Page 78 of The Hollywood Switch-up

Stefan appeared with two mugs. He didn’t ask if she was okay. He just set the coffee on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch but not touching. Waiting for her to decide what she needed.

“You heard all of that,” she asked.

“Thin walls.” He was studying his hands. A muscle jumped in his cheek. “She’s wrong about me. But she’s not wrong about all of it.”

“What part isn’t she wrong about?”

“I did say those things. The interview.” He met her eyes, and she saw something she hadn’t expected—shame. “I called her career a vanity project. Said worse than that, actually. I was angry about the Page Eight piece, and I took it out on her in front of a camera.”

The honesty winded her. She’d been bracing for him to defend himself, to list reasons Anneliese was wrong. Instead, he’d handed her the worst possible thing.

“She’s also my sister. And if she finds out about us before I can explain it on my terms, she won’t hear anything past ‘Stefan Cruz.’ She’ll shut down and I’ll lose her.”

Stefan nodded slowly. “So we keep this quiet.”

“Until the movie wraps. Until I can sit across from her and tell her myself, face-to-face, without a phone screen between us.” Her voice went quieter on the last part. “I’m not hiding you because I’m ashamed. I’m hiding this because it’s the first thing I’ve chosen for myself in years and I can’t let her take it before I understand what it is.”

She watched him wrestle with it. From what she'd seen, he performed for a living—the interviews, the premieres, the practiced ease. She was asking him to hide the one thing that wasn't an act.

“I’m terrible at hiding what I want. You know that.” He turned her hand over in his. “And I’m not going to pretend on set that you don’t matter to me. I’ll be careful, but I won’t fake it.”

“I’m not asking you to fake it. I’m asking you to be patient.”

His thumb stilled against her wrist. “For you? I can try.”

Then he kissed her, slow and deep, and she forgot everything except his hands cradling her face.

When he pulled back, his thumb traced the line of her cheekbone. “For the record,” he said, “you’re allowed to want whatever you want. Especially if it’s me.”

“Okay. Enough heavy stuff.” That grin, the one that meant trouble. “I found surfboards in the resort shed yesterday. The storm swell should be perfect.”

“I don’t know how to surf.”

“That’s the point. I’m going to teach you.” He shifted closer. “My plan involves spending the day with my hands on your waist while you wear very little clothing.”

She swatted his arm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet you agreed to date me.” He grabbed her hands and pulled her to standing. “Shower first. You smell like chlorine and questionable life choices.”

“You’re the questionable life choice.”

“The best one you ever made.” He walked her backward toward the bathroom, reaching past her to turn on the shower. Steam curled between them, already fogging the glass.

“What are you doing?”

“Conserving water.” He was already pulling his shirt over his head. “Very environmentally responsible.”

“We’re on a private island with unlimited fresh water.”

“Then we’re conserving time.” He stepped closer, fingers finding the hem of the shirt she’d slept in. “My Tita always said you can’t seduce a woman on an empty stomach.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Seducing me?”

“I’m romancing you. There’s a difference.” His smile curved. “Seduction requires patience. You'll see.”

He lifted the shirt over her head, leaving her bare, and his eyes went dark even as his smile stayed soft. “I told you. I’m going to romance you, cariño. Whether you like it or not.”

She should argue. Instead, she stepped into the shower and pulled him in after her. Some things could wait until the water ran cold.