What could she even say to that?
“And I’m so glad you broke up with her,” Ilias appeared like a divine intervention, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and planting a kiss in her hair. “I would’ve won her over anyway, butit’s terrible getting in the way of a well-established relationship, isn’t it?”
Then, without letting Thomas reply, Ilias extended a hand. “The loser surfer with an Olympic gold medal. But people usually call me Ilias.”
Thomas’ jaw tightened. But he shook his hand. When Thomas let go, his face was redder than a lobster.
“You’ve got a powerful shake,” Thomas muttered.
“And a powerful fist too,” Ilias replied, casually. “So, I’d suggest you leave Sofia alone. She clearly doesn’t enjoy your presence, and neither do the other ladies. I’ll take it from here. You’re dismissed.”
Sofia bit back a laugh, lips pressed tight. Ilias gently stroked her shoulder with his fingertips, as if grounding her.
“Do you even know who I am?” Thomas asked, scoffing.
“No idea. But you’re definitely someone Sofia can’t stand. So please, go away.” Ilias waved him off.
“I have every right to be here. This is a free country.”
“And this is getting ridiculous,” Sofia muttered. “Girls, want to join us for lunch?”
Lidia and Amélie nodded, visibly entertained by the exchange.
“Perfect. Let’s go then.”
Sofia grabbed Ilias’ hand and without saying another word to Thomas, they walked out.
The moment the fresh ocean air hit her, it felt like she could finally breathe again.
“We’re going to grab our stuff and be right back,” Lidia said, pointing to a side room. “We know a very cool place near the center.”
“Are you okay?” Ilias asked as soon as they left.
Sofia turned to face him, and froze slightly.
He wasn’t in sneakers or a hoodie or a surf tee. He wasn’t overdressed, either, just... elegant. For a surfer anyways. A soft linen shirt, top buttons open, showing off his tawny chest; olive-green pants, sneakers on his feet. His curls slightly disheveled, his stubble cleanly trimmed.
Porca troia.He looked hot.
“Yes. Thanks,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if that could steady her pulse. “You didn’t have to.”
“Oh, I did,” he murmured, voice low, threaded with something that made her stomach flip. “You’re my girlfriend, remember, habiba?”
Before she could think of a reply, he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to her cheek. His hand came up, fingers sliding against her neck, warm, steady, claiming. The simple touch made her breath hitch, the world narrowing to the heat of his palm and the rasp of his thumb brushing just below her jaw.
“Later,” he whispered against her ear, his breath grazing her skin, “you’ll tell me who the hell that prick was. For now, let’s enjoy lunch with the girls.”
Then, softer this time, he took her face in both hands. His thumbs traced the edges of her cheekbones, feather-light, as if memorizing her. His eyes held hers, and for one dizzying second, she forgot how to breathe.
She nodded, wordless. Because her body, her traitorous body, was already leaning toward him, drawn in by the quiet gravity of his touch. And if this was supposed to be fake, then she was in very real trouble.
18
ILIAS
NARI NARI NARI – Saint Levant
Lunch was fun.The two girls were in their twenties and huge fans of both of them, so they had showered them with questions, and they had to lean into the part of being a couple more than usual.
