Page 66 of Roaming Holiday

When we return to Kosita, her security will be tripled. Fuck. I never stood a chance. With a sigh, I say, “I’ll meet you down there.”

I shut my eyes as she squeals with joy, bolting out the door with her cousin, who mutters, “Does he have to be so serious all the time?”

Mason and I stand on the porch as Vanessa and Maia climb onto a pink moped. Roman gets on his alone and I’m grateful to see Nina head to Jace’s. From the corner of my eye, I spot a black helmet.

“Wait—”

Nina turns to me, then slumps her shoulders. “Oh, come on. Seriously?”

I don’t say anything as I slide it over her head. She sends me a withering glare through the open sun visor as I clasp the helmet.

“You’ve got to be joking,” she deadpans.

I lower my head and lift her chin to focus on tightening the strap. “As serious as a heart attack,” I mutter. Once I finish, I smirk at her and flick the visor shut to hide her glare. “Have fun.”

I move to stand beside Mason, who doesn’t speak until all three mopeds zip out of the courtyard and down the road. “You’re sure this is a good idea?”

“Gregory and Silas shouldn’t be far. They can track her phone and keep an eye out.” I pull out my phone to call Gregory since Silas doesn’t listen to my directions.

33

NINA

The five of us wander through the farmer’s market, the branches of the trees to my right twisting above me to provide much-desired shade.

My fingers brush the overhang of leaves. The sea lies on the other side of the buildings and all the way from here, I can hear the waves lapping against the rocks.

I glance behind me to see Wesley fifty feet away. He nods once. I chuckle at his seriousness. We’ve barely spoken since the night I sneaked out. My face heats in embarrassment when I remember my pettiness toward him. I’m not entirely sure how to act around him anymore since I all but admitted how jealous I was. I hate that I get so territorial when it comes to him.

Over the past week, I became increasingly frustrated with myself for craving him in the first place and irritated when he doesn’t make a move. I keep replaying what he told me, and butterflies tickle my stomach at the nickname “angel.” That has to mean something. He first said it at the introductory dinner, and memories of that night flash in my mind—of his fury toward my attacker, of his softness toward me. He was off-kilter and as vulnerable as I was.

I approach a fruit stand, my touch drifting over the lemons in the wicker basket. Anxiety flutters in my stomach when the old woman who owns the stand smiles at me. I wipe my sweaty hands on my shorts. This is it—another chance to feel like a local. That is, if she doesn’t spot me as a tourist from the get like Sebastian did.

“Ciao, buenimara,” I try and say as naturally as possible.

“Buenimara,” she says, her gaze lingering on me before she adds, “Sto panímorísi.”

Very beautiful. My eyes widen. “Oh! Gracea mucho.”

She outstretches her palm, and I gladly place my hand in hers. Maia holds up a pineapple to hide her chuckle and I spot Wesley in the corner of my eye.

“Tu milla, tu pielli. Tu stara sto panímorísi. Sto, sto, sto,” the woman says. I’m no stranger to old people marveling over my skin and hair when they’re feeling bold. It’s almost objectifying, but affirmations from the elderly always boost my confidence. I thank her profusely before slipping off with my sister to avoid more prodding.

With our arms linked, I lean my head on her shoulder and inhale her flowery scent. Maia is the one part of the summer that hasn’t wavered.

She senses my increased affection and tightens her arm around mine. “Love you.”

With a full heart, I say, “I know. Love you, too.”

It’s been weeks since we last discussed taking the crown. Wesley is the only person who knows about what my attacker said to me in Maldanian, although I’m sure he’s told Jack about it by now.

Once we return to the house, I fall behind so everyone goes inside first. Wesley and Mason enter the courtyard next, and my bodyguard notices my lingering.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I knot my hands behind my back, not trusting myself to refrain from touching him.

“Listen,” he says, lifting his deep-set eyes to mine, and I lock my knees before they buckle. “I… I shouldn’t have yelled at you the other night. I’m sorry.”

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