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Matt and Casey fiddle with cameras, lighting, and sound equipment. This is a bigger deal than I expected. It’s more like a TV studio production than a social-media page with a few die-hard fans.

I’ve purposefully avoided social media because of my Roman wedding scandal. But curiosity needles me, so I’m considering checking out Gio’s channel.

Crazily enough, some days I almost forget about Roman and the wedding. The problem is those days are when I’m fighting with Gio. When we spar, he consumes my entire brain.

I admit this may be part of why I’m not entirely turned off by sharing the house with him. Sharing a room, though, is another thing altogether. I refuse to repeat our kiss, even though the memory lives in my mind like a guest who’s overstayed their welcome.

How bad can this arrangement be if Gio makes me forget my messy life? Yes, I will return to reality eventually, but not yet. For this vacation, I want to do things for myself. If Gio is my armor, no matter how ill-fitting, so be it.

Besides, I like that we’ve agreed to continue messing with each other. I’ve decided it is fun, and I desperately need all the fun I can muster right now. I’ve been scheming my next prank since he moved in.

In the foyer, Amelia smooths her long hair in front of the mirror while I slip on my sandals to leave.

Behind me, Casey and Matt discuss filming strategies. My ears perk up when I overhear the phrases “not sexy enough” and “that’ll make them horny.”

What the heck? I glance at them but can’t decipher their meaning.

When Amelia opens the front door, I follow her out, but as I turn to close it behind me, my view into the kitchen makes me pause.

Gio flips his T-shirt over his head like a model and then flings it aside. With mussed hair and a darkened come-bang-me gaze, he seduces the camera.

Why is he filming himself half-naked? And why am I watching so closely?

Gio picks up a girthy two-foot-long salami and strategically positions the meat near his pelvis. He slides a hand up and down the length with it settled between his defined hip flexors.

Then, in a deep, provocative tone, he smolders at the camera and says, “Are you hungry for something spicy?”

My eyes gloss over in confusion. Mindlessly, I step back and stumble off the stoop and fall into a bush. I scream when I land with my legs and arms arranged like a pile of beached driftwood.

Amelia rushes over. “Soph, are you okay? What’s wrong with you lately? I’ve never seen you this clumsy.”

“What’s going on?” Casey appears at the door and finds me in my indelicate predicament.

“Nothing, nothing,” I mutter as I struggle to upright myself.

Amelia lifts me until my wobbly legs find footing.

“Right.” Casey laughs like she knows exactly what I saw.

I shoot her a flustered expression and straighten my clothing.

“He’s all yours now,” Casey sings.

“He is not!” I protest.

“Don’t come back until after seven.” She shuts the door in my shocked face.

“What just happened?” Amelia’s attention zings between me and the closed door.

“Phone, I need my phone. Now!” I frantically waggle my fingers.

“Okay, okay, hold on.” Amelia digs into our beach tote.

“Hurry!”

Oh God! What have I done?

She slaps the phone into my open palm.