By the time I finish my Sun salutations, the sun is beginning to creep through the thick, golden curtains.
9
Natalia
I wakeup feeling discombobulated yet well-rested the next morning. Rolling over and checking my phone, I’m surprised to find it’s only seven in the morning. Technically it’s eleven in Los Angeles, but still. It feels nice to know that I have the rest of the day ahead of me. There’s a reason I enjoy waking up early—it makes me feel so much more productive. I throw the covers off and open the sliding glass door that leads to the small balcony outside, basking in the warm, tropical ocean air. As I walk over to one of the patio chairs, I hear a noise from the next balcony.
Anderson walks back into his room, shutting the sliding door with an annoyed slam. When his eyes meet mine through the glass, he glares before pulling the curtains closed.
My mind flashes to last night.
For a second, I thought you were eavesdropping.
The night’s events send the searing memory through me—the noise, the door...
I shake my head and lean against the railing. I don’t care. I’ve given up trying to figure out why he hates me, or why he seems to affect me so much. I’m in paradise, and I only have two more days here before we fly home. I need to make the best of it. The palm trees sway before me, the air carrying a hint of cool morning mist that has a wet feel to it—which tells me it’s going to be hot and humid today. The ocean is a deep blue, and the sand is the perfect color—not white and pristine, but gritty, coarse,real.It’s not the Caribbean, but it feels genuine. Like I could live here. In fact, it’s not that different from the beaches in L.A.
After taking a few steadying breaths, I turn and get ready for my day, starting with a shower. I hate that the hotel soap reminds me of what Anderson smelled like in his towel last night, so I make sure to scrub the scent of it off until my skin is red.
I sit alonein the hotel restaurant and sip my coffee, reading a new book. It’s a second chance romance—a little sweeter than I typically like them, but I’m not in the mood for angst right now.
I’m already living it.
Smiling, I turn the pages quickly as I scarf down a biscuit, blissfully unaware of my surroundings. My stomach knots when I think about Amour and all the books I won’t get to help come to fruition. The excitement of a Monday inbox full of promising queries. Sure, it was tiresome having to read through so many samples and queries, especially since many of them were almost identical. I’d be fine if I never read another stepbrother book in my life. Samanthalovedtaboo, so I always sent those to her. We had a good system going. Frowning, I wonder who will be looking out for all the promising, darker reads I normally sorted through.
“Sleep well?”
The low voice shocks me out of my stupor.
“Aside from the interruptions, yes,” I quip, not deigning to look up at him.
He stands there, so I finally swing my head up. He’s studying me with a deep frown, as if I’m sitting in his favorite chair or something. I sit up straighter and try not to preen as Anderson’s surprised face takes in my pantsuit. It’s light pink and modern, with a low neckline and wide trousers. I am also wearing my favorite pair of nude heels. My hair is pulled into a sleek low bun, and I decided to leave my face mostly bare of makeup, aside from the red lips. All in all, the color of my suit compliments my tan complexion. Also, compared to last night, I lookhot.I want to show off. I’m not always a hot mess express, and I want to prove it to him—throw it in his face a little.
Of course, he looks fresh and clean in a crisp, dark grey suit. How many suits does one man need for a three-day trip?
“How long have you been practicing yoga?” he asks, his voice light and innocent-sounding as he sits across from me. But I know it’s anything but innocent. This feels like an interrogation.
“A few months. I’m a newbie.”
“Wow, inversions only a few months in? Those are usually only saved for very experienced yogis.”
What the fuck.
I shrug. Why is he even sitting with me when he couldn’t fathom being near me yesterday?
“Hence why I fell over. I’m still perfecting my practice.”
He nods and looks over at the waiter, snapping his fingers.
“You know, waiters hate when people do that.” I lift my eyebrows and eat more of my biscuit, my eyes not leaving his as I chew loudly.
“Have you ever been a waiter, Natalia?”
I hate the way he says my name—enunciating every syllable and making it sound so formal. He puts an emphasis on the ‘T’—so it almost sounds like ‘Talia. If I didn’t loathe every aspect of his being, I might find it endearing. It’s what my parents used to call me. I was Talia, and Luca was Luc. A deep, gnawing pang hits me right in the chest when I think about them.
“I was a barista in college. We hated people like you because we could always tell you never had to work in customer service a day in your life.”
He raises his eyebrows the tiniest bit, setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward a couple of inches.
