Page 11 of Carved in Ruin

Layla’s face softens, her teasing forgotten. She reaches over, threading her fingers gently through my hair, trying to comfort me. After a quiet moment, she asks, “Did you get it? The closure?”

I take a shaky breath, struggling with my answer. “I don’t know. I got some answers, but…” I pause, staring down at my hands. “I guess… I was hoping for something more. For us to go back to how we were, maybe?”

She sighs, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “He’s different now, Mila. He’s not the boy you grew up with anymore, not really. You shouldn’t get your hopes up. Just… be careful, okay?”

I believe her, as much as I don’t want to.

“This is the first time you’ve defied Father, probably since you were a kid begging for extra candy. It was epic.” Layla exclaims, and somehow looks a bit proud.

I bite down on my lip, her words sinking in. She’s right. I’ve never wanted to disappoint him. It’s why I didn’t study physics at university, even though that’s all I wanted to do. Instead, I majored in English Literature—“something less manly,” as he put it. I hated every second of it, but I did it to make him proud. Ihaven’t touched pizza or croissants since I was fourteen because he says they fatten everyone up. Everything I’ve done has been to keep him happy.

And now, Rafael’s come back into my life and, somehow, with just a few conversations and half-shared glances, he’s made me slip up—without even trying.

Layla’s eyes narrow as she studies my face. “So you feel nothing for him? Nothing other than… nostalgia?”

“Nothing,” I lie.

“Okay then, come on, let’s forget all about him and have some fun. I know just the thing,” she says as she walks to my closet.

I take the moment to pull myself together. God, my attachment to him is so embarrassing. I need to forget about him, just like he forgot all about me.

Layla digs through my closet with all the confidence in the world, tossing a few options onto the bed until she finds what she’s looking for. She pulls out my favorite bikini, a tiny black thong bottom with thin, adjustable side straps and a matching triangle top that ties at the back and neck.

She grins, holding it up against herself. “Mind if I borrow this?”

“You’re just gonna take my favorite bikini, huh?”

“Of course,” she says, slipping into it and adjusting the straps with a shameless little wink. The suit barely covers her, accentuating every curve and making her look like she’s straight out of some tropical photoshoot. Then, she tosses me a different one, my bright red bikini with a thong bottom and a plunging top. “You’re wearing this one. Trust me, you’ll look amazing.”

“Alright, alright,” I mutter, pulling it on and adjusting the straps. The red pops against my pale skin, the thong bottom hugging my hips. It’s the kind of bikini that shows off a lot, probably more than I’d wear around anyone but her.

We make our way to the indoor pool, the water warm as we ease in and start to float around. Layla, as usual, dives straight into the gossip.

“Did you hear about Bianca Esposito?” she asks, barely containing a giggle. “Apparently, she’s hooking up with someone from the Albanian mafia. A total scandal, considering the families have been at each other’s throats.”

“No way!” I gasp, swimming closer. “Her father would have a heart attack if he knew.”

“Exactly,” Layla says, smirking. “And apparently, they met at some gala in Rome. She slipped out of the reception with him at midnight, and, well… I don’t think they were talking about family business.”

I laugh, picturing the scene. “So, she’s risking a full-blown family war… for some guy?”

“Guess she figured if she’s gonna defy her father, might as well go big, right?” She gives me a knowing look.

I splash Layla at her comment, water splattering everywhere as she squeals. She flips her wet hair back, ignoring my attempt at vengeance. “Feel like grabbing some wine?”

“Perfect idea,” I say, dragging myself out of the pool, water streaming down as I head toward the kitchen. The cool tile is a shock against my wet feet. I reach up into the wine cabinet, snagging a bottle, and turn around, practically colliding with a solid chest—definitely not Layla. I look up, heart skipping a beat.

Rafael.

He’s drenched now too, navy suit ruined as the water clings to him, outlining every powerful line and muscle. He’s so close I can barely breathe. His presence is overwhelming, towering over me in that infuriating way that’s both unsettling and… thrilling. I barely come up to his shoulder, but the heat rolling off him makes me feel like I might melt on the spot.

His hands steady me, fingers gripping my arms lightly. The touch sends a jolt through my skin. It’s so casual, but it’s like he’s branding me. I try to hold my ground, even though my legs feel like jelly under his touch.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, fighting to sound unaffected, but my voice gives me away, coming out breathier than I intend.

Rafael doesn’t answer right away. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a cigarette, and lights it, all without breaking eye contact. He takes a drag, the smoke curling slowly as he blows it out, right in my direction.

“Had a meeting with your father,” he says finally. He shifts closer, his gaze darkening as it roams over me, lingering a bit too long. “Needed the bathroom. Got mixed up.”

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