Chapter 6
CALLUM
SUPERESTRELLA - Aitana
The night before the wedding, everyone was invited to a beautiful dinner in the garden of the villa. It was the first proper social gathering where the mixing of families and friends became unavoidable.
Sofia’s mother opened the door. She looked like an older version of her daughter—same cheekbones, same elegant but intimidating energy.
They hadn’t expected to become friends with Sofia when they ambushed her in Ericeira two years ago, but now she was one of the trio’s go-to people anytime they needed scientific insight or brutal honesty. A very valuable ally.
“Nice to meet you,” Sofia’s mother said in broken English, motioning for them to go through.
Callum had let Asma style him, which was probably the only reason he looked semi-decent. A crisp white linen shirt—like half the men there—and matching pants.
Everyone had been asked to wear white for the pre-wedding ceremony.
It was one of the Moroccan traditions Ilias insisted on keeping: the guests in white, the bride in vivid colors so all eyes would naturally find her.
If he understood one thing about Sofia in those two years, is that being perceived ranked somewhere between public speaking and death on her list of fears.
She would rather melt into the garden shadows than stand at the center of the celebration.
Every time Callum had watched Sofia speak in public, she had been flawless—calm voice, sharp answers, effortless confidence.
People always left those conferences convinced she enjoyed the spotlight.
But she had admitted to him once that she hated every second of it.
She preferred the quiet certainty of the lab, the controlled chaos of her office, or small tours from the boat where she could explain things without a hundred strangers staring at her.
As Callum looked around to find the groom and the bride, he noticed the garden bathed in the warm glow of string lights and lanterns in rich Moroccan colors.
A quartet played soft classical music in the corner, their melodies weaving through the night air.
The smell of grilled meat and spices lingered in the air like a promise.
It was tasteful and modern, in that effortless way Sofia always managed to pull off. Callum grabbed a flute of sparkling wine, trying not to look too stiff as he looked around for Alejandra.
Then laughter erupted from the far corner of the garden—loud, unfiltered, and very much not ladylike.
He turned.
Sofia, the only one wearing a vibrant shade of red, Alejandra, Ilias’ sister and cousin, and another woman were all bent in half laughing like they were about to collapse. No fake giggles. No polite chuckles. This was real, belly-aching, mascara-running hilarity.
His eyes zeroed in on Alejandra. Operation “Figure out if Alejandra López Romero might possibly flirt back” started now.
She wore a white maxi dress that clung to her body like it had been tailored by the gods.
Sweetheart neckline, a small cut-out under her bust showing off the golden skin of her firm abdomen.
Her collarbones caught the light every time she moved.
Her long, black hair was wild and wavy, like she’d just stepped out of the sea.
She wore gold earrings and a simple bracelet around her right bicep that somehow made her look even more like a sun-kissed warrior queen.
Callum immediately ducked behind his wine flute, suddenly extremely interested in the bubbles.
Don’t be a fucking creep, Callum.
And yet, there he was, very much creeping.
He hadn’t felt like this in years. Alejandra was the kind of woman who made everything around her feel electric.
“Hello, nerd trio,” Ilias appeared suddenly, grinning like a golden retriever who’d just crashed a dinner party. He was one of those rare guys who could walk into any room and make it lighter, easier. He threw an arm around Callum’s and Asma’s shoulders. “You having fun?”
“We just got here,” Leif said.
“I mean, in Tarifa. You should’ve come surfing. You had three Olympians ready to teach you,” Ilias joked. “I mean, I’m amazing. Ale and Amira can be dictators, though.”
Callum smiled to himself. Alejandra can dictate me any day.
“They sound fun,” Asma joked.
“Mmmh, I don’t know about that,” Ilias replied with a wink. “Oh, and if you see some old man taking photos of you from behind a bush, it’s Ale and Carlos’ dad. He got a new camera and acts like he’s ten.”
They all laughed, then Ilias wandered off again.
“I’m gonna grab some food,” Callum said, keeping it casual, even though by the looks both Asma and Leif sent him, he wasn’t being that smooth. He'd spotted Alejandra at the buffet, alone, stuffing her mouth.
This was his moment.
Play it cool. You are cool. You are awesome. You are a catch. Great sex material. Award-winning cuddler. Probably.
“Refueling after surfing?” he asked as he stepped beside her.
Alejandra looked up mid-bite, her cheeks full, eyes flashing with surprise and then with mischief. Green. Bright. Extremely dangerous.
She swallowed—God, even that was attractive—and tilted her head up at him.
“Takes a lot of energy,” she said. “And you? Recovering from too much tanning?”
She passed him a plate without being asked, and he grabbed it with a quiet thanks.
“I spent half the time under an umbrella,” he replied. “Didn’t want to end up like Leif. Guy’s basically a lobster.”
Alejandra chuckled, and something in his chest tightened at the sound. “Those burns look painful.” Her gaze had found Leif and Asma talking with Carlos and Amira. “Still thinking surfing’s not for you?”
“I haven’t said it wasn’t for me,” he said, scooping couscous, jamón, and focaccia onto his plate. The food was a beautiful mash-up of Moroccan, Spanish, and Italian flavors. Just like Sofia and Ilias.
“Then what was it?” she teased, cocking an eyebrow.
“I prefer the ocean calm,” he said quietly. “I’m more of a swimmer than a surfer.”
“Too bad. Surfing’s fun,” she replied. Then, “So what do you do when you're not busy nerding out?”
“Do you even know what we do at Lamina?”
She waved him off. “Something like stopping evil corporations? Or busting bad guys named Thomas?”
Callum laughed. “Close enough. I’m an accountant. I track data leaks and internal operations.”
Her face twisted in mock horror. “So, like, numbers?”
“Yeah, numbers.”
“Ew.”
“Not as hot as surfing, I get it,” he said, daring a smirk.
“If that was a compliment, it was smooth, nerd.”
“I try my best.”
“You played sports, right?” she asked, shifting as they moved away from the buffet. “No one just looks like you without working for it.”
“Looks like me?”
Alejandra grinned. “Come on, you know you have an athletic body.”
“I used to swim. Got a scholarship to Harvard.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“You’re smiling. That’s suspicious.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t handle you being academic-smart and athlete-hot at the same time. It’s excessive. I only have room in my life for one overachieving goddess, and that’s Sofia.”
“That sounded like a compliment, Alejandra.”
“It was a very annoyed affirmation,” she said with a shrug, hiding a real smile behind her wine glass.
“Did you study something?”
“Yeah. Sports recovery and training. Online. I couldn’t attend properly with competitions and training, but I powered through.”
“Well, then you’re smart, too. Why the shock about me?”
She looked honestly puzzled. “I just didn’t expect you guys to look the way you do.”
“I never had the body for skinny genius. When I was a kid, I was bigger than many of my friends back home, and even after I stopped swimming, the build stuck around.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re saying this,” she gestured dramatically to his torso, “is just leftovers?”
“I work out. Functional training. Still swim, just for fun.”
“That explains it,” she said, chewing slowly. The way her lips wrapped around each bite, it was so not helping.
A pause. The chatter, the music, the clink of silverware faded into the background. It was just the two of them now.
“You off-season?” he asked, needing to say something or risk staring like a perv.
“Yeah. Comp starts in four months, in January. Pipeline, Hawaii.”
“You placed second last year, right?”
“Yep,” she popped the p, sounding way bitter than he expected. “How do you know?”
“I might have followed you at the Olympics and then kept tabs on you over the years,” he admitted, trying to not sound like the creep he felt.
Alejandra hummed, smiling now. “Well, this year, I’m winning everything. USL title and Olympics.”
The confidence in her voice was intoxicating. She knew her worth.
“Are you already qualified for the Olympics?”
“Not yet.”
“You seem like someone who always gets what she wants.”
She bit her bottom lip, eyes locked on his. For one second—just one—he was certain she was about to say something bold. Maybe tell him to meet her after dinner. Maybe grab his shirt and kiss him.
Instead, she gave a slow smile. “You need confidence in the water.”
“It suits you,” he said, leaning slightly closer. The buffet line had shifted, and so had they. Now only a breath apart.
She tilted her head up to meet his gaze. Smaller than he expected. Wilder. And ten times more dangerous.
She didn’t back away.
He was one heartbeat away from kissing her, or dragging her into the villa for something completely inappropriate, when the music shifted and Sofia and Ilias stepped forward for their welcome speech.
The spell broke.
They both turned, laughter and applause erupting around them. But Callum didn’t forget that look. And judging by the way Alejandra lingered by his side, neither did she.