LUNA
TheHawaiiansunwasmerciless. A molten crown in the sky, it streamed through the gauzy curtains of my suite, gilding the room in a cruel, wakeful light. Heat licked over my skin before I even opened my eyes, the air heavy with the scent of frangipani, and something sweetly tropical that didn’t belong to me.
I lay still at first, blinking at the carved ceiling fan lazily circling above. Not my room. Not my city. No familiar hum of Sydney traffic. Instead, the rhythmic hiss of the ocean reached me, its voice muffled by distance but relentless all the same. It felt strange, as if the tide was whispering secrets meant for me alone.
Then last night came rushing back, sharp and invasive, like stepping into a wave that knocked the air from my lungs.
The boy.
Those eyes, dark enough to swallow light. That smirk, too slow, too knowing. He’d worn arrogance like it was stitched into his skin, a casual cruelty in the way he spoke, as if words were weapons and I was target practice.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the memory away, but my mind betrayed me, looping the moment again and again.
“Careful, princess.”
“I thought you were enjoying the view.”
I’d wanted to slap him. Or… maybe I hadn’t. My stomach tightened at the memory, at the strange flutter that had no right to be there. He’d been rude. Condescending. Dangerous in a way that made my pulse trip and stumble.
Dragging myself upright, I let my legs dangle over the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped like a sigh beneath me, still clinging to my body heat. My limbs felt weighted, sticky with jet lag, but my mind was wide awake, alive with unwanted images.
Today was the wedding. Today I’d meet Marcus, my mother’s soon-to-be husband, and Riley, the boy who would become my stepbrother.
A shiver slipped over my skin despite the warmth.
I pushed myself off the bed and crossed the room, the hardwood floor echoing my movements. The bathroom door gleamed faintly in the quiet, a small promise of peace.
The shower was cool, almost bracing, but it did nothing to quiet the restless ache inside my chest. Droplets clung to my long hair as I towel-dried it, catching the sunlight like tiny glass pearls. My reflection stared back at me from the wide, gold-framed mirror above the vanity. My eyes, usually a clear, steady blue, looked shadowed, dilated. I looked like someone who had seen something she shouldn’t… and someone who couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I shook my head, trying to dispel the thoughts and slipped into a pale yellow sundress, something light enough to breathe in, something that said I was here for breakfast and a peaceful morning. My hands moved slower than they should, my mind tripping over a question I didn’t want to answer.
What if the boy was at the restaurant?
The resort was sprawling but not infinite. Three pale towers wrapped around a lagoon, gardens stitched with winding stone paths, pools layered like staircases. From my balcony, I could see everything: the sweep of manicured lawns, the glassy turquoise water of the infinity pool, the private stretch of beach where palm trees bent toward the sand like they were eavesdropping. Sunlight fractured across the waves in shards of gold, almost blinding. Somewhere below, the clink of cutlery mingled with soft music drifting from the terrace restaurant.
It should have been paradise. But paradise can feel like a cage when you know who’s sharing it with you.
I breathed in deep, drawing in sea air that settled thickly in my lungs, as if warning me to stay alert.
But today wasn’t about a boy I’d only met once. It was about my mother, her happiness, the life she wanted. I repeated the words until they almost sounded true.
And yet, in the quiet place no one could touch, a traitorous voice whispered,“What if you see him again?”
When I finally stepped out of my suite, the air wrapped around me like clouds and heat, already heavy, already tasting faintly of sugar and exotic spices. The fragrance of tropical blossoms drifted lazily through the open corridors, thick and intoxicating, as if the island itself wanted to keep me here, lulled and pliant.
The resort was waking. Shadows slipped away from the manicured gardens, replaced by the gleam of sun on emerald leaves. From somewhere beyond the palm-lined paths came the distant clatter of cutlery, the low hum of breakfast chatter, the soft splash of water as someone slipped into one of the pools. In the daylight, the place looked like it had been poured from a dream: wide terraces dressed in cream stone, glass balustrades catching the light, pools stacked like mirrors spilling into one another before vanishing toward the horizon.
I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead. Each step toward the main lobby was measured, brisk, the rhythm of my sandals on the stone a steady beat against the rapid flutter in my chest. Every turn in the corridor, every passing cluster of guests sent my pulse skipping.
Half-expecting. Half-dreading.
And fully certain I’d recognize him the second I saw him.
But there was no sign of him, nor of the girl who had been pinned beneath him so easily the night before. My breath left me in a quiet exhale, though relief was an uneasy thing. It felt temporary.
The open-air breakfast pavilion sat like a jewel at the edge of the resort’s bluff, framed by columns wrapped in blooming vines. White linen tablecloths fluttered faintly in the morning breeze, and beyond them the ocean stretched out in endless, glittering blue.
My mother was already there.
