Chapter 25
SOFIA
Love Can Grow – Declan J Donovan
Her head was pounding.
Waking up, she stared at the cream ceiling of a room that wasn’t hers. Propping herself on her elbows, she took in the elegant cream tones, wood accents, and woven textures, then spotted the ocean behind the pale curtains.
Right. Snapper Rocks. Not Ericeira.
Memories slowly rolled in, like rewinding a VHS tape—vomiting between Ilias’ arms. Hugging Ilias. Laughing with Ilias. Singing ABBA with Alejandra and Amira like she was back in college, without a single worry in sight.
Well, she never actually went to college with Alejandra or Amira, but judging by the state of her skull, it would’ve been fun as hell.
Voices echoed from downstairs, but before joining the circle and shamefully trying to excuse her behavior—por dios, drunk at thirty-two—she needed a shower.
Padding into the bathroom, she took her time. Screw the environment. She needed to wash off the shame and the lingering slime of alcohol. Something stupid had definitely come out of her mouth last night, she could feel it in her bones.
She pulled on a pair of denim shorts over her swimsuit and let her hair air-dry as she walked barefoot downstairs.
Ilias was there, casually leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes on the ocean. His curls were damp. His skin sun-warmed.
“You went surfing?” she asked, scanning the room. Empty. Had she imagined the voices earlier? Was she still drunk?
He turned, surprised, and smiled. A big, bright, heart-punching grin that made the sun look like a backup dancer.
“Good morning, habiba. Sleep well? How’s Sober Sofia feeling?”
“Lower your voice,” she mumbled, pressing two fingers to her temples. “And why are you calling me Sober Sofia?”
“It was an inside joke with Drunk Sofia. She was living her best life last night.” He chuckled, holding out a mug of what smelled like coffee. “Drink this. Perfect for a hangover.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. But it used to help me when I drank.”
Sofia blinked. The realization clicked. “You didn’t drink last night?”
“I haven’t in two years. So, nope. Not even last night. I came back from surfing half an hour ago.”
She took a sip of the coffee. Australian coffee was supreme, even for an Italian.
“And why did you quit drinking?” she asked.
Ilias gestured for her to follow him outside into the garden. She walked after him, her eyes catching on his ass in those surf shorts, then on his broad shoulders stretching under his loose tee.
What did Drunk Sofia say?
She curled into the armchair while he dropped onto the couch. He looked effortlessly good, relaxed, sunkissed, unbothered by her death-by-hangover state.
“I quit drinking because I turned into someone I didn’t want to be. Violent. Messy. I should’ve stopped earlier, but, you know… social pressure.”
Sofia frowned. “You? Violent? You don’t seem like it.”
“Drunk Ilias was a different beast. So, I keep him away from people I love.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those stunning, unreadable hazel eyes, somewhere between green and brown, flecked with gold that caught the light like they carried their own secrets.
Sofia nodded slowly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He shrugged. “I went to therapy. Last time I got drunk, I punched a wall and called my father a piece of shit. The next day, he died. Totally unrelated, but still… the last words I ever said to him were, ‘Fuck off, you’re a shitty father and a shitty husband.’”
The air thickened. Sofia’s heart clenched. She hadn’t expected to hold this kind of pain the same morning she was holding her head from spinning. Ilias always looked so easygoing, always smiling. But maybe that smile was the mask. A coping mechanism.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. It was all she could offer while her mind, traitorously, pulled her back to her own father. “I’m sure he didn’t take it personally. Sometimes we say things we don’t mean when we’re angry.”
Ilias shook his head, a somber curve to his mouth. “Oh, he took it personally. For sure. But I’m not convinced he cared. He never did. In the end, he loved himself and Azul more. That’s it.”
“What happened?” she asked gently. “You said you learned to surf thanks to your father, and you sounded fond of him.” She hesitated. “Only if you want to talk about it.”
He let his head fall back, exposing his throat, dotted with stubble.
“The day before he died, I found out he had a second family. While my mom was raising us in Málaga, he used Azul as an excuse to spend most of his time in Imsouane. It was easy to believe him, easy for him to take the ferry from Algeciras to Tangier, then drive down to Imsouane. Easy for him to build a second life.”
“Ilias, I’m so sorry. That must have been horrible.” She didn’t know what to say, how to react. He was staring at a fixed point on the wall, like he wasn’t really seeing it at all.
“Amira and I were adults,” he continued. “Finding out your father has a second family in your thirties is traumatizing, but… I should’ve had the emotional resources to deal with it better. I mostly just felt bad for my mother.”
“Did she know?”
“She suspected it,” he said. “But Amira and I found out randomly, one night, when he was talking with Yasmine and their son. I was half drunk because we were supposed to celebrate my second USL title, but it turned into a fucking nightmare. And then—” He exhaled.
“Well. Then he died, and I fell into a spiral. Depression. Call it what you want.”
Sofia stood and moved to the couch, sitting beside him. She took his hand resting on his thigh and gently stroked it. “I’m truly sorry, Ilias. I don’t know what to say.”
What did you ever say to someone to make that kind of hurt better? She had never been great with emotions. She couldn’t even face her own father’s illness without feeling like she’d shatter. But with Ilias, she wanted to try.
So when he finally turned his sad eyes toward her, offering a small, fragile smile, and murmured, “A hug would be fine,” she wrapped her arms around him without hesitation. She pulled him close, letting him bury his nose in her damp hair, letting his arms wrap around her waist.
“Thanks, habiba,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek before pulling back. “You don’t have to say anything. Just being here is enough. You’re the first person I’ve told the full truth.”
“Doesn’t Ale know?” she frowned, their fingers still intertwined.
“She knows the bits Amira told her. I never had the courage. I didn’t want people to judge me.”
“Ale would never.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But I did.”
Sofia nodded, understanding that ugly, familiar shame. She had carried it too, after Thomas, after Neptune, after her whole life collapsed. Blaming him was impossible, so she nudged the moment gently back to something lighter.
“I hope Drunk Sofia wasn’t too awful last night,” she said, forcing a small smile. “I tend to be whiny and a needy drunk. Or so I’ve been told.”
“She was very fun,” he said, smirking. “But I prefer Sober Sofia.”
“Why?”
He raked a hand through his curls. “Drunk Sofia is a little too forward. I like watching you hold back.”
Her brows shot up. “What did I do?”
He chuckled, low and warm. “More like, what didn’t you do?”
Porca troia. She hid her face in her hands.
“Nothing to worry about,” he added.
“Did I say something I should be ashamed of?”
He paused, eyes drifting over her with a quiet softness. “I hope not. I liked it.”
Sofia nodded, half-relieved. “Thanks,” she said, trying to change the subject—again. “How do you feel about the USL title? Think you can make the Final Five?”
His smirk stretched wider. “If I win the next few events? Maybe. It's a stretch, but not impossible.”
“Next up?”
“Margaret River.”
“Oh, right. After the photoshoot in Byron Bay.”
“Actually,” he said, grabbing his phone from his pocket, “Jamie emailed us. You too. We’re signed up for a conference in Sydney.”
“A conference? What kind?”
Somehow, she ended up leaning into him like muscle memory to check the email. His arm wrapped around her shoulders like it belonged there.
“Here.”
He held up his phone, an email open from TerraVive’s manager.
Since you have a couple of days between Byron Bay and flying to Margaret River, the board decided to sign Sofia and Ilias up for a conference at OceanXChange 2025 in Sydney. You’ll both speak about your ocean experience, athlete and scientist. Great for your credibility. Act in love.
Sofia growled when she scrolled the schedule. Thomas was on it.
“My idiot ex is leading a panel about a research I did for him, and now he’s getting the fucking credit,” she blurted.
“What do you mean?” Ilias asked, frowning hard.
“Every project I did at Neptune legally belongs to them… and to Thomas. Because I was stupid and in love, and I signed contracts I didn’t understand. He took it all. He owns it now. And I can’t even say shit.”
She exhaled, angry and exhausted. “Now I’m rebuilding from scratch. This new research on Blue Mind and whales isn’t groundbreaking, but at least it’s mine.”
“You know we’re going to wipe the floor with his smug face, right?” Ilias said. “We speak right after him. If he says anything about you, I’m going full protective mode. Do I have your permission?”
Sofia studied him—his jawline, his sea-damp curls, his sun-warmed skin, and those stupid, honest eyes. Could he really be real?
“Permission granted, sir.” She saluted.
He chuckled and pulled her in tighter. “It’s us against the world, Sober Sofia.”
Her heart skipped, then burned.
Because sitting there, snuggled up to him, with the sun warming their skin and their bodies flush, she knew one thing for sure: She wasn’t just warming up to him. She was catching fire.