Chapter 14 #2
As if she could read my mind, the heart-throbbing Donna came half out of the water, dripping wet like a siren… Brought her hands up to her breasts. And squeezed the water out of her illegally tiny bikini.
My blood boiled hotter.
I gave in. Raised my brow.
The smallest smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
I kept my hands crossed over my lap, hiding the hard-on in my swimming trunks.
Fuck, I was whipped.
The rest of the week passed by no differently.
After skipping out on the last-day waterfall hike, I came down at breakfast from my room to a pleasant surprise.
Francesca had also skipped out on it, though I doubted she would’ve if she knew I’s stayed behind too.
Because that meant she was alone with me.
And as much as she gave into this little game we had, I knew she was terrified of being alone with me.
Because then, she couldn’t hide how she really felt about me.
When we were alone, she was different.
Not softer.
But stronger in her leaning back. More courageous in letting me take the reins. She took chances. Made her own rules.
Francesca sat at one of the small tables near the edge of the terrace, alone, her long legs crossed, the soft Hawaiian breeze playing with a few strands of her platinum hair.
The ocean stretched out behind her, the early sunlight glittering off the water like scattered diamonds.
She hadn’t noticed me yet, too busy scanning the breakfast menu with that sexy, little furrow between her brows.
I walked straight toward her, not bothering to hide my smile.
“Morning, princesa,” I greeted as I pulled out the chair across from hers. She opened her mouth – probably to tell me to go away – but I sat down before she could get the words out.
She sighed, lowering the menu just enough for her glare to peek over it. “Matteo. Don’t you have… Literally anywhere else to be?”
“Nope,” I said, leaning back in my chair, enjoying the way the sunlight caught the gold cross around my neck. “This is the best seat in the house.”
She rolled her eyes in that sharp little way of hers, but the corner of her mouth almost, almost twitched.
The waiter approached just then, cheerful and bright. Before Francesca could speak, I looked up and said, “Pancakes. Strawberries, extra chocolate, extra whipped cream.”
She turned her head slowly, narrowing her eyes at me.
I grinned. “And for the lady?”
The waiter looked to her expectantly.
She huffed. “French fries. A pomegranate mojito. And a fruit salad.”
“Breakfast of champions,” I teased.
“Breakfast of people who were trying to eat alone.” She handed the menu back without looking at me, and I did the same except I kept mine exactly on her.
“Too late for that, princesa,” I said, stretching my legs out beneath the table, close enough that her bare feet were now softly brushing against my legs.
She didn’t move away.
For a few minutes, the only sounds were the ocean’s rhythmic hush and the clinking of cutlery from the other tables.
Morning light spilled across the terrace, warm and gold, catching in Francesca’s hair until it looked like threads of espresso and bronze.
She still tried to pretend she wasn’t enjoying herself – but her shoulders had softened, and that sharp little glare she liked to throw my way was already fading.
“So,” I said, drumming my fingers lightly against the table. “You survived a whole week in paradise. Impressive. Most people would’ve cracked by day three.”
She smirked faintly, finally meeting my eyes. “We have good friends.”
I leaned forward a little, elbows resting on the table. “You’re saying Trevor’s relentless wedding playlists weren’t torture?”
Francesca gave a soft laugh – one of those rare, real ones that always caught me off guard. “Okay, maybe. If I hear one more love song, I might throw myself off a cliff.”
“Noted,” I said, smiling. “I’ll make sure it plays at your birthday. On repeat.”
She rolled her eyes, and there was real heat behind her smile.
Our food arrived not long after. Her fries came out steaming, piled high, with the mojito sweating prettily in the sun beside it. My pancakes were a mess of sugar and strawberries – exactly how I liked them.
We ate slowly, conversation slipping into that easy rhythm we sometimes found when no one else was around to watch us. We talked about the past week: the late-night beach bonfires, the impromptu pool games Zach and Tony started, Kali forcing everyone into matching floral shirts.
“It was good,” she admitted, stirring the ice in her mojito. “The weather’s been perfect. I actually forgot New York existed for a while.”
“Careful,” I said, cutting into my pancakes. “If anyone hears you say you were relaxed, they might not believe it.”
She lifted a fry like a warning. “Don’t push it, Matteo.”
I laughed quietly, resting back in my chair. “I’m serious, though. You needed this. We all did. A break from the noise.”
For a moment, her expression softened – unguarded. She glanced out toward the ocean, her lashes catching the light. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It’s been good.”
We drifted into talking about work then – our overlapping business territories in the city, the expansion negotiations she’d been spearheading, and the joint deals between my network and her father’s. It should’ve felt like work, but it didn’t.
She was sharp, always. But when she talked strategy, she lit up in this way that drew me in every damn time.
I watched her as she spoke, gesturing with her mojito straw, eyes alive with focus. The breeze played with the hem of her white sundress, warm light kissed her skin, and for a dangerous second, I forgot that this was supposed to be just another game.
She caught me staring.
“What?” she asked, suspicious, but there was a small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips.
“Nothing,” I said, leaning back, letting my gaze linger just long enough to make her blush rise before I looked away. “Just enjoying my breakfast with a view.”
Her cheeks flushed, a soft pink blooming across her cheekbones before she caught herself and rolled her eyes, aiming for nonchalance. It didn’t work – not on me.
She turned back to her fruit salad, spearing a piece of pineapple like it had personally offended her. The breeze lifted her hair, sunlight spilling across her golden olive skin in a way that made her glow.
God, she was beautiful.
Not in the polished, magazine-cover way – that was already a given – but in the way she was utterly herself. Sharp. Stubborn. Untouchable.
And every time I thought I’d figured her out, she surprised me again.
I took a slow sip of my coffee, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my mouth as I watched her pretend not to care that I was watching her.
Yeah. I was in trouble.
I hadn’t planned on spending the entire day by the pool with Matteo.
Honest, I’d come down that morning intending to read my book, soak up some sun, and ignore him if I happened to see him again.
But somehow… We ended up side by side all day.
The resort pool stretched out like a glittering sapphire, framed by swaying palms and white umbrellas fluttering lazily in the breeze. The air smelled like sea salt and sunscreen, and the sunlight was so warm it seeped into my skin, turning the edges of the world soft and golden.
We started with business, of course. It always did with us. Talk of shipping routes, expansion contracts, new suppliers – our usual language. Clean, sharp, competitive.
But then it shifted.
Somehow, between my tanning lotion and his ridiculous sunglasses, we slipped into real conversation. Personal things. Hobbies. Books.
That was how I found out Matteo Di’Ablo – the six-foot-five, cartel golden boy with more muscle than should be legal – liked astronomy.
Not just the constellations, but the science of it. He spoke about stars like they were living things, about how ancient civilizations used the night sky to navigate, to worship, to tell their stories. His eyes lit up when he talked about it, soft and warm like honey catching sunlight.
I hadn’t expected that.
In return, I admitted my own obsession: mythology. Greek, Roman… Their empires, their gods, their stories – I’d devoured books on them since I was a kid.
To my surprise, he didn’t just nod politely. He joined in. He knew the stories. Really knew them. He challenged me on details about Poseidon’s temples, about how astronomy intertwined with the gods of the sea and sky. I’d never had anyone to talk to about those things before. Not like that.
Hours melted away.
While I tanned, he claimed the lounge chair beside mine, stretching out like he owned the sun. His chest gleamed under the heat, his gold cross catching the light.
And when the afternoon grew too hot, we ended up in the pool together, drifting near the shallow end, still talking – our conversation somehow shifting back to the mythology of water gods and their link to the stars.
It was… easy. Effortless, even.
For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like we were fighting a current.
And now, we’d just gotten done having an early dinner together at the resort’s restaurant.
The sky outside the open-air restaurant was painted in streaks of coral and lavender, the horizon blurring into the endless blue of the Pacific.
Palm trees swayed lazily in the evening breeze, carrying the soft scent of saltwater and frangipani.
We’d finished early, long before the others were due back from their ridiculous “night waterfall swim,” which, in my opinion, sounded like a terrible idea in the dark.
Matteo leaned back in his chair, swirling the last of his drink, his gaze settled on me like he wasn’t in any rush to leave.
“So,” He said, voice low and easy, “What’s the plan for the rest of your night, princesa?”
The question slipped past my guard, and I answered without thinking. “Spa, pack, order room service, watch a movie…”
He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “That’s your last night plan?”
“What’s wrong with that?”