30. Erika
ERIKA
“You know, for someone who pretends to hate me, you’re surprisingly cuddly in your sleep.”
Erika’s eyes flew open. Sunlight streamed through unfamiliar curtains, and Stefan’s voice was rough with sleep, vibrating against her shoulder. His arm was draped heavily across her waist, his bare chest warm against her back.
“I don’t cuddle.”
“You absolutely cuddle. You wrapped around me like a koala.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Very aggressive spooning. I was defenseless.”
She tried to elbow him, but he caught her arm and used the momentum to roll her onto her back. Her stomach flipped.
Last night surfaced in flashes: the pool, his mouth on her, the way he’d carried her to bed. She hadn’t expected to actually sleep. But she had, deeply, dreamlessly.
“You’re insufferable in the morning.”
“I’m insufferable all the time, corazón. This is just the first time you've been close enough to really appreciate it.” He dipped his head to kiss her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “Also, you talk in your sleep.”
Her face burned. “I do not.”
“You do.” That grin again. “Very informative. I learned a lot about your feelings regarding my—”
“You’re making that up.” She shoved at his chest, but he caught her wrists and pinned them above her head—loosely. She could pull free if she wanted to.
“Then why are you blushing, Princesa?”
“Because you’re on top of me and I haven’t had coffee.”
“Flimsy excuse. Terrible deflection.” He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then hovered just above her lips.
She squirmed beneath him, and his breath caught, that sharp intake that meant his self-control was fraying.
“If you keep doing that,” he said, his voice dropping, “my restraint from last night is going to look very impressive by comparison.”
“Maybe I want you to lose it.”
His gaze shifted, the playfulness draining out, replaced by hunger. He hesitated.
Instead, he groaned, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. “Dios mío, you’re trying to kill me.”
“Just keeping you humble.”
He laughed against her skin, then released her wrists and propped himself up on one elbow. His hair was a disaster, dark strands falling across his forehead, a pillow crease on his cheek. This wasn't the Stefan Cruz the cameras got. She didn’t want to look away.
He traced a fingertip along her collarbone. His eyes steadied on hers. “I meant what I said last night. About wanting to do this right.”
Her stomach tightened. “I know.”
“I’m serious, Erika.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just want to be the guy who annoys you before coffee. That’s it. That’s the whole ambition.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “You’re very good at the annoying part.”
“Years of practice.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Let me romance you properly. Real dates. Bad wine. Worse dancing. The whole thing.”
“We’re trapped on an island.”
“Then I’ll romance you on an island.” His grin turned soft. “And when we get back to the real world, I’ll romance you there, too. If you’ll let me.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “You can romance me. But I reserve the right to mock your efforts mercilessly.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He leaned down to kiss her, soft, unhurried. “Because I have every intention of—”
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Stefan’s mouth stilled against hers. They both heard it—the specific vibration pattern Erika had assigned to one person.
Anneliese.
Stefan read the name upside down and rolled off her without a word, disappearing into the kitchen. Giving her space for a conversation about him. She wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.
She swiped to accept. “Hey, Annie.”
“Eri, thank God.” Anneliese’s voice was frantic. “Lily said you got stranded in the storm and I’ve been calling since last night but the towers were down and I kept picturing you alone on that island in a Category 1 hurricane with nobody looking out for you—”
“I’m fine, Annie. I’m okay. I rode it out at Stefan’s villa—it was the closest shelter when the ferry left without us.”
Anneliese went quiet. She was processing.
“Stefan’s villa,” Anneliese said carefully. “You and Stefan. Alone. Overnight. During the hurricane that knocked out all communication with the mainland.”
“It wasn’t—”
“#Stennalise is trending again. Olivia’s been fielding calls since this morning from outlets wanting confirmation that Anneliese Morgan and Stefan Cruz are together.” Anneliese’s voice wavered. “I need to know what happened so I can protect us. Both of us. That’s all I’m trying to do.”
And Erika believed her. Anneliese wasn’t lying. She’d been protecting them both since they were sixteen and their parents died in Wichita.
“The storm was real, the ferry left, and his villa was closest. That’s the truth, and that’s the story, because it’s what happened.”
“I hear you. I do. But you’re wearing my face, and everything you do while you’re wearing it is what I have to live with when this is over.
So I have to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me.
” Anneliese’s voice dropped, and for a second the brand-voice cracked.
Underneath it, just her sister, scared and far away. “Did you sleep with him?”
Erika looked toward the kitchen, where she could hear Stefan running water. Making coffee.
“That’s not what this call should be about, Annie.”
“Oh god.” Anneliese exhaled. “You did. Bean, after everything I told you about him, after I begged you to be careful—”
“You told me your version. And I think your version leaves out more than you realize.”
“My version is that he humiliated me on national television. He called my career narcissism with a business plan—those are his actual words, Erika, I didn’t invent them—”
“And his agent sold that quote to every outlet that would run it. Turned a thirty-second answer into a week-long news cycle without Stefan’s knowledge or permission.
He said a terrible thing—but it was his agent who made sure it destroyed you.
” Erika kept her voice steady. “Did your version include that?”
Anneliese was quiet long enough that Erika could hear the ambient sounds of the facility—a door closing somewhere, the hum of air conditioning.
“Who told you that?” Anneliese asked. Her voice was uncertain now.
“It doesn’t matter who told me. What matters is that I walked onto this set believing he was a villain because that’s the story you gave me, and the truth is messier than that.”
“Because that one side nearly destroyed my career.” Anneliese’s voice cracked.
“Do you know what it’s like to build something from nothing and watch a man tear it apart in one interview because he thinks what you do isn’t real work?
I wasn’t protecting my image, Erika. I was protecting the thing that kept a roof over both our heads after Mom and Dad died. ”
She knew that too. It was the part that hurt.
“I know what you sacrificed, Annie. I have never once forgotten that. But you can’t keep using it to decide who I’m allowed to trust.”
“I’m not deciding anything—I’m trying to keep you safe because that’s what I’ve always done and it’s the only thing I know how to do from a recovery bed in Malibu with a broken leg and no way to get to you.
” Anneliese’s voice rose and then broke, and Erika heard her take a ragged breath, pulling herself back together the way she always did—fast, practiced, at a cost nobody saw.
“He sees you. You said that. And maybe he does. But I’ve been seeing you your whole life, Bean.
I just don’t always know how to say it right. ”
Erika opened her mouth—
“I have to go. Olivia’s calling about the hashtag.” The line went dead.
Erika sat in the tangled sheets of Stefan’s bed, phone in her lap, holding a response Anneliese would never hear.
Stefan appeared with two mugs. He didn’t ask if she was okay. He just set the coffee on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch but not touching. Waiting for her to decide what she needed.
“You heard all of that,” she asked.
“Thin walls.” He was studying his hands. A muscle jumped in his cheek. “She’s wrong about me. But she’s not wrong about all of it.”
“What part isn’t she wrong about?”
“I did say those things. The interview.” He met her eyes, and she saw something she hadn’t expected—shame. “I called her career a vanity project. Said worse than that, actually. I was angry about the Page Eight piece, and I took it out on her in front of a camera.”
The honesty winded her. She’d been bracing for him to defend himself, to list reasons Anneliese was wrong. Instead, he’d handed her the worst possible thing.
“She’s also my sister. And if she finds out about us before I can explain it on my terms, she won’t hear anything past ‘Stefan Cruz.’ She’ll shut down and I’ll lose her.”
Stefan nodded slowly. “So we keep this quiet.”
“Until the movie wraps. Until I can sit across from her and tell her myself, face-to-face, without a phone screen between us.” Her voice went quieter on the last part.
“I’m not hiding you because I’m ashamed.
I’m hiding this because it’s the first thing I’ve chosen for myself in years and I can’t let her take it before I understand what it is. ”
She watched him wrestle with it. From what she'd seen, he performed for a living—the interviews, the premieres, the practiced ease. She was asking him to hide the one thing that wasn't an act.
“I’m terrible at hiding what I want. You know that.” He turned her hand over in his. “And I’m not going to pretend on set that you don’t matter to me. I’ll be careful, but I won’t fake it.”
“I’m not asking you to fake it. I’m asking you to be patient.”
His thumb stilled against her wrist. “For you? I can try.”
Then he kissed her, slow and deep, and she forgot everything except his hands cradling her face.
When he pulled back, his thumb traced the line of her cheekbone. “For the record,” he said, “you’re allowed to want whatever you want. Especially if it’s me.”
“Okay. Enough heavy stuff.” That grin, the one that meant trouble. “I found surfboards in the resort shed yesterday. The storm swell should be perfect.”
“I don’t know how to surf.”
“That’s the point. I’m going to teach you.” He shifted closer. “My plan involves spending the day with my hands on your waist while you wear very little clothing.”
She swatted his arm. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet you agreed to date me.” He grabbed her hands and pulled her to standing. “Shower first. You smell like chlorine and questionable life choices.”
“You’re the questionable life choice.”
“The best one you ever made.” He walked her backward toward the bathroom, reaching past her to turn on the shower. Steam curled between them, already fogging the glass.
“What are you doing?”
“Conserving water.” He was already pulling his shirt over his head. “Very environmentally responsible.”
“We’re on a private island with unlimited fresh water.”
“Then we’re conserving time.” He stepped closer, fingers finding the hem of the shirt she’d slept in. “My Tita always said you can’t seduce a woman on an empty stomach.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Seducing me?”
“I’m romancing you. There’s a difference.” His smile curved. “Seduction requires patience. You'll see.”
He lifted the shirt over her head, leaving her bare, and his eyes went dark even as his smile stayed soft. “I told you. I’m going to romance you, carino. Whether you like it or not.”
She should argue. Instead, she stepped into the shower and pulled him in after her. Some things could wait until the water ran cold.