CHAPTER FIVE
LUNA
The Hawaiian sun was merciless. A molten crown in the sky, it streamed through the gauzy curtains of my suite, gilding the room in a cruel, wakeful light.
Heat licked over my skin before I even opened my eyes, the air heavy with the scent of frangipani, and something sweetly tropical that didn’t belong to me.
I lay still at first, blinking at the carved ceiling fan lazily circling above.
Not my room. Not my city. No familiar hum of Sydney traffic.
Instead, the rhythmic hiss of the ocean reached me, its voice muffled by distance but relentless all the same.
It felt strange, as if the tide was whispering secrets meant for me alone.
Then last night came rushing back, sharp and invasive, like stepping into a wave that knocked the air from my lungs.
The boy.
Those eyes, dark enough to swallow light. That smirk, too slow, too knowing. He’d worn arrogance like it was stitched into his skin, a casual cruelty in the way he spoke, as if words were weapons and I was target practice.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the memory away, but my mind betrayed me, looping the moment again and again.
“Careful, princess.”
“I thought you were enjoying the view.”
I’d wanted to slap him. Or… maybe I hadn’t. My stomach tightened at the memory, at the strange flutter that had no right to be there. He’d been rude. Condescending. Dangerous in a way that made my pulse trip and stumble.
Dragging myself upright, I let my legs dangle over the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped like a sigh beneath me, still clinging to my body heat. My limbs felt weighted, sticky with jet lag, but my mind was wide awake, alive with unwanted images.
Today was the wedding. Today I’d meet Marcus, my mother’s soon-to-be husband, and Riley, the boy who would become my stepbrother.
A shiver slipped over my skin despite the warmth.
I pushed myself off the bed and crossed the room, the hardwood floor echoing my movements. The bathroom door gleamed faintly in the quiet, a small promise of peace.
The shower was cool, almost bracing, but it did nothing to quiet the restless ache inside my chest. Droplets clung to my long hair as I towel-dried it, catching the sunlight like tiny glass pearls.
My reflection stared back at me from the wide, gold-framed mirror above the vanity.
My eyes, usually a clear, steady blue, looked shadowed, dilated.
I looked like someone who had seen something she shouldn’t…
and someone who couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I shook my head, trying to dispel the thoughts and slipped into a pale yellow sundress, something light enough to breathe in, something that said I was here for breakfast and a peaceful morning. My hands moved slower than they should, my mind tripping over a question I didn’t want to answer.
What if the boy was at the restaurant?
The resort was sprawling but not infinite.
Three pale towers wrapped around a lagoon, gardens stitched with winding stone paths, pools layered like staircases.
From my balcony, I could see everything: the sweep of manicured lawns, the glassy turquoise water of the infinity pool, the private stretch of beach where palm trees bent toward the sand like they were eavesdropping.
Sunlight fractured across the waves in shards of gold, almost blinding.
Somewhere below, the clink of cutlery mingled with soft music drifting from the terrace restaurant.
It should have been paradise. But paradise can feel like a cage when you know who’s sharing it with you.
I breathed in deep, drawing in sea air that settled thickly in my lungs, as if warning me to stay alert.
But today wasn’t about a boy I’d only met once. It was about my mother, her happiness, the life she wanted. I repeated the words until they almost sounded true.
And yet, in the quiet place no one could touch, a traitorous voice whispered, “What if you see him again?”
When I finally stepped out of my suite, the air wrapped around me like clouds and heat, already heavy, already tasting faintly of sugar and exotic spices.
The fragrance of tropical blossoms drifted lazily through the open corridors, thick and intoxicating, as if the island itself wanted to keep me here, lulled and pliant.
The resort was waking. Shadows slipped away from the manicured gardens, replaced by the gleam of sun on emerald leaves.
From somewhere beyond the palm-lined paths came the distant clatter of cutlery, the low hum of breakfast chatter, the soft splash of water as someone slipped into one of the pools.
In the daylight, the place looked like it had been poured from a dream: wide terraces dressed in cream stone, glass balustrades catching the light, pools stacked like mirrors spilling into one another before vanishing toward the horizon.
I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead. Each step toward the main lobby was measured, brisk, the rhythm of my sandals on the stone a steady beat against the rapid flutter in my chest. Every turn in the corridor, every passing cluster of guests sent my pulse skipping.
Half-expecting. Half-dreading.
And fully certain I’d recognize him the second I saw him.
But there was no sign of him, nor of the girl who had been pinned beneath him so easily the night before. My breath left me in a quiet exhale, though relief was an uneasy thing. It felt temporary.
The open-air breakfast pavilion sat like a jewel at the edge of the resort’s bluff, framed by columns wrapped in blooming vines. White linen tablecloths fluttered faintly in the morning breeze, and beyond them the ocean stretched out in endless, glittering blue.
My mother was already there.
She sat at a corner table overlooking the water, her robe a pale champagne silk that caught the light, her blonde hair smoothed back into a perfect twist as if the day’s events couldn’t ruffle her.
A cup of coffee rested in her hands, steam curling in delicate threads, and she smiled when she saw me, serene, composed, untouched by jet lag or anything as petty as nerves.
“Morning, darling.” Her voice was the kind that made you want to lean closer. Soft. Certain. “Sleep well?”
I hesitated. Just a flicker, but it was there.
“Mostly.” I curved my lips into something that looked like a smile and prayed she wouldn’t see the truth behind it.
I wasn’t about to tell her about my midnight wanderings…
or the boy who’d made me wish I’d stayed locked in my room.
That encounter was already sealed away, deep and private, where it would stay. “Jet lag’s still a bit of a thing.”
“Understandable,” she said with a sympathetic tilt of her head. “But you look lovely. Come, sit. I’ve ordered fresh fruit and pastries for you.”
I slipped into the chair opposite her, the sea wind brushing against my bare arms. The table was already set, bright wedges of pineapple, papaya so ripe its scent curled upward, a basket of golden croissants still warm enough to melt the butter.
We ate in an easy rhythm, her voice filling the space between the quiet clink of cutlery. She spoke with a bubbling excitement she rarely showed, her eyes catching the light when she described the hours ahead.
“The bridal suite is ready,” she announced, her voice a soft rush of anticipation. “We can head there after this. All the ladies will be joining us. It’ll be a morning of champagne, pampering, and getting ready. It’s going to be beautiful.”
Her happiness warmed me, smoothing the edges of last night’s memory. This, her joy, was why I was here. Not for strangers. Not for the flicker of danger I’d tasted in the boy’s smile.
For her.
For her new beginning.
And mine.
After breakfast, we made our way through the resort’s labyrinth of hushed corridors and sunlit terraces toward the bridal suite.
The path curved along the upper level, giving me glimpses of the lagoon below, its turquoise glass surface broken only by the slow drift of paddleboards and the occasional shimmer of a diving fish.
The suite sat at the far end of a private wing, a set of double doors carved with curling vines and fitted with golden handles. When my mother pushed them open, light spilled out like water, flooding the hall and pulling me inside.
It was enormous. A sanctuary of soft ivory walls and polished hardwood, the air fresh with the crisp scent of lilies and orchids arranged in crystal vases on every surface.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the ocean beyond, sunlight bouncing off the sea and scattering diamonds across the ceiling.
The space had been transformed into a kind of bridal atelier.
Makeup stations lined one side, their mirrors glowing with warm bulbs; sleek hair tools gleamed atop linen-covered counters; racks of silk and lace dresses hung in careful rows, their skirts brushing the polished floor.
“This is beautiful, Mum,” I breathed, unable to hide the awe in my voice. My eyes moved from the sweeping curtains to the delicate silver trays holding champagne flutes, each glass beaded with condensation.
“Marcus insisted.” A flush of rose spread across her cheeks, making her look almost girlish. “He wants everything to be perfect.” Her gaze caught mine, and in that moment she looked incandescent. “And it will be, darling. It truly will be.”
The words held a quiet certainty that made my chest ache.
My phone buzzed against the inside of my dress pocket.
The sound sliced through the air like a blade.
For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
It wasn’t just a notification. Not anymore.
My had slid into my pocket, dragging my phone out slightly. My gaze slid to the screen.
The number that stared back at me was too familiar.
The smile on my face faltered, almost slipped, but I caught it, forcing it back into place. My heart, though, didn’t listen. It beat too fast, too loud, a drum against my ribs.
Not now. Not here.