SOFIA
Peer Pressure – James Bay, Julia Michaels
Ilias wasa natural with public affection; she, on the other hand, felt like a malfunctioning robot. And for that, Sofia had only Thomas to blame. Somehow, falling in love with an American meant he didn’t like to hold hands in public, kiss in public, or display even the slightest affection toward his significant other when surrounded by other people. Sofia was pretty sure not all Americans were like that, but she had the misfortune of falling for the most robotic and close-minded one during her twenties. Meanwhile, the guy she was supposed to fake a relationship with was the touchiest person she'd ever met.
“You should relax a little,” he said as they waited for their orders at Nereid. They’d snagged a spot close to the balcony so they could see the ocean and have front-row seats for golden hour, one of her favorite times of day in her favorite spot in Ericeira.
Ilias outstretched a strong hand and squeezed her shoulder, the massage surprisingly relaxing her muscles after an entire day diving.
“I find it hard when I don’t know how to act,” she whispered back, leaning slightly toward him. “And people here know me.”
“Even better. If they see us together, they’ll believe the post we’re making tonight.”
He leaned in even more, and Sofia studied his features a little more closely.
She hadn’t meant to stare. But there was something about him, something in the way the sunlight caught his hazel eyes, turning them slightly green. Warm and unblinking, like they’d soaked in years of salt and sun and still refused to fade. Eyes that weren’t just light, but alive. They didn’t just look at her, they seemed to notice her. And she wasn’t used to being noticed like that. She wanted to shrink away from his stare. Maybe that’s what unsettled her the most about him, the way he seemed to see through her armor. Sometimes she felt like she moved through the world like a porcupine, always wearing spines to keep people at a distance. People like Ilias, for example.
His skin told stories too. Not the polished kind she was used to, but the kind filled with scars, kissed by ocean air and open skies. It looked like it belonged to someone who never ran from the elements, but lived in them.
Then there was his nose, not too sharp, not too soft. Just enough curve to suggest quiet pride, like it had weathered things and stood its ground. Like the rest of him. Defined. Balanced. Grounded. Not like her, she always felt like she was constantly walking on quicksand.
Her gaze lingered on the cut of his jaw and the scruff that adorned it. When he smiled, there was that easy grin, bright and unguarded, the kind that disarmed you before you even realized you’d been on edge.
Everything about him radiated something unspoken. Not just athleticism. Not just charisma. Something calm. Solid. Lived-in. So different from how she felt.
“Aqui está o vosso pedido.”
One of the waiters startled her, forcing her to snap back to reality. Ilias seemed just as surprised, like the few seconds—it must have been seconds—they’d been staring into each other’s eyes had pulled him from reality.
“Obrigada,” Sofia replied, while Ilias, in perfect Portuguese, asked for olives or something to snack on with the beers she had brought them. Even though Nereid was mostly a coffee place, they did an amazingaperitivothat reminded her a little bit of Italy.
When the waiter left, Sofia frowned. “How many languages do you speak?”
“French, Darija, which is Moroccan Arabic, and Spanish for family. English and Portuguese mainly to chat with my friends,” he admitted. Then he wiggled his eyebrows. “Did you think I was just a dumb surfer?”
“Something like that.” She tried to hide the smile creeping on her lips. She wasn’t going to say outright how cool she found it when people spoke more than one language.
“And you?”
“Italian from my dad, Spanish from my mom, English for study and research, some French because I lived in Genova, close to the border with France, and they taught it in school. I’m learning Portuguese, but I mix it with Spanish and Italian and hate myself for not getting it right yet.”
“Let me guess, you’re used to being good at everything you do?”
There was no judgment in his tone, just pure amusement.
“Is there another way to live?” she joked.
Ilias laughed, a full-on belly laugh, and the sound warmed something in her chest.
“I don’t think so. You’re talking to a pro surfer who built his life around winning medals and proving he was better than the rest.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m no one to judge.”
Sofia became thoughtful. “I don’t have that kind of drive when it comes to surfing or anything athletic. I surf because I enjoy it, but I found out I’m competitive with academic stuff.”
“Always been a nerd?”
“I knew I wanted to become a marine biologist from a very young age. Even though math and chemistry aren’t my favorite, I worked my ass off for it.”
Then she looked at him as he popped an olive into his mouth that the waitress had just dropped by. The movement somehow catching her eye. “And you? Always known you wanted to be a surfer?”
