Chapter 6 (Unspoken Things)
951 Words
Emma
The sun had barely begun its descent when I found myself standing barefoot on the balcony of our villa, the warm wooden panels beneath my feet grounding me. The air smelled like salt and hibiscus, and the sky bled orange over the endless blue of the ocean.
Alexander stepped outside, freshly showered, rolling up the sleeves of a crisp white shirt. He handed me a glass of cold lemonade without a word, and I accepted it, letting the condensation run over my fingers. We hadn’t talked much since arriving—short exchanges, easy silences but not awkward ones. It was strange how natural it felt.
“You always this quiet on vacation?” I asked, sipping slowly.
“Only when the company doesn’t suck,” he replied, his tone dry but warm. His eyes flicked at me for a second longer than necessary.
I looked away, pretending to focus on the waves. “That was… almost a compliment.”
“Don’t let it get to your head.”
I laughed softly, feeling the tension that had lodged in my chest since the airport started to dissolve. The media ambush had shaken me more than I’d admitted. Alexander had handled it all with quiet command, never once letting go of my hand. I didn’t know what shocked me more—the cameras or how protected I’d felt beside him.
“So,” I said, leaning against the balcony rail, “do fake fiancés do dinner together or is that strictly optional?”
He smirked. “Optional. But I made reservations for two at the private beach lounge. Figured it’d look better for the illusion if we didn’t eat in separate villas.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You mean the same villa we’re currently sharing?”
His smirk deepened. “Exactly.”
I shook my head, biting back a grin. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re sunburned,” he said, nodding at my shoulder. “Told you not to skip sunscreen.”
I groaned. “Artist, remember? I got carried away sketching.”
“You sketch everything but yourself.”
I blinked at him. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “You talk about how beautiful everything is, how you want to capture it all… but you never see yourself in any of it. You draw the world like you’re not part of it.”
I stared at him. That hit harder than I expected.
“Maybe I don’t know how to see myself in it,” I murmured.
He didn’t say anything right away, just looked at me in the way he did—like he saw right through the masks. “Maybe it’s time you tried.”
---
Dinner was lit by lanterns and a soft blush of moonlight. The sand was cool beneath our feet, and the waves kept a lazy rhythm as we sat down at the table tucked beneath palm trees.
We barely touched the food.
I found myself talking again—about college days, art professors, silly deadlines. And he listened. Not with politeness, but with intention, asking questions that showed he actually cared about the answers. Every time he laughed or leaned in, I forgot for a second that this was all pretend.
“You’re different out here,” I said, stirring the edge of my drink.
He leaned back in his chair, the wine glass resting between his fingers. “How so?”
“Less closed-off. More… present.” I glanced at him. “You smile more.”
His lips curled slightly. “Vacation effect.”
I wasn’t convinced. “Or maybe it’s just easier when you’re not surrounded by boardrooms and expectations.”
“Maybe.” He looked out at the ocean, silent for a beat. “Or maybe it’s easier when I’m with someone who doesn’t want anything from me.”
His words hung between us, soft but heavy.
“I don’t want anything from you,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
And I think that was the moment something shifted. The air between us wasn’t quite the same. It wasn’t romantic yet—not exactly—but it was… alive. Charged. Like we were both standing on the edge of something neither of us wanted to name.
---
Later, as we walked back along the beach, the stars blinked overhead, scattered and brilliant. My dress fluttered in the breeze, brushing against his hand as we walked close but not touching.
“You’re thinking hard,” he said.
I nodded. “I just… I keep wondering what Ethan would say if he saw this. Us.”
He stopped walking. “You’re still holding on to that?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s not like I want him back." Not really. But I keep thinking maybe I missed something. Maybe I was wrong.”
Alexander turned to me, jaw tight. “You weren’t wrong. He was.”
I met his gaze. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I saw your face in that office. And people don’t look like that unless they gave everything and get nothing back.”
The wind rustled the palms behind us. My throat tightened.
“You’re allowed to let go, Emma,” he said softly. “You don’t owe him your heartbreak.”
A lump formed in my chest. I hated how much that meant to me. How badly I needed to hear it from someone.
I looked up at him, and for a second, I forgot everything—the lie, the arrangement, the reason we
Were even here.
And I realized: I didn’t feel lost anymore.
Not with him.
Not at this moment.
- Writer
