“Perish the thought immediately,” I whisper back, but my pulse is thudding fast. We hold the stare long enough for heat to slide under my skin and swirl low in my stomach.
Aria luckily leans across the table, breaking the moment. “Okay, but seriously… how did the double booking even happen?”
I clear my throat and shrug. “I think I pissed off the universe once again, and this is its way of punishing me.”
Ethan chuckles. “At least it’s two bedrooms. Could’ve been worse… like no booking at all.”
“Don’t jinx it,” I snarl at him. “I still have fourteen nights of listening to him snore like a malfunctioning lawnmower.”
“I don’t snore,” Milo says mildly.
Mom laughs and shakes her head. “Sienna, be nice. Milo seems perfectly lovely.”
I side-eye him, my lips twitching to suppress the smile. “He’s tolerable in small, controlled doses… like arsenic.”
I get scolded by Mom, once again, and choose to stay silent until the food arrives. Once the server places the shrimp skewers on the table, farther down than I’d like, I snatch the plate and set it beside me before anyone else can claim the good ones.
About halfway through eating, after I make another not-really-a-joke about our “blissful domestic arrangement,” Miloleans in close until his shoulder brushes mine, playing it off like he’s reaching for a shrimp skewer.
“You’re enjoying this.” He murmurs, his breath stirring the hair at my temple.
“Immensely.” I breathe back.
“You’re going to make my life hell for the next fourteen days, aren’t you?”
I turn my head until our lips are inches apart. “Maybe…”
His gaze darkens. “Careful what you wish for, Sienna.”
Heat coils low and tight in my belly. I cover it with a long sip of my Mojito, letting the cold sweetness chase the fire away. “I always am.”
The conversation around the table drifts to wedding timeline, arriving guests, and the reception dinner menu. I nod and laugh at the right moments, but ninety percent of my brain stays tuned to the man beside me.
He mostly stays quiet, answering questions in that calm, measured voice that makes everything sound reasonable and safe. But every time I shift, my knee brushes his thigh again. Every time I laugh too loudly, his eyes flick sideways.
He’s watching me. Observing. Like I’m a beautiful, volatile equation he wants to solve… and then maybe burn the notebook afterward.
I lean in, my voice barely a whisper against the shell of his ear. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
My finger circles the rim of my glass as I look at him. “Staring without staring.”
“I’m observing.”
My eyes roll before I can stop them. “Observing what, exactly?”
“Just wondering how someone so small can generate so much chaos.”
“Five-seven is average,” I snort. “And chaos is my brand. What’s yours? Silence and repressed longing?”
“Close,” he murmurs. “Silence, repressed longing, and the occasional urge to organize your entire life.”
I gasp theatrically. “Kinky.”
His eyes go storm-cloud dark. “You have no idea.”
Heat pools again, and I swallow the lump in my throat. “Mmm… that almost sounded like you were flirting with me.”
