Chapter 17
SOFIA
La Perla – ROSALíA, Yahritza Y Su Esencia
Chatting with Lidia and Amélie was fun. She had studied French at school, Genova being close to the French border, and luckily, she could still defend herself pretty well.
Not as well as in Spanish, Italian, or English, maybe closer to her Portuguese level.
But between English and French, they’d found a common ground.
They were both ocean lovers, marine biologists in training since they were still at university, doing an internship at the Cité de l’Océan.
They had proposed her presence to the director, who had apparently been following her for a while, which still shocked her.
She was about to wave them goodbye and go find Ilias when a familiar voice called from behind her and—for fuck’s sake—her entire body reacted like she was about to throw up.
Turning around, Thomas was there. Handsome, just as she remembered, with his usual American swagger that screamed money and power and entitlement.
Yet, when she stopped looking at him with the rose-colored glasses of love, even though only six months had passed, she saw him differently.
The receding hairline in his blond hair.
The way the button on his crisp white shirt clung for dear life around his belly. The sly, performative smile.
Was I really in love with this dude?
“Doctor Whitmore,” Sofia greeted, sternly. Back straight. Expression neutral.
What the fuck was he doing here?
“Sofia, what a pleasure to see you,” Thomas said, that smarmy smile still in place. “Didn’t think that after leaving Neptune you’d try the research route again. I thought playing influencer was what made you happy.”
Calm. Sofia. Breathe.
He definitely came knowing she’d be there. He had probably rehearsed that line in front of the mirror.
Che testa di minchia.
“Being away from you is what makes me happy,” she found herself saying.
“Still upset that I broke up with you?” he grinned, then turned to Lidia and Amélie. “You know, ladies, before she was with that loser of a surfer, she and I were together for eight years.”
Sofia wanted to hide. Dig a grave and crawl in.
Why the fuck was he being so unprofessional?
Then she remembered: he had literally tricked her into handing over years of research just because of a contract clause she hadn’t thought to show Gabriella.
But back then, her sister wasn’t even thinking of studying law, and their relationship had been. .. complicated.
What could she even say to that?
“And I’m so glad you broke up with her,” Ilias appeared like a divine intervention, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and planting a kiss in her hair. “I would’ve won her over anyway, but it’s terrible getting in the way of a well-established relationship, isn’t it?”
Then, without letting Thomas reply, Ilias extended a hand. “The loser surfer with an Olympic gold medal. But people usually call me Ilias.”
Thomas’ jaw tightened. But he shook his hand. When Thomas let go, his face was redder than a lobster.
“You’ve got a powerful shake,” Thomas muttered.
“And a powerful fist too,” Ilias replied, casually. “So, I’d suggest you leave Sofia alone. She clearly doesn’t enjoy your presence, and neither do the other ladies. I’ll take it from here. You’re dismissed.”
Sofia bit back a laugh, lips pressed tight. Ilias gently stroked her shoulder with his fingertips, as if grounding her.
“Do you even know who I am?” Thomas asked, scoffing.
“No idea. But you’re definitely someone Sofia can’t stand. So please, go away.” Ilias waved him off.
“I have every right to be here. This is a free country.”
“And this is getting ridiculous,” Sofia muttered. “Girls, want to join us for lunch?”
Lidia and Amélie nodded, visibly entertained by the exchange.
“Perfect. Let’s go then.”
Sofia grabbed Ilias’ hand and without saying another word to Thomas, they walked out.
The moment the fresh ocean air hit her, it felt like she could finally breathe again.
“We’re going to grab our stuff and be right back,” Lidia said, pointing to a side room. “We know a very cool place near the center.”
“Are you okay?” Ilias asked as soon as they left.
Sofia turned to face him, and froze slightly.
He wasn’t in sneakers or a hoodie or a surf tee. He wasn’t overdressed, either, just... elegant. For a surfer anyways. A soft linen shirt, top buttons open, showing off his tawny chest; olive-green pants, sneakers on his feet. His curls slightly disheveled, his stubble cleanly trimmed.
Porca troia. He looked hot.
“Yes. Thanks,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if that could steady her pulse. “You didn’t have to.”
“Oh, I did,” he murmured, voice low, threaded with something that made her stomach flip. “You’re my girlfriend, remember, habiba?”
Before she could think of a reply, he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to her cheek.
His hand came up, fingers sliding against her neck, warm, steady, claiming.
The simple touch made her breath hitch, the world narrowing to the heat of his palm and the rasp of his thumb brushing just below her jaw.
“Later,” he whispered against her ear, his breath grazing her skin, “you’ll tell me who the hell that prick was. For now, let’s enjoy lunch with the girls.”
Then, softer this time, he took her face in both hands. His thumbs traced the edges of her cheekbones, feather-light, as if memorizing her. His eyes held hers, and for one dizzying second, she forgot how to breathe.
She nodded, wordless. Because her body, her traitorous body, was already leaning toward him, drawn in by the quiet gravity of his touch. And if this was supposed to be fake, then she was in very real trouble.