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I laugh, grabbing his shoulders. “I told you I was good!”

He spins me once more before stopping, and that's when I realise I'm still in his arms.

My hands are resting on his bare shoulders, my chest pressed against his, and his arms are wrapped around my waist, holding me a few inches above the sand.

Oh.

The laughter around us seems to fade as Jude looks at me and something in his expression changes. His smile softens, and without meaning to, mine does too.

Neither of us says anything.

Then his hands loosen around my waist and he lowers me back onto the sand. The second my feet touch the ground, he steps away, and something inside me drops with the distance.

I don't know what it is. Just a tiny thing, a strange little pull somewhere in my chest that makes absolutely no sense.

I rub my hands over my thighs and look toward the net.

“Not bad, short stuff,” he says.

I turn back to him. He's smiling again, like nothing happened. Like he didn't just pick me up and spin me around as if I weigh nothing.

“Not bad?” I scoff. “That was fucking spectacular, Grumpy.”

His grin gets bigger. “Get back in position.”

“And I'm not that short!”

I walk back to my spot, trying to ignore the weird flutter still moving around inside me.

Probably adrenaline. Definitely adrenaline.

I glance at Jude, but he's already watching the other team, waiting for the next serve.

For some stupid reason, I wish he were still smiling at me.

I immediately turn away.

What the hell is wrong with me?

CHAPTER 18

Eleonora

The beach looks completely different at night.

Torches have been pushed into the sand around the party area, their flames dancing every time the breeze rolls in from the sea. A huge campfire burns closer to the water, sparks floating up into the night sky.

Everyone is barefoot.

Shoes and sandals have been abandoned in messy piles near the entrance, and the sand is still warm beneath my feet from the August sun. Music pours from the speakers beside a makeshift DJ booth, loud enough to dance to but not enough to drown out the waves breaking a few feet away. The DJ looks like he's having more fun than anyone else, dancing behind his equipment and yelling something into the microphone that makes half the crowd cheer.

People are already dancing near the fire while others are scattered across cushions and low tables in the sand, talking, laughing and eating. Someone walks past me carrying a tray of cocktails served inside actual coconut shells, colorful straws and tiny umbrellas sticking out of them.

I laugh. “Okay, this is fucking cute.”

“Told you,” Chiara says beside me.

The air is warm, but a soft breeze comes off the Tyrrhenian, lifting the skirt of my white dress around my legs. I chose one of the dresses Chiara shoved into my suitcase before we left. White, strapless, fitted around my chest before falling into a soft A-line skirt that stops above my knees.