Page 96 of Have To Be Mine

“Oh yeah?”

He shrugged. “When storms come from nowhere, people say the gods are angry about something.”

“Let’s hope it wasn’t you or me,” I said, shaking my head.

The man chuckled. “Agreed.”

I didn’t believe in that kind of thing. Not really. I thought Greek mythology was super fun but I was way too practical to think there was any truth to it. But watching the rain hammer down with increasing violence, I had to admit it felt ominous. It certainly seemed like the heavens had opened to rain down divine displeasure.

Traffic slowed to a crawl. Then stopped completely.

“We might be stuck here for a while,” the driver said. “Rain like this floods the roads quickly. We have to wait for it to pass or for the water to drain.”

I twisted in my seat, looking back the way we’d come. Somewhere up there, on the highest point of the island, was the runway set. The columns. The fabric draping. The lighting rigs.

All of it was exposed to the elements. It would be ruined. I didn’t know if Dash had checked the weather reports. Was he ready for it? Had he planned for angry rain gods?

“How long do these storms usually last?” I asked, my heart starting to pound.

“No clue. Long enough to mess up everyone’s day.”

I pulled out my phone and opened the weather app. The radar showed a massive system that had appeared out of nowhere, parked directly over Santorini. Wind warnings. Flash flood warnings. The whole screen was lit up red.

This was bad. There was no way that show could go on. Everything he’d worked for was going to be for nothing. I could only imagine what he was going through.

He had worked so hard. He had finally stepped up to show everyone he was capable of more than they’d given him credit for. And now a freak storm was going to destroy it all. That was not fair.

I twisted around again, trying to look up toward where the set would be, but I couldn’t see anything through the rain. There was a sick feeling in my stomach getting worse by the second.

Then I reminded myself it wasn’t my problem anymore. I had done my job. Adrian was there. Any problems from here on out were not mine to deal with.

But even as I thought it, I knew it was bullshit. Dash mattered. The show mattered. And I was sitting in a car doing nothing while everything he’d built was potentially being torn apart.

“Can we turn around?” I heard myself ask.

The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror. “You want to go back?”

“Yes. Now. Please.”

His hand waved out the window. “I can’t move.”

I groaned and leaned my head back, hating being stuck here when he needed me the most.

31

DASH

Istood there watching the sky open up like someone had turned on faucet.

Shit.

This wasn’t in the forecast. Did I check the forecast? No. I did the thing every other normal person did—I looked up at the clear blue sky and used my critical thinking skills.

I had been busy the last hour, in and out of tents finalizing things. I didn’t think I needed to doubt the fucking sky.

The crew scattered like ants, rushing for any cover they could find. Models shrieked and fled toward the backstage tents, their hair and makeup already ruined. The runway—my perfect, pristine runway that had taken days to construct—was getting absolutely hammered. Water pooled on the surface, turning it into a reflecting pool.

The audience section was a disaster. Mom’s friends were scrambling for their purses, holding programs over their heads in a futile attempt to stay dry. The white chairs were already soaked. The flowers were getting beaten down by the rain. Influencers clustered under the first-aid tent, phones out, probably already posting about the chaos.