Chapter 18
ILIAS
NARI NARI NARI – Saint Levant
Lunch was fun. The two girls were in their twenties and huge fans of both of them, so they had showered them with questions, and they had to lean into the part of being a couple more than usual.
Sofia had allowed him to hold her hand, stroke her hair, even lean in for a few cheek kisses, ones he desperately wanted to turn into full, open-mouthed kisses. She looked like someone who knew exactly how to kiss. And move her tongue.
“Do you want a gelato?” Sofia asked as they walked, still fingers intertwined, to his complete and utter happiness, after waving goodbye to Amélie and Lidia.
“I saw a stand down the road.”
“Was it Italian gelato?” Sofia raised an eyebrow, studying him like she expected him to pass a national loyalty test.
Ilias sighed.
“Please tell me you’re not that Italian cliché, acting like everyone else’s food is garbage.”
“Which is true,” Sofia grinned, spinning around to stop in front of him. “Italian food is the best in the world. And this relationship can’t go on if you don’t acknowledge that.”
“And Spanish food?” he challenged.
“It’s good. But Italy wins.” She crossed her arms. “So? Is this a deal breaker for our relationship?”
“Let’s find this Italian gelato,” he said in his best attempt at her accent, grabbing her waist and twirling her around before hugging her from behind and kissing her cheek. Then, with his lips brushing her ear, he whispered, “So you’ll shut the fuck up about Italian food supremacy.”
Sofia chuckled, leaning back into him, for just a second. Then, as if reality slammed into her, she pulled away.
Right. Fake.
After some heavy Googling on Sofia’s part, they found the perfect Italian gelateria in Biarritz. He’d been to the city several times before and loved the vibe. It reminded him of a European San Diego, kissed with Parisian architecture and locals who were much nicer than Parisians.
As they walked along the promenade, licking their cones, Ilias decided to ask the question that had been burning in the back of his throat.
“So… who was the gilipollas?”
Sofia pressed her lips together. Then sighed.
“Thomas. Ex-boyfriend. Now president of Neptune Marine Research, where I used to work like a slave. And yes, big gilipollas.”
“He treated you like shit,” Ilias said. “I need the backstory. I’m not going to tiptoe around it. I’m not Alejandra.”
“She doesn’t tiptoe around anything,” Sofia reminded him.
“True.”
Ilias tried—tried—not to notice how her tongue swirled around her gelato. Or how her cheeks hollowed when she sucked at it. Joder. He was so fucked. This was not the time or place to get hard.
“Thomas and I met during my master in San Diego. I didn’t like him much at first, but he grew on me.
We were together for eight years. He comes from one of those golf-and-Hamptons, money-shitting American families.
” She gave a dry laugh. “When we both got hired by Neptune, I was proud. Later I found out his father pulled strings to get me in.”
Her voice faltered. She looked out toward the ocean.
Blue Mind.
“I worked my ass off. Every research, every paper… Thomas co-signed. When the president position opened, I went for it. I thought I had the skills. The experience. But of course, Thomas got it. During a fight, he told me the only reason I was even there was because of him. That without his family, I’d be nothing.
And all my research belonged to Neptune. Which meant… to him.”
Her voice dipped.
“My world crumbled. Everything I’d built just shattered. So, I resigned. Fled to Ericeira where Elvira had just moved, and promised myself I’d prove I could do things my way, without Thomas, without Neptune, without anyone handing me a damn thing.”
“And the influencer stuff?”
“I started sharing my work online a couple of years ago. Some diving videos went viral. I enjoyed exploring the creative side, which I missed in the lab. Thomas hated it. He said it was low-class. Poor taste.”
“Gilipollas,” Ilias muttered.
“Indeed.”
“For what it’s worth,” he said, bumping her shoulder lightly, “I think you’ve already proven you’re a badass. You’re a great business owner, a brilliant scientist, a good person, and extremely sexy. I mean, he definitely lost there.”
Sofia’s cheeks flushed.
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Not even a little.”
He grinned. “Actually… I wanted to ask for your advice.”
“On?”
“My father’s business. The one I inherited when he died.”
Sofia stopped walking. She turned to face him, her brown doe eyes suddenly warm and soft.
“I didn’t know your father passed.”
“It’s alright. It’s life.”
“Don’t be cynical,” she warned. “It doesn’t suit you.”
He smirked.
“And what does suit me?”
His voice dropped an octave. He stepped closer. The green sundress beneath her suede jacket hugged her just right, and fuck, ever since he saw her on that stage, he hadn’t been able to stop imagining unzipping it slowly.
“This,” she whispered, eyes fixed on his lips. “Being cocky, and not respecting personal space.”
“I love invading your personal space,” he murmured, stepping back just enough to keep her on edge. “So… business question?”
“Go on. I’m all ears.” She kept her voice light, but her eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary.
He told her everything. The death of his father.
The will. The unwanted inheritance. How Amira and he had tried to keep Azul afloat under his father’s conditions.
He didn’t tell her how he'd spiraled into depression. How much it had hurt to paddle out knowing his dad wouldn’t be watching anymore.
He told her about Ghita, the proposal for surf retreats, and how it might be the only way to save Azul.
They sat on the little stone wall above the beach, their feet dangling toward the sand. His eyes moved to the ocean. There were no surf-worthy waves today.
When he looked back at her, Sofia looked thoughtful. She bit her bottom lip. Slowly. Could she do anything without turning him on? This fake relationship was absolute torture.
“Right now, do you earn anything?”
“We lose money.”
“Then closing it would mean losing everything. But changing it? Partnering with locals, targeting international surfers… that could work. You’re what, thirty-three?”
“Yup.”
“You’ve got time but you can’t rely only on surfing. One injury and it’s over. I think Ghita’s plan has potential. Morocco already attracts a lot of surfers. By marketing it as yours, I feel many people would go there just to try to meet you.” She smiled. “What does your gut say?”
He sighed. “I just wish it had worked, how my father imagined. It didn’t, and I feel like I failed him.”
Her hand found his. She squeezed. Soft, grounding. The first time she initiated touch. His heart gave a dangerous kick.
“I think your father would be proud of how hard you’ve tried to honor him. But at some point, legacy can’t come at the cost of your future. Maybe it’s time to build something new, from the roots he gave you.”
Ilias turned toward her, a lazy smile curving his lips before he even realized he was moving. Then, without a second thought, he slipped an arm around her and drew her against his chest.
“I knew you were smart,” he murmured.
He bent his head and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, right where her hair parted, and the simple touch felt like a promise, quiet and unspoken. She melted against him, her body softening as if it had been waiting for that exact moment to exhale.
He could feel her heartbeat against his ribs, steady at first, then quickening just slightly. His hand traced lazy circles on her shoulder, the scent of salt and something uniquely hers winding around him until the rest of the world fell away.
He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, breaths matching, hearts finding the same rhythm. But he knew that if heaven felt anything like this, warm, effortless, completely undone by someone’s nearness, then he had already found it.