Cecilia - Seven
By the time we got back to the Airbnb, the sun had edged higher in the sky and spilled gold across the little tiled terrace outside the front door.
Our place was tucked just far enough from the bustle of the town that it felt like breathing room, but close enough to still feel the hum of it through the open windows.
Inside, the chaos was in full swing.
Clothes covered every surface—floaty dresses, denim shorts, a forgotten bikini top draped over the back of a chair.
The floor looked like the contents of three different suitcases had exploded across it, which wasn’t far off.
A curling wand hummed faintly on the desk, and somewhere beneath it all, my phone vibrated uselessly.
Siena was lounging on the bed, legs crossed, pouring two glasses of rosé with a casual flourish.
She wore a white sundress with thin straps, her dark curls scooped into a claw clip at the back of her head, sunglasses pushed up like a headband.
Somehow, she always looked effortless. A smear of coral lipstick finished the look.
“Here,” she said, holding a glass out toward me.
I took it, nudging a pile of tops aside with my foot. I was still in my black lace bralette and a linen wrap skirt, barefoot and flushed, my hair in loose waves I hadn’t decided what to do with yet.
“I’m excited,” I admitted, a little breathlessly.
Siena sipped and arched a brow. “That makes seven times. Just in the past ten minutes.”
I laughed, flopping onto the chair beside her mirror, the glass cool against my skin. “I can’t help it. It’s just... nice. Seeing him again.”
She watched me over the rim of her glass. “Nice?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean. I’d forgotten how easy it is being around him. There’s no second-guessing. I never had to overthink anything with him. He just... got me. He always did.”
Siena didn’t speak, just let me talk. That’s what I loved about her—she knew when to tease, and when to hold space.
“When things were bad with Adrian,” I continued, twisting the stem of my wine glass between my fingers, “Theo was the one I always thought of. Not in that way—not always. But just... he was the reminder that things weren’t supposed to feel like that.
That there were men out there who were actually… kind.”
Siena’s eyes softened.
“I wasn’t allowed to be myself with Adrian,” I said, quieter now.
“It was like everything I did was wrong. The way I dressed, the people I saw, even how I laughed. He’d make these comments—small ones, like he was joking—but they’d stick.
‘You’re not as funny as you think you are.
’ ‘Are you really wearing that?’ ‘No one else would put up with your moods.’ And it got to the point where I started believing it. ”
“You never told me it was that bad,” Siena murmured.
I swallowed. “I didn’t realise it myself, not properly.
Not until after. That’s the thing with manipulation—it creeps in slowly, quietly.
And by the time you notice it, you can’t see the line between truth and what they’ve made you believe.
I didn’t ever think that I would love somebody who would hurt me. ”
She reached out and squeezed my hand.
“I’m only just starting to feel like myself again,” I said. “And I like her. I’m figuring her out. So even if Theo is the kindest, most lovely man to exist, I don’t want to lose myself again by trying to belong to someone else before I’ve truly come back to me.”
Siena pulled me into a hug without a word. I let my head rest against her shoulder, breathing in the citrusy scent of her perfume, letting the moment settle.
“You’re allowed to want to look nice though,” she said eventually, and I laughed into her shoulder.
“I do want to look nice,” I admitted, pulling back. “But for me.”
“Sure,” she smirked, sipping her wine. “And definitely not for Theo.”
I threw a scrunched-up pair of shorts at her, but my smile lingered. I wasn’t ready. But I was healing.
And maybe tonight was part of that.
The golden hour had descended like a quiet spell over Juan les Pins beach.
The sky was brushed with watercolours—lavender, blush, soft peach—each hue melting into the next with effortless grace.
The sun hung low, casting its molten warmth across the rippling Mediterranean, and the sea responded in shimmer and song, kissing the shore in rhythmic hushes.
The sand beneath our feet was still sun-warmed, the grains sticking lightly to my toes as I kicked off my sandals and sank into it with a sigh.
Music floated through the air from somewhere further along the beach—not loud, just a steady thrum of bass and melody that layered easily over the natural symphony of waves and laughter.
There were fairy lights strung along driftwood posts, soft and golden, their glow just beginning to rival the fading sun.
Siena walked beside me, already smiling, already glowing, as though this kind of evening was something her bones had been made for. She wore a pale pink halter dress that moved like liquid with each step, and a messy braid trailed over her shoulder, dotted with little gold cuffs.
I, on the other hand, had chosen something that felt more like a whisper than a shout—a floaty sage green slip dress, the hem grazing just above my ankles.
The fabric caught the breeze like it was part of it.
My hair was half-up in a loose twist, strands falling in waves around my shoulders.
I felt soft. Comfortable. Pretty. It wasn’t the kind of outfit that turned heads, not necessarily.
But I felt like myself in it. And that felt good enough.
We reached the heart of the gathering where people were sprawled on blankets or dancing in the sand, wine glasses and bottles of Perrier clinking gently, smoke curling from a barbecue near the rocks.
The scent of charred vegetables and lemony grilled fish drifted over on the air, making my mouth water.
“Okay, this is a dream,” Siena said, slipping her sunglasses up into her hair. She tilted her face to the sky for a moment. “France is doing something to me. I feel radiant.”
“You look it,” I laughed, looping my arm through hers.
We wandered down the beach, toes carving paths in the sand.
I felt a buzz in my chest—from the wine earlier, from the air, from the way Siena and I couldn’t stop smiling at each other like teenagers who’d snuck out to do something brilliant.
There was something magic about not needing anything from the night except this—sunlight, salt air, and her beside me.
Then I saw him.
Theo stood further down the beach, half in shadow, half in gold.
His white shirt was rolled at the sleeves again, and the last rays of sunlight clung to his skin like paint.
He was laughing at something, hand on the back of his neck, the motion so familiar it made something soft ache inside me.
I could hear the deep baritone of his voice from where I was stood.
I didn’t move. Didn’t call out. Just watched.
Siena followed my gaze and gave a tiny nudge. I didn’t need to say anything. She already knew.
A group of men passed by then, speaking French too quickly for me to catch every word, but the tone was unmistakable. One of them—tall, tanned, with a jawline that could probably break glass—tilted his head at Siena and said something with a grin .
She didn’t miss a beat. “As if,” she replied with a dry smile, tossing her braid behind her shoulder like a cat flicking its tail.
They laughed and kept walking, one glancing back as if to admire her exit.
“Still got it,” she said breezily, then turned to me. “Come on, let’s get drinks before I fall in love with a man who thinks 'bonjour' counts as foreplay.”
I laughed, but my eyes drifted back to Theo. He hadn’t seen me yet.
And I hadn’t seen what was coming.
Because just then, a woman appeared beside him.
She was beautiful—sleek, shoulder-length dark hair, a crisp linen co-ord in cream, effortless confidence.
She leaned in and kissed his cheek, her hand resting lightly on his arm as she turned and laughed at something someone else said.
Then she looked up at him and spoke in a voice that was too soft for me to hear.
He smiled at whatever it was she had whispered.
And when she turned toward the group, she said something else. Something I did catch.
“I’m Natalie. Theo’s girlfriend.”
My stomach did something unfamiliar.
Not crashing.
Just folding.
Quietly.
It caught me off guard in a way I didn’t know I could still be caught.
Theo had always been honest with me—sometimes to a fault. He wasn’t the type to withhold things, especially not something as important as a girlfriend. Not if he genuinely just wanted to catch up. Not if he truly meant it when he said we should be friends again.
And yet, he hadn’t said a word about her.
I felt like I was on the outside of something I didn’t even know existed, a stranger knocking at a door I thought was still open. I didn’t want to be a secret. I didn't want to be lied to. Not again. Not even in friendship.
A flash of memory broke through then—a wine glass on the counter in my old flat, one I didn’t recognise. It had lipstick on the rim and wasn’t mine. Adrian had looked me in the eye and told me I was imagining things. Said I was paranoid. Said it was mine. Gaslit me into silence.
I knew this wasn’t the same. I knew Theo wasn’t Adrian. But I also knew how it felt to realise something important had been kept from me, however small it seemed.
I didn’t want that kind of silence in my life again.
I blinked, clearing the memory before it could fester. Siena hadn’t noticed yet, still gazing out over the crowd, eyes dancing in the low light.
"I want to get drunk," I said lightly, the words more resolute than they sounded.
She turned to me, brows lifting. "Really?"
Before I could answer, a guy appeared beside us, all confidence and too-white teeth. He launched into a line neither of us caught because neither of us cared.
Just as Siena inhaled to tell him to fuck off, I reached forward and plucked the two glasses of wine from his hands—ones he’d just snagged from a waiter’s tray .
"Thanks for the delivery," I said coolly, then turned, grabbed Siena by the wrist, and tugged her toward the makeshift dance floor.
She let out a delighted hoot of laughter behind me. "Oh my god, Cece! That was savage."
I just grinned, but there was something electric pulsing beneath my skin. I could feel it.
Burning.
Watching.
I didn’t need to look. I knew what it was or rather who. I could feel his gaze like a brand at the base of my neck. But he could stare all he wanted because right now there wasn’t a chance in high hell I would be staring back.