Page 3 of The No Falling Rule
She laughs softly. “Thank you. Really.”
“You’re welcome,” I say—and mean it.
Her sister waves her toward the exit, and just before she disappears, Mia glances back. Our eyes catch—hold—and I don’t look away.
When they’re gone, I drag a hand through my wet hair, my soaked linen shirt cooling in the lobby air.
“Handled well,” Dad says, appearing beside me.
“Thanks,” I manage.
He claps my shoulder once. “Try not to make headlines before the wedding, hm?”
When he leaves, the noise of the resort fills in again—the chatter, the laughter, the faint music from the pool deck.
My watch buzzes with reminders about tomorrow’s meeting. I swipe them away. For the first time in a long time, I’m not thinking about the Grosso brand, or the Chilean expansion, or the pressure to prove I belong at the table.
I’m thinking about the woman who looked at me like I was just a man who made a mistake, not the youngest son of a luxury empire.
I go to the concierge and scribble out a request:
Bungalow Six. Flowers—sunflowers and white roses. The biggest bouquet that can be delivered within the hour.
I hesitate, then add a spa appointment. She’ll be sore tomorrow. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
Then I handwrite a note to go with the bouquet, fold it neatly, and join the line. Time tofigure out where I’ll be staying now that my bungalow isn’t available anymore.
Dad’s voice echoes in my head—you’re not the baby anymore, mijo.Maybe he’s right.
Because tonight, I don’t feel like the kid brother or the corporate afterthought. I feel like a man who has just met someone impossible to forget.
And as I look out toward the pool where it all started, the sun glinting off the water, I can’t help but think—
lesson one, big brothers: watch me close a different kind of deal.
Chapter 2
Mia
“Carly!” I shout as I burst into the bungalow.
My sister is pacing the living room—ourliving room. We have a freaking living room! I didn’t even get the guy’s name, buthe has to be the owner.
“Mia!” Carly yells back, making me jump. “Oh my goodness, I don’t even know how I managed to leave your side! I’m so sorry, Mia. I swear I was right behind you, pulling the damn luggage, and next thing I know, you’re falling into the pool.”
I’m not sure if it’s the exhaustion or the shock finally catching up with me, but as Carly frantically reenacts the most embarrassing moment of my life, I start laughing uncontrollably.
It takes her a beat, but soon enough, she’s laughing just as hard.
We both collapse onto the cool floor, and I screech at the shock of it. A sharp pain shoots up my back almost as soon as I make contact with the tile.
“Dang it! First the cold pool, now the cold floor? Where’s the warmth you promised me, Carlota. Huh?”
“Iwasfeeling really bad about how you fell into that pool like a sack of potatoes—and how all your clothes ended up floating behind you,” she says, still half laughing but clearly worried. “But you calling meCarlota? Naw, you’re fine. I don’t need to worry any more about you.”
I let out another laugh. We’ve always hated being called by our full names, but I love riling my sister up.Even though she’s five years older, we’ve been thick as thieves since we were kids.
After our parents passed away unexpectedly two years ago, we left Texas—the only place we’ve ever known—and moved to the mountains of North Carolina.
