Chapter 62
SOFIA
Ed ero contentissimo – Tiziano Ferro
The two weeks they spent in Imsouane had turned out to be exactly what she needed to decompress, to finally deal with the grief of losing her father.
While working on Salacia from a distance, she had helped Ghita and Ilias with Azul.
Excel open daily, they started putting down numbers, contacts, and possible collaborators, while also dealing with some people who were very upset by Thomas withdrawing from his quest to destroy Imsouane.
Obviously, they weren’t upset about Imsouane being destroyed, they were upset that the amount of money he had promised wasn’t going to reach their bank accounts.
Which was fair enough. She had been pissed too when she had to give back the money to TerraVive.
But Ilias had charmed and roped them into Azul’s future.
All the businesses Thomas had reached out to had turned out to be essential for Azul, so it was easy for Ilias and Ghita to offer them something big, like the idea of collaborating with the business of an Olympic medalist, someone who had contributed to putting Morocco on the map.
As always, she video-called daily her mother and her sister, who were together in Milan with the twins. Gabriella had filed for divorce from Roberto after a discussion that their mother had declared un desastre. A disaster.
The ghost of grief followed her daily. She had started crying randomly when she saw an old man staring at the ocean in Imsouane, or when someone mentioned focaccia.
She had started therapy, under Ilias’ suggestion, to deal with grief and all the changes happening in her life.
It truly helped her brain find peace, and having Ilias by her side—someone who had spent two years processing his father’s death and legacy—had been extremely positive.
She knew he wasn’t going to judge her for crying at the mere first notes of the playlist her father had created before dying.
He understood her, and she felt incredibly lucky and grateful that he was patient enough to wait for her timeline.
“Habiba, are you ready?” Ilias asked from their bedroom as she checked herself one last time in the mirror.
She was wearing a linen top covering her shoulders and linen pants, ditching the sundress to be more appropriate to Moroccan culture. To Ilias’ utter annoyance.
“Yup, coming.”
Ilias had his curls tousled, still slightly humid from the shower they had indulged in together, a linen button-up shirt open at the first buttons, and linen pants.
He had embraced the linen for her—he had said—and ended up loving it.
Even though more than half the time he still wore surfer shirts and shorts.
“Gorgeous,” he grinned, making her twirl around before planting a kiss on her lips.
“How do you feel?” she asked, threading her arms behind his neck, studying him closely.
“I’m a bit nervous,” he admitted. “Do you really think Emir will like me?”
“He seems a pretty smart teenager. I’m sure you’ll charm him, as you did with everyone in Imsouane since we got here.”
“You know you’re the only one I ever truly wanted to charm?” he asked, squeezing her ass and pressing their hips together.
“I know.” She smiled, kissing his lips. “Everything is going to be fine with Emir. I’m sure.”
Ilias nodded, took a deep breath, stole another kiss, and they headed to the restaurant.
It was a short walk from the apartment Ilias had bought a couple of years earlier, right when he decided to take a break from surfing to focus on his mental health.
The apartment where his father had lived in Imsouane now belonged to Emir and Yasmine.
With the corner of her eye, she could see how nervous Ilias was.
Maybe she had never seen him like that. He always exuded confidence, a natural sureness about himself.
But now, knowing he had to impress Emir, he tapped nervously against his pants, played with the chain around his neck, squeezed her hand more than usual, toyed with his rings, then with hers. Yep. He was nervous.
It was going to be a nice dinner with Emir, Yasmine, Ghita, and her parents. She had met Ghita’s parents during her two-week stay. They always invited them for dinner or Moroccan tea, and they had been extremely lovely with her and Ilias. She could see how deeply they loved him.
That night, the restaurant was closed. It was Monday, usually the day Yasmine closed, so it had turned into a family gathering.
Once they arrived, Yasmine wrapped her in a big hug.
After dealing with Thomas and a long confrontation with Ilias, Yasmine had shown her true colors.
She was a true maternal figure, one who always wanted to take care of others.
Sofia liked her wit, and how she didn’t let Ilias off the hook.
His charm didn’t work on her, but Yasmine, in the end, was fond of him.
The TV was turned on to the USL tournament.
They were in South Africa, and Amira was in the final against Alejandra.
Perfect timing. Her eyes found her best friend prepping for her heat, long black hair tied in her usual braid, green eyes bright against tanned skin, sporting the blue shirt with the Spanish flag on her shoulder.
She knew Alejandra well enough to know that even though she didn’t need to win to end in the Final Five, she would give it her all.
That was who she was. But still, she was a softy for her friends. And Amira was one of them.
Then the screen shifted to Amira—curly hair slicked into a bun, sharp features etched in concentration. So different from Ilias, yet undeniably related. Sofia’s heart split in two. She wanted both of them to win. Whoever did, she would cheer for one and console the other.
“Hello, I’m Emir.”
If Amira and Ilias shared nothing but hazel eyes, the tall teenage boy in front of her was exactly how she imagined Ilias at the same age. His hazel eyes studied her expectantly as he extended his hand. “You must be Sofia.”
“Hello, Emir. It’s so nice to meet you. Welcome back home." She smiled, shaking his hand. “Have you spoken with Ilias yet?”
Lost in the TV, she had misplaced him. When she looked around, she saw him talking with Ghita and her parents—and a shorter woman with bright hazel eyes who patted Ilias’ shoulder.
“His mom is here,” Yasmine announced. “I spoke with her a week ago. I felt I needed to settle everything and invited her today. We managed to keep it a surprise.”
“He must be thrilled. He was so nervous to meet you,” Sofia admitted to Emir.
“The same as this boy,” Yasmine teased. “He’s been pacing all day.”
“Mom,” Emir groaned as Ilias and the rest of the group arrived.
“Emir, hi!” Ilias said, pulling him into a hug. Yep—no personal space. Mister affection was still very much himself. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
Emir smiled widely. They shared the same boyish gaze, and standing close, the similarities were uncanny.
“You must be Sofia,” the short woman said. The woman who was probably her mother-in-law smiled warmly and opened her arms. Now she understood where Ilias got his affectionate side.
She let herself be hugged.
“Nice to meet you. You must be Zanaib,” Sofia said in French, which was improving day by day.
Since Arabic was still difficult, she had gone back to the language she’d learned growing up near the French border in Italy.
Nostalgia wrapped around her heart. She shook it off.
This wasn’t the moment to cry. Not the best first impression for her mother-in-law.
“Thank you so much for helping Yasmine, and Ilias, and Imsouane,” Zanaib said, still holding her hands, eyes shimmering. “It had been two years since I came back here because it hurt too much. And Ilias told me what your father told him, and… thank you.”
Sofia’s eyes turned humid. “I didn’t do anything. I just stayed with him. He did all the hard work—him, Ghita, Yasmine, and Emir.”
“But thank you, Sofia. It had been a long time since I saw my son so happy, relaxed, and carefree. Thank you, hija.”
She switched to Spanish, and their conversation became a soft mix of Spanish and French. Sofia felt it deeply, this woman was the reason Ilias was such a good man.
His arms wrapped around her. “Are you scaring her off, Mamà?”
“Me? Never. She’s a sweetheart—so smart and gorgeous. I understand why you’re together,” Zanaib said, eyes shimmering. Oh. A crier, like her. Good.
Yasmine called everyone to sit. A long table filled with delicious Moroccan food—tagines, couscous, fresh bread, bowls of olives and zaalouk—awaited them as the heat between Amira and Alejandra began.
Ilias chatted with Emir, commenting on the heat, offering insights. She spoke with Zanaib, Yasmine, Ghita, and her parents about Azul, her eyes flicking to the TV every few seconds.
When Alejandra nailed a good wave, Ilias clicked his tongue. “Couldn’t she let her win?”
“Do you think Ale is capable of that?” Sofia asked, half joking.
In reality, Alejandra had the biggest heart she knew.
She loved Amira deeply. So when she seemingly slipped off her board on the second wave, losing time, it didn’t surprise her.
That was Ale’s way—never admitting she gave anything away.
She already had the Final Five in her pockets, she didn’t need more points.
Ilias met her gaze. “What about that, habiba?”
Sofia shrugged as Amira caught another wave, scored a perfect 10.00, and won her first USL event. Ilias jumped up, hugging Emir, his mother, and her. Ghita screeched. Everyone celebrated as Amira was lifted on the beach, Alejandra the first to hug her.
Ah. Her best friend. The softest heart with the hardest exterior.
The rest of the night passed in celebration—calling Amira, cheering from afar.
Sofia slipped onto a corner of the big balcony overlooking the bay. The sun dipped low, painting everything in warm, earthy tones. Phone in hand, she video-called Alejandra, who answered with a bright smile.
“I knew you weren’t going to let her lose her chance,” Sofia declared.
“Shhh,” Alejandra said, walking away from the crowd. “What can I say.” She grinned, “I’m an angel—but I did slip.”
Sofia cocked an eyebrow.
“I did, for real. I planned to fuck it up another way, but I slipped,” she admitted. “Amira deserved it. She did amazing here. And I’ve been slacking. She deserved it more than me.”
“You slacked and still made the Final of the tour. Such an overachiever, always,” Sofia joked.
“How are you? How’s everything there?” Alejandra asked, studying her.
“Everything’s great. In a couple of days we will go back to Ericeira. I’ll miss Imsouane, but I miss Ericeira, my house and Salacia. I’m happy to go back,” she smiled. “And I met Ilias’ mother. She came here.”
Her eyes widened. “What?? That’s amazing. She’s the cutest.”
“She is,” Sofia admitted as she turned around, checking on Ilias—smiling, talking with his family, hugging Emir, joking with him.
“What are you thinking, Sofi?”
“I’m happy. Everything is fixed, Ale. Salacia is going amazing, Imsouane is saved, Thomas is being investigated by Lamina, and I’m happy. I have Ilias, and I love him so much.” Her nose started to pinch.
“But?”
“I miss Papà.”
“I know. I miss him too,” Alejandra said softly. “But he’d scold you if he knew you were crying over him. He asked not to be forgotten, and you’re living while remembering him every day. He’d be proud of you.”
A tear streamed down Sofia’s cheek. “Do you think Ilias will get tired of seeing me cry every day? I feel like such a crybaby.”
Alejandra chuckled. “I think Ilias could never get tired of anything you do. That man loves you. Enjoy it, Sofi.”
Sofia nodded. “Congrats on the defeat, Ale.”
Alejandra laughed. “Love you, Sofi.”
“Love you, Ale.”
When she hung up, Sofia took a deep breath and returned to dinner. Because Alejandra was right—she had to keep living for her father. And even if it hurt, she was happy. Something the Sofia of just a few months ago hadn’t been.
That was more than enough.