Chapter 3
What to do when your crush won’t stop asking about you
Alex
There were birds singing in my room. Why were there birds singing?
I groaned and stretched, my skin scraping against sheets that felt too smooth compared to my cotton set at home.
The room smelled off too, like expensive floral fabric softener instead of my dye-free detergent.
I lifted the edge of my eye mask and opened one eye to assess the situation.
It was still dim, early morning light creeping past the blackout shades that weren’t quite dark enough.
The birds got louder, trilling the same few notes in an artificially flawless rhythm. My sleep-deprived head finally caught up. Oh! I was going to have a few words for Enzo when I saw him again. I pulled my eye mask off, ripped out one earplug, and rolled over to reach for the singing phone.
“Yes?” I croaked, then cleared my throat. “This is Alex.”
“Ms. Alex,” Camila’s familiar accent sounded on the other end, “Mr. Dominik said you wanted a wake-up call at seven-thirty?”
“Thank you, Camila,” I pushed myself up and swung my feet over the edge of the bed. My internal clock felt completely scrambled. Between the different mattress and unfamiliar sounds, I’d probably gotten four hours of actual sleep.
“He also said no Alex?”
I rubbed at my forehead. “Oh! Yes, please just call me Sasha around Finn.”
“Of course, Ms. Sasha. I’m making panqueques y huevos for breakfast unless you want something different.” I smiled despite my grogginess.
“Camila, I hope the boys are paying you a lot of money to act like their mother,” I teased gently. Camila was especially dear to us all. I suspected Enzo had grown attached to the fact that she was from Argentina like his mother.
“No preocupes, Ms. Sasha. I still make them bathe themselves and take out the trash.” I nearly cackled before agreeing to be downstairs within thirty minutes.
The moment I hung up, unfamiliar silence pressed against my ears. At home, I could predict every sound: the neighbor’s dog at 6:47, the garbage truck on Thursdays. Here my mind kept trying to decipher sounds it didn’t recognize.
I pulled the other earplug out and dropped it on the nightstand before straightening my phone’s charging cable so it lay parallel to the table edge. Muscle memory from years of creating order wherever I landed.
I dragged myself to the bathroom to wash off the party and too-strong fabric softener.
I pulled my raspberry pink hair on top of my head and secured it.
I didn’t have time to wash and dry and style it.
Okay, I had time, but I didn’t want to deal with the unfamiliar blow dryer and products that wouldn’t work the same way.
After scrubbing my skin, I wrapped an oversized towel around my body and worked my fingers through the slightly damp strands before braiding them in two low braids.
I moved to the open closet where Camila had left clothing and outfits that normally lived in my usual guest room.
Some were absurd. Ball gowns from Hollywood parties where Dom and Enzo had dragged me along.
There were a handful of more casual options and a couple of bathing suits with a cover-up.
I picked through them methodically, fingers automatically organizing by color.
I chose an electric blue longline bikini top and matching high-rise bottoms, substantial fabric that covered what I felt awkward about while still looking stylish by a Hollywood pool.
I pulled the sheer neon yellow button-down over the top and fastened it around my waist, the bright colors making my skin look less washed out.
Finally, I pulled on my oversized Panama hat and hooked my giant sunglasses into the bikini top. If I was staying in LA, I was taking advantage of their pool.
“Morning, Camila,” I sang as I entered the kitchen where she worked at the stove. The familiar smell and sound of breakfast being made and the reality of longer time away from my desk had reversed my mood completely.
“Good morning, Ms. Sasha,” Camila called back. “Breakfast on the patio?”
“That sounds amazing,” I picked up a glass and filled it with ice before pouring coffee over the top, watching the dark liquid swirl and lighten.
Iced was the only way I took coffee. Hot drinks made me feel like I was sweating from the inside out.
I slowly added oatmilk, stirring it with a long spoon until the color was right.
“No trouble at all,” Camila grinned, handing me a metal straw. “Go relax. The boys are still working out.”
“Of course they are,” I rolled my eyes affectionately and headed toward the sun streaming through open patio doors.
I slid my dark glasses over my eyes and settled into one of the loungers, which was the precise right temperature, warm from the sun but not burning. I wiggled my toes in the sunlight, a childhood habit to release extra energy, and took another sip of my iced coffee.
The sun was perfect. The air was perfect, maybe chilly for Hollywood, but I was used to colder climates.
Even the faint sounds of traffic and landscapers were perfect, creating a soft background hum that helped my brain settle.
I closed my eyes and let my shoulders drop for what felt like the first time in weeks, the stress of engagement party prep finally dissipating.
I heard Camila’s voice as she greeted someone else, and I was surprised Dom and Enzo were back from the gym so soon. Dom’s voice responded, followed by the refrigerator opening and closing. I settled back more, letting the sun warm my skin.
“Bit cold to be sunbathin’, ain’t it?”
Not Dom. Definitely not Enzo. I cracked an eye open to see Finn towering over me.
I took advantage of my sunglasses’ privacy and let myself really look at him.
Compression leggings and a clingy performance shirt that showed off lean muscle.
A blue headband held his hair, again in that casually messy top knot, back from his face.
Patches of sweat on his shirt suggested he’d been pushing himself hard.
The tattoo on his left arm was visible now, something dark and intricate like wings or feathers, covering scarring on his upper arm. He took a gulp from his water bottle and waited for my response, copper eyes studying me with an intensity that made my stomach flip.
“It’s not that cold if you’re used to it,” I fought to keep my voice level as his gaze blazed an obvious trail down my body and back up.
The look wasn’t just casual appreciation.
It was hungry, interested, and made me hyperaware of every curve, every inch of skin the bikini revealed. Heat pooled in my belly.
“Just get back from a run?” I forced myself to ask, needing to fill the silence before I did something stupid. I was middling at small talk on a good day, and right now my brain was short-circuiting.
“Yeah.” He scanned the yard, and I could feel the exact moment his attention shifted away from me. “Alex up yet?”
My face burned. Why was he so obsessed with meeting Alex? Why did it matter so much to him? And why did hearing him ask about “Alex” while I was sitting right here make my chest feel tight and hollow?
“Couldn’t say,” I ground out, sitting up abruptly and taking another sip of coffee. “Already gone, probably. More important things to do.”
Finn snorted, and it was all I could do not to roll my eyes. He was certainly more arrogant when he wasn’t practically dying from the effects of his traumatic brain injury. The dismissive sound made anger spike through me.
I knew all about his accident. When Enzo told me about everything Finn had been through, my heart had actually ached over him losing his career and dealing with the aftermath of such a traumatic accident.
Maybe part of me still felt that way, but his obvious problem with “Alex” was starting to override my sympathy.
What had I ever done to him? I’d dropped everything to help Dom and Enzo with their party.
I’d taken care of him personally when he was barely keeping it together last night.
I’d been nothing but kind, and he was standing here asking about “Alex” like he couldn’t wait to tear into someone he’d never even met.
The more I sat there looking at him through my sunglasses, the angrier I got. It must have shown on my face when he turned back to me.
“You alright?” His brow wrinkled, and for a moment he looked genuinely concerned.
“You’re blocking the sun,” I snapped before turning and settling back in the lounger, closing my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at him or his perfect, Alex-hating face.
He stood there a moment longer, his presence like a weight, before I heard his footsteps retreating toward the house. Good. Let him go find someone else to judge.