Chapter 42

**G R A C E**

Sophia calls breakfast and it is a feast. There’s an entire spread laid out for us—freshly squeezed juices, croissants flakier than anything I’ve ever tasted, fruit so vibrant it looks like it came straight from a painting. And then there are the pastries—miniature works of art that I can’t even begin to name, but every bite is heaven. Sophia digs in without a second thought, but I’m more distracted by her words than the food.

She tells me how worried she was yesterday, how she couldn’t focus on anything after I disappeared, how Alex—of all people—was the one who brought me back. It’s weird to imagine him, the Alex Moretti, doing something as domestic as carrying me to bed. But apparently, he stayed by my side for most of the day.

Sophia’s voice gets this soft, almost admiring tone as she talks about him. “I’ve never seen him like that. He didn’t let anyone near you. Sat there, watching over you, making sure you were okay.”

The idea of Alex being responsible, protective even, makes my heart do this funny little twist, and I hate that it does. I push the feeling down, focusing instead on the extravagant breakfast before me.

After we’ve stuffed ourselves with enough food to feed an entire family, Sophia pulls me out for a day of exploration. This island is ridiculous. Every corner has something new and luxurious to offer—chic cafes tucked away in cobblestone alleys, boutiques selling designer clothes I can’t even begin to afford, and beaches that stretch on for miles with sand so soft, it feels like powdered silk beneath my feet. There’s even a mini amusement park, complete with Ferris wheels, cotton candy stands, and arcade games that make me feel like a kid again.

We try a little of everything. I lose track of how many cafes we hit, but I’m pretty sure I’ve sampled at least sixty different kinds of cake. Every flavor of bubble tea? Check. Forty different styles of pizza? Done. Sophia doesn’t seem to have any intention of slowing down, and I get swept up in her energy, laughing and letting myself enjoy this completely surreal life that’s suddenly mine.

At the beach, Sophia insists we try surfing, which I’ve never done in my life. She’s a natural, gliding over the waves like she was born to it, while I… well, let’s just say my attempts are less graceful. I wipe out repeatedly, face planting into the water and coming up gasping, while the impossibly hot surf instructor seems way too entertained by my failures.

Still, despite my less-than-stellar performance, the feel of the ocean washing over me is exhilarating. I’m breathless, laughing, my heart racing from the thrill of it all. But every time I catch a glimpse of broad shoulders in the distance, dark hair ruffling in the sea breeze, my heart does that twist again. My mind flits back to Alex, wondering if he’s nearby, watching. But it’s never him.

The thought is maddening. Where is he? He’s the one who tracked me down in the market, put me in his car, brought me back to his place, cared for me, bandaged my leg… and now he’s gone? No check-in, no message? It doesn’t make any sense. But I shove the thought aside, trying to focus on Sophia and the constant distractions she throws at me.

Eventually, when we’ve exhausted ourselves with all the island’s adventures, Sophia suggests we hit the spa. The moment she says the word, I can already feel the tension in my muscles begging for it. A long, deep massage sounds like the perfect way to unwind after a day of indulgence.

As we change into something more appropriate for the spa, Sophia’s phone buzzes. I glance over, curious, as she pulls it out and types something back quickly.

“Who’s that?” I ask, not even trying to sound casual.

“Oh, it’s Alex,” she says with a shrug. “He’s just asking if everything’s on track for tonight’s initiation dinner.”

Her words hit me like a slap to the face. He has time to check in with her? About a dinner, no less? But not with me? He hasn’t bothered to ask if I’m alive, if I’m still limping around on one leg, or if maybe—just maybe—I want to punch him in the face for driving me to the point of insanity yesterday.

I force a smile, but inside, I’m seething. “Right. Dinner.”

Sophia doesn’t seem to notice my inner turmoil, too wrapped up in replying to her brother. Once she’s done, we head to the spa, and it’s everything I hoped it would be. The space is like stepping into another world—a world of tranquility, with soft ambient lighting, the scent of lavender and eucalyptus in the air, and the sound of water trickling softly in the background. We’re led to private rooms, and as soon as I lie down on the massage table, all the tension I’ve been carrying melts away.

Except, it doesn’t. Not really.

Because as soon as the massage therapist’s hands start working over my skin, kneading out the knots in my back, all I can think about is Alex. Alex’s hands. The way his fingers felt when he touched me, the way his hands would feel if he touched me again. The heat of his palm against my bare skin, even in imagination, is the most delicious feeling I’ve ever imagined. The way his fingers grazed over my dress as he buttoned it back up, slow and deliberate. The way his touch made my mind fog up, made me lose all sense of who I am.

The massage is supposed to be relaxing, but it’s doing the opposite. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. I feel him. And it’s making me crazy. How is it possible that after everything—after he basically manhandled me in that store, after I cut my foot running away from him—he’s not even curious enough to check if I’m okay?

He drove me back to his place, put me in his bed, changed me, for god’s sake. His hands were on me, taking care of me, bandaging me like he had every right to. And now… nothing? What kind of game is he playing?

I try to let the massage therapist’s hands pull me back to the present, but it’s no use. My skin burns from the memory of Alex’s touch, and I can’t stop my mind from spinning in a thousand directions. I know I should just let it go, forget about him, focus on tonight’s dinner and all the fun I’m supposed to be having with Sophia.

But the last thing I want to be looking forward to is seeing him tonight.

At the same time, it’s the only thing I am looking forward to.

I want to see him. I want to make him feel what I’m feeling right now—this twisted knot of confusion and frustration. I want him to suffer the way I have. And I know just the dress to do that in.