Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Brody
T he waters of the Aegean shimmered like a million scattered sapphires just outside my window as I wrestled with the buttons of my linen shirt, growling curses under my breath.
My reflection in the villa mirror looked fine, a stark contrast to the churning mess of emotions roiling inside me. The crisp white fabric stretched tight across my chest felt forced, a constant reminder of the bullshit I was about to pull off.
“Fuck me,” I grunted, raking a hand through my hair. I was supposed to look ruggedly tousled, but felt more like 'man who'd been dragged backward through a hedge.'
I tried to summon my inner badass, the one that had millions of followers eating out of the palm of my hand and enough sponsorships to make me set for life.
A knock at the door made me tense. Avery.
My heart slammed against my ribs like a caged beast, a primal response I couldn't shake, even after our split. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for another night of this fucked-up charade. Little did I know, this Grecian evening was about to turn into an emotional shitstorm that would make the Trojan War look like a playground scuffle.
I yanked open the door, and sweet Jesus on a Harley, my brain flatlined. Avery stood there looking like sex on legs, a siren ready to lure me to my doom.
Her sundress clung to her curves, the soft fabric teasing glimpses of skin that made my mouth go dry. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves that begged for my fingers to tangle in them.
Our eyes met, and the air between us crackled with enough heat to set the whole damn island on fire. I swallowed hard, trying to rein in the primitive urge to claim her right then and there, my whole body screaming to pull her close.
“Hey,” I managed to rasp out, my voice rough. “You look… fucking incredible.”
A hint of a smile curved Avery's lips, and I had to clench my fists to keep from tracing it with my thumb. I swear to Christ, this breakup was only making me want her more.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice doing that low, sexy thing that always hit me right in the gut. “You're not too shabby yourself.”
I chuckled, the sound as hollow as my chest felt without her in it. “Well, you know me. Always ready to play the part.”
We made our way down to the port, where a traditional Greek caique was waiting to whisk us away on our bullshit romantic adventure. The wooden boat, with its blue and white paint job that screamed 'tourist trap,' rocked in the water like it was three sheets to the wind.
As we approached, I couldn't help but think how fucking perfect this setting would be if things weren't so goddamn complicated between us—if I hadn't royally screwed everything up like the emotionally stunted asshole I am.
I helped Avery onto the deck, my hand splaying possessively across her lower back. The heat of her skin through that flimsy excuse for a dress sent a bolt of electricity straight to my groin.
“All aboard for the sunset cruise of a lifetime,” I announced with all the fake enthusiasm of a telemarketer on their last day before retirement. “Don't forget to smile for the camera, Spark. My followers are counting on us to give them FOMO so bad they'll need therapy.”
Avery's eyes flickered with something—hurt? Annoyance? The sudden urge to push me overboard?—before she plastered on a smile that was about as real as my great-aunt Gertrude's teeth.
“Wouldn't dream of it,” she replied, her tone sweet enough to rot teeth. “After all, what's a little emotional torture between fake lovebirds?”
As we set sail, the postcard-perfect view of Santorini stretched out before us, so damn beautiful. I busied myself with the camera equipment, grateful for any excuse to keep my hands distracted.
The air between us was thick with tension, and the scent of her perfume was driving me fucking insane.
“Right,” I growled, manhandling a tripod like it had personally offended me. “I figured we'd start with some shots of us enjoying the view, maybe a few 'candid' moments on deck. You know, the usual perfectly happy bullshit the followers lap up like thirsty dogs.”
Avery nodded, her professional mask firmly in place.
“Sounds good,” she replied, cool as a goddamn iceberg. “Any specific pose you want? Perhaps ‘Wistful Woman Gazing at Horizon While Contemplating Life Choices?’”
Her detached tone stung.
“Just… be you,” I found myself saying, my voice rougher than I intended. “You're always fucking stunning on camera. Hell, you'd look good in a burlap sack in the middle of a hurricane.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Avery's face, like I'd just admitted to being secretly raised by a family of sea turtles.
For a split second, I saw that warmth that had hooked me from the start. But it vanished faster than my patience in traffic, replaced by a poker face that would make Vegas pros sweat.
We spent the next hour or so posing for pictures and filming short video clips, a masterclass in fake romance that would make even reality TV producers slow clap. Each touch, each loving glance for the camera felt like a kick to the gut, seasoned with a sprinkle of “you did this to yourself, dumbass.”
As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink that made it look like someone had gone mad with the saturation slider, we arrived at our destination, a tiny island that felt like it had been formed just for this moment.
A table was set up on deck, adorned with flickering candles and an array of Greek delicacies that would make Zeus himself consider abandoning the top of Olympus for a taste.
Under different circumstances, it would have been the perfect romantic setting. As it was, it felt like the universe was trolling us. Hard.
We sat across from each other, the small table suddenly feeling like an insurmountable distance that would require a team of Sherpas and an oxygen tank to cross. I poured the wine, my hands steadier than my racing heart, the bottle sweating in the warm evening air like it was in a hot yoga class.
“To successful content,” I said, lifting my glass. My voice was rough, raw with the effort of keeping my shit together.
Avery clinked her glass against mine, her eyes giving away nothing. Fuck, those eyes used to tell me so much. Now they were locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
“To success,” she echoed, her tone flat.
As we dined on fresh Greek salad that tasted like summer in a bowl and souvlaki so tender it practically melted on my tongue, I realized how much I'd missed this—our connection, the way Avery could see through my careful smokescreen to the real me underneath.
“What about you?” I asked, desperate to keep her talking and not sound like a complete jackass. “What drives you to write? Besides paying the bills.”
Avery's eyes lit up, and I couldn't look away.
“There's just something magical about finding those untold stories, you know?” she said. “It's like being an archaeologist, but instead of digging up old bones, you're excavating emotions and experiences,” she continued, oblivious to my internal struggle.
“And when you finally share it with the world? God, it's better than sex.”
She paused, a blush creeping up her cheeks that made me want to trace it with my fingers, my lips. “Well, maybe not better than really good sex. But definitely better than mediocre sex.”
I choked on my wine, caught between laughter and arousal.
“Remind me to up my game if I ever get another chance,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
Avery's eyes widened, and she suddenly seemed to remember who she was talking to.
“Sorry,” she said, catching herself and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in that adorable way that always made my heart do somersaults. “I'm rambling. And oversharing. Maybe I should lay off the wine.”
“No, don't apologize,” I said quickly, reaching out to touch her hand before thinking better of it and awkwardly grabbing the bread basket instead. “I love hearing you talk about your passion. It's… inspiring.”
Our eyes locked across the table, and for a second, I forgot how to fucking breathe.
The air crackled between us, charged with enough heat to melt steel. But then Avery looked away, and the moment vanished.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, soft Greek music started playing. I stood up, feeling a surge of courage from the way Avery's skin glowed in the fading light.
And possibly the three glasses of wine I'd consumed.
“Dance with me,” I said, holding out my hand, praying she wouldn’t leave me hanging.
Avery hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching mine like she was trying to read a book written in a language she only half understood. Then, slowly, she placed her hand in mine.
“Okay,” she said softly. “One dance. But if you step on my toes, I'm feeding you to the sharks.”
I led her to an open area of the deck, pulling her close as we began to sway to the music, and it brought back a flood of memories that hit me like a tidal wave of nostalgia and regret.
I pulled her close, maybe closer than I should have, but fuck if I was going to waste this chance. The scent of her—that light, sweet vanilla-cinnamon—hit me hard, dragging up memories that made my chest ache.
As we moved together, our bodies remembering each other better than our minds seemed to, I was struck by how right it felt. This was where Avery belonged—in my arms. And the thought that I might have lost her for good made me want to punch something. Preferably myself.
“Avery,” I murmured, my lips brushing her ear. I tried to ignore how my body was reacting to her closeness. “I?—”
But before I could spill my guts, the music ended, and Avery stepped back. The loss of contact felt like a physical ache, like someone had just ripped off a full-body band-aid.
“We should probably head back,” she said, not quite meeting my eyes, like she was suddenly fascinated by the intricate patterns of the deck flooring. “It's getting late.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. If I opened my mouth, I might beg her to stay with me forever.
As we sailed back, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd let the best thing in my life slip away. It was like watching the last lifeboat leave while you were still on the sinking ship. We disembarked in silence, the narrow, winding streets of Santorini a maze of whitewashed buildings and blue-domed churches.
A couple blocks up, with the cobbled streets, we accidentally bumped into each other. The touch was barely a graze, but it was unignorable.
“Sorry,” Avery mumbled, shoving her hands into her pockets like they'd personally offended her.
I wanted to grab that hand, pull her close, show her exactly what that simple touch did to me. But I kept my hands to myself, like a good boy.
“No worries,” I replied, my voice sounding strangled. “I mean, it's not like I'm going to spontaneously combust from a simple touch or anything. That would be ridiculous. Ha ha.”
We paused at a viewpoint overlooking the caldera, the lights of Santorini spread out ahead of us.
I turned to her, my heart hammering like I'd just run a marathon. This was my shot to make things right, to beg if I had to.
I took her hand, marveling at how it still fit perfectly in mine. “Avery, I?—”
But before I could finish, Avery pulled away. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she whispered, “No, we’re not doing this.”
“Avery…” I called out, but she was already walking away.
My brain went into overdrive, thoughts ping-ponging around. Go after her, you idiot! a part of me yelled. But my feet felt like they were stuck in cement, refusing to budge.
Who was I kidding?
After all the crap I'd pulled, maybe this was karma biting me in the ass. A clean break. A chance for Avery to find someone who wasn't a walking adrenaline-fueled disaster zone.
But fuck, the thought of her with some other guy made me want to hurl. I took a step forward, then froze like a deer in headlights. What if I chased her down and poured my heart out, only for her to shut me down? Could my ego even take that hit?
The night air felt heavy, like trying to breathe through a wet blanket. I ran my hand through my hair. When had I turned into such a wuss?
But my brain just kept whispering, You're bad news, pal. Let her go.