“Sorry for listening.”
She shook her head. “And if his father wasn’t sponsoring it, where did his money come from? Does he have a fund?”
“I know you’re helping Lamina investigate NIMS—I got a birdie telling me,” Jeremy said quietly. “I sent in my notice to Whitmore yesterday. If you ever need help, you know where to find me.”
“Why would you do that?” Ilias interjected, crossing his arms and probably scaring the shit out of poor Jeremy.
“Because I’ve been working under the Whitmores for ages, and Thomas has been making very bad decisions for a very long time,” Jeremy replied. “His father isn’t happy, and I’m not going to keep working for someone so… petty.”
Sofia smiled. “I never knew how you could work with him.”
“I could say the same,” Jeremy chuckled, and Sofia couldn’t hold back a scoff.
“Touché.”
“If you need anything, Miss Moretti, I’ll be happy to finally work for some good.”
As he left, Sofia didn’t really know what to make of everything. But as she let Ilias pull her into a hug, she released a shaky breath, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
“It’s okay,” Ilias whispered. “You’ve been brave, Sofia.”
She wasn’t sad about what she’d said to Thomas. Those were tears of happiness, of relief, of closure. Finally, she had told him everything she thought of him, and she felt freer. Lighter.
62
SOFIA
Ed ero contentissimo – Tiziano Ferro
The two weeksthey spent in Imsouane had turned out to be exactly what she needed to decompress, to finally deal with the grief of losing her father. While working on Salacia from a distance, she had helped Ghita and Ilias with Azul. Excel open daily, they started putting down numbers, contacts, and possible collaborators, while also dealing with some people who were very upset by Thomas withdrawing from his quest to destroy Imsouane. Obviously, they weren’t upset about Imsouane being destroyed, they were upset that the amount of money he had promised wasn’t going to reach their bank accounts.
Which was fair enough. She had been pissed too when she had to give back the money to TerraVive. But Ilias had charmed and roped them into Azul’s future. All the businesses Thomas had reached out to had turned out to be essential for Azul, so it was easy for Ilias and Ghita to offer them something big, like theidea of collaborating with the business of an Olympic medalist, someone who had contributed to putting Morocco on the map.
As always, she video-called daily her mother and her sister, who were together in Milan with the twins. Gabriella had filed for divorce from Roberto after a discussion that their mother had declared undesastre. A disaster.
The ghost of grief followed her daily. She had started crying randomly when she saw an old man staring at the ocean in Imsouane, or when someone mentioned focaccia. She had started therapy, under Ilias’ suggestion, to deal with grief and all the changes happening in her life. It truly helped her brain find peace, and having Ilias by her side—someone who had spent two years processing his father’s death and legacy—had been extremely positive. She knew he wasn’t going to judge her for crying at the mere first notes of the playlist her father had created before dying. He understood her, and she felt incredibly lucky and grateful that he was patient enough to wait for her timeline.
“Habiba, are you ready?” Ilias asked from their bedroom as she checked herself one last time in the mirror.
She was wearing a linen top covering her shoulders and linen pants, ditching the sundress to be more appropriate to Moroccan culture. To Ilias’ utter annoyance.
“Yup, coming.”
Ilias had his curls tousled, still slightly humid from the shower they had indulged in together, a linen button-up shirt open at the first buttons, and linen pants. He had embraced the linen for her—he had said—and ended up loving it. Even though more than half the time he still wore surfer shirts and shorts.
“Gorgeous,” he grinned, making her twirl around before planting a kiss on her lips.
“How do you feel?” she asked, threading her arms behind his neck, studying him closely.
“I’m a bit nervous,” he admitted. “Do you really think Emir will like me?”
“He seems a pretty smart teenager. I’m sure you’ll charm him, as you did with everyone in Imsouane since we got here.”
“You know you’re the only one I ever truly wanted to charm?” he asked, squeezing her ass and pressing their hips together.
“I know.” She smiled, kissing his lips. “Everything is going to be fine with Emir. I’m sure.”
Ilias nodded, took a deep breath, stole another kiss, and they headed to the restaurant. It was a short walk from the apartment Ilias had bought a couple of years earlier, right when he decided to take a break from surfing to focus on his mental health. The apartment where his father had lived in Imsouane now belonged to Emir and Yasmine.
