead free from meetings.
“I was thinking about the Tremor project coming—” Asma started, lifting a bag far too elegant for sand.
The leather was too pristine and absolutely doomed to have grains taking up permanent residence in every seam the moment they stepped onto the beach.
For all he knew, Asma was a London girl through and through, and that bag made her stand out like a sore thumb in a place that demanded wilderness.
Callum turned slowly. Leif was already safe, already heading toward Sofia, who waited at the end of the small porch.
She was ready to show them around the main house, where she would be staying with her family, and where the wedding celebrations would take place.
Placing his hands on Asma’s shoulders, Callum squeezed gently, firmly.
“As a friend, this is your final warning. If I hear anything about work in the next seventy-two hours, I am going to lose my fucking mind, Asma. So please, let’s enjoy this vacation.”
Asma rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll just talk to Leif about it.”
Callum sighed. “You could also just… not talk about it. Take a fucking break.”
“I can’t. We can’t. It’s our business.”
His entire body recoiled at the reminder.
Lamina Research Integrity Group had been her idea from the start.
Leif and him had followed because, at the time, it sounded like an amazing idea to use his degree for good.
But right now, Leif looked like he was on the verge of quitting altogether, if only to avoid acknowledging that Asma ignored every single attempt at flirting.
And Callum himself was about one bad meeting away from buying a one-way ticket somewhere warm, where the sun existed and numbers didn’t.
He didn’t reply. He knew better than to speak when nothing good would come out. Instead, he grabbed one of the towels Sofia offered them and followed her and Leif down the sandy path toward the main house.
Since starting Lamina, money had flooded in fast. He’d grown used to things his younger self never would have imagined—his London apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows, tailored suits, restaurants where prices weren’t printed.
But this place? This was something else entirely.
A sprawling Spanish villa perched above the dunes, white walls glowing against the blue, with an infinity pool melting seamlessly into the horizon.
Tall grasses bent in the wind, and the Atlantic stretched endlessly beyond them, visible from every corner of the house, breathing in slow, steady waves.
As they stepped into the garden, he spotted a group of five lounging near the pool. Their skin had that unmistakable glow of people who lived outdoors. Not like him, who probably glowed with the pale intensity of office fluorescents.
“Ilias is there with Ale, Carlos, Ghita and Amira,” Sofia explained, guiding them closer.
His attention sparked instantly at the name Ale, his eyes snapping toward the woman propped on her elbows, wet black hair slicked down her back, emerald eyes sharp and unapologetic as they lifted to meet his.
Olympic gold medalist.
Two-time USL champion.
Pro surfer.
Alejandra López Romero.
Three years ago, bored out of his mind after a long day at work and a dinner with partners, he’d turned on the Olympics, expecting nothing in particular.
Instead, he stumbled across surfing, streaming live from Teahupo?o in French Polynesia.
From then on, he spent whatever free time he had watching it.
Even before the Paris Olympics, it didn’t matter whether it was the Summer or Winter Games, if there was sport on, he was tuned in. He had always been athletic, drawn to competition in any form, even after the injury that had shattered his own dreams.
Alejandra had won the heat, and his attention had been completely captured by her. From that moment on, he followed her on Instagram, nursing a quiet crush from afar. Whenever someone brought up celebrity crushes, she was always his answer—the most stunning Spanish woman he had ever seen.
Meeting her there felt like destiny. He hadn’t even known she and Sofia were friends until he’d seen photos of them together on Alejandra’s profile.
That wedding suddenly felt like an opportunity to turn a distant crush into something real, though he had no idea if she had a boyfriend (none that social media revealed), or if he even stood a chance.
“Let’s go introduce the nerd trio to the surfers,” Sofia beamed.
As soon as he noticed them, Ilias stood and walked toward them with his usual smug-but-friendly smile. He bro-handshook Leif and Callum, then hugged Asma. He greeted them with a “hello, nerds,” that made Asma scoff, annoyed at the name.
Callum didn’t mind. Ilias was a good sport, with always a bright smile and a joke to give.
“How was the flight?” Ilias asked, squeezing Leif’s shoulder, who stiffened slightly; he’d never been particularly touchy. Ilias, on the other hand, definitely was.
“Good,” Leif and him answered.
“Terrible.” Asma informed, prompting a laugh from Sofia and Ilias. “The hostess kept bumping into my shoulder with her hips.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” a voice cut in.
He’d shamelessly watched too many of her interviews not to recognize it.
Alejandra’s voice was low and warm, textured, throaty, the kind that wrapped around him—and his cock—and made him think indecent things.
And by the slow, assessing way her emerald eyes traced him, like a surfer reading a new wave, she might have been thinking indecent thoughts too.
If that was true, and not just his delusion, he would’ve gladly let her.
“Nerd trio,” Sofia pointed to the group in front of them, “this is Alejandra, my best friend and maid of honor; Amira, my sister-in-law; Ghita, Amira and Ilias’ cousin, and Carlos, childhood friend and Alejandra’s brother.”
Amira was tall, her curls wild and sunlit, her smile effortless.
Ghita looked like a smaller version of her, with bright brown eyes that stood out against her softer features.
Carlos was Alejandra’s mirror—same sharp jaw, same dark eyes, same black hair.
Genetics had done its work beautifully. Families like theirs always made him reflect on his own childhood—how quiet it had been.
No cousins, no aunts or uncles. Just him, his mother, and his taid—his grandfather.
“And these are Leif, Asma, and Callum,” Sofia continued.
They exchanged handshakes.
When it was his turn with Alejandra, the fact that she stood there in a bikini did nothing to help him push those very inappropriate thoughts aside.
“Nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Alejandra, but you can call me Ale.”
“Callum,” he replied, holding her hand just a little longer than necessary. “Why? Don’t you like Alejandra?”
Her eyes widened slightly as she tilted her head. “How did an English speaking man nail my Spanish name like that?”
“I have many talents,” he smirked, omitting the fact that he had been practicing how to pronounce her name since he had known they were going to be at the same wedding.
Outwardly, he probably looked confident, smooth. Inside, he was shaking in his boots, pulse loud in his ears, and he was almost grateful when Ilias called for Alejandra, pointing toward the ocean where a clean swell was starting to roll in.
“Do you surf?” she asked. It sounded like a generalized question, but her eyes were set on him.
“No, we don’t,” he replied for everyone, knowing perfectly Asma’s aversion for anything athletic and Leif’s rejection of anything mildly dangerous. “My knee doesn’t like too many pop ups.”
Alejandra nodded slowly, her lips almost forming a pout. “What a pity.” She shrugged, then smiled. “Well, see you later, Callum of the Nerd Trio. It was good meeting you.”
“See you later, Alejandra.”
She walked toward a small shack stacked with boards, and he forced himself to focus back on Sofia, Asma, and Leif.
“I’m going to join them,” Sofia announced. “You’re welcome to do whatever you want. You’ll meet everyone else tonight at the rehearsal dinner.”
They nodded.
“I think we’re going to the beach too,” Asma said brightly.
“Put sunscreen on,” Sofia warned, pointing at Leif and Callum. “You two look like you’ve never seen the sun.”
Callum rolled his eyes. The last thing he needed was to be reminded that his life happened indoors. He knew something had to change, he just didn’t know how yet. What did he even like besides Lamina?
Well. He had an idea.
He liked Spanish pro surfers with green eyes, black hair, and an ass that absolutely begged to be squeezed. He’d always been an ass man, and fucking hell if Alejandra didn’t have the best one he’d ever seen.
“Let’s go,” Asma chirped. “That Carlos is hot.”
He didn’t miss the groan that escaped Leif or the pitying look on Sofia’s face. Everyone saw the truth. Everyone except Asma. Callum patted Leif’s shoulder as Asma immediately started grilling Sofia about Carlos—his age, his job, everything.
“I swear to God,” Leif muttered, “I’m going to drown myself.”
“You could just tell her,” Callum offered.
Leif shot him a look.
“And are you going to tell Alejandra you’ve had a crush on her forever?”
“Before or after I take her to my room?” Callum lowered his voice, not wanting Sofia to hear his fake ass bragging. “Act, Leif. Or you’ll let every man take her.”
Leif scoffed but said nothing, as if his best friend knew he was putting on a show too, pretending to be confident, which he normally was. He was work-confident, not love-confident. Not since Vanessa, at least. Not since he’d put everything into that relationship and it had gone to shit.
Leif’s eyes followed Asma like gravity had already claimed him, a little bit like when he’d found Alejandra hoisting her shortboard onto her head and heading down to the beach.
Callum sighed, pitying his best friend.
Some people refused to save themselves.
The question was: was Callum one of them, or not?