Chapter 20
1084 Words
ISABELLA
The plane was small — private, sleek, and absolutely not something I should’ve been stepping into without a full mental health evaluation.
“Adrian,” I whispered as we boarded, “this is insane.”
“You’re still here,” he said, guiding me inside with a hand on my lower back.
“I’m reconsidering.”
“No, you’re not.”
I hated that he was right.
We took our seats, and before I could spiral further, the flight attendant brought water, blankets, and a tray of fruit I absolutely didn’t need after the pancakes.
I leaned back, arms crossed. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”
“And I won’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
I glared at him.
He murmured something but I didn’t catch it. His eyes flicking to my mouth for a fraction of a second, “You’re more beautiful when you’re annoyed.”
My breath caught.
I looked away quickly, pretending to be fascinated by the safety card. “Stop. I’m only here because Lena left and I had nothing better to do.”
“Of course,” he said, clearly not believing a word.
The plane took off, and the gentle hum of the engines mixed with the warmth of the cabin. Maybe it was the pancakes. Maybe it was the emotional exhaustion. Maybe it was the way Adrian kept glancing at me like he was thinking things he shouldn’t.
Whatever it was, sleep pulled me under before I could fight it.
I woke up to warmth.
Adrian.
His hand was on my shoulder, gentle, warm, steady. And then — before I could fully open my eyes — I felt it.
A kiss.
Soft. Slow. Barely there.
On my shoulder.
My eyes flew open. “Adrian!”
He laughed — actually laughed — and leaned back as I swatted at him.
“You were impossible to wake.”
“You kissed me!”
“On the shoulder,” he said, unbothered. “Calm down.”
“That’s not calming!”
I shoved him again, but he only caught my wrist, his fingers warm around mine.
“We landed,” he said softly.
I blinked, still groggy. “Where… where are we?”
He held my gaze, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes.
“Mexico.”
I sat up so fast I nearly hit my head on the overhead compartment. “Mexico?! Adrian!”
“You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t say thank you!”
“You’re thinking it.”
“I’m thinking of strangling you!”
He smiled — slow, devastating, confident. “You can try.”
I hated him.
I hated him so much.
And I hated how much I didn’t.
His team met us the moment we stepped off the plane — black SUVs, tinted windows, men who looked like they could break bones with their eyebrows.
But they were polite. Respectful. Efficient.
Within minutes, we were driving down a coastal road lined with palm trees and bright flowers. The air smelled like salt and sunlight.
We pulled up to a villa that looked like it belonged on the cover of a luxury magazine — white stone, open terraces, and a private beach stretching endlessly behind it.
“Adrian…” I whispered, stepping out of the car. “What is this?”
“One of my places.”
“One of—” I turned to him, stunned. “You own this?”
He shrugged like it was no big deal. “Among others.”
I didn’t have the energy to unpack that.
A table was set under the shade of coconut trees — white linens, fresh flowers, plates already arranged with food that looked like it belonged in a five‑star restaurant.
The ocean glittered behind it, waves soft and rhythmic.
“This is lunch?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“This is not lunch. This is a wedding reception.”
He smirked. “Foreshadowing?”
I nearly choked. “Adrian!”
He laughed, guiding me toward the table with a hand at the small of my back.
We sat. The staff stepped away discreetly, leaving us alone with the sound of waves and the scent of grilled seafood and citrus.
“This is insane,” I murmured.
“You say that a lot.”
“Because you keep doing insane things!”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Do you like it?”
I hesitated.
My heart said yes.
My pride said don’t you dare.
My mouth said— “…maybe.”
His smile deepened. “Good.”
We ate. We talked. We argued about nothing and everything. The tension between us thickened with every glance, every brush of his hand against mine, every moment he leaned just a little too close.
At one point, he reached across the table, fingers brushing my cheek.
“You have something here,” he murmured.
I froze.
His thumb grazed my skin — slow, deliberate, intimate.
“There,” he whispered.
I swallowed hard. “Adrian…”
He didn’t move his hand.
“You’re staring,” he said softly.
“You’re touching me.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
I hated that I didn’t answer.
He stood slowly, walked around the table, and held out his hand.
“Come here.”
My heart pounded. “Why?”
“Because I want to kiss you.”
My breath caught.
The world narrowed to him — his eyes, his voice, the heat rolling off him in waves.
I stood.
He pulled me closer.
His hand slid to my waist.
His forehead touched mine.
“Isabella…” he whispered.
I closed my eyes.
He leaned in—
And his phone rang.
Sharp. Loud. Urgent.
He stiffened instantly.
I opened my eyes. “Adrian?”
He didn’t answer.
He looked at the screen — and every trace of softness vanished.
His jaw tightened. His eyes darkened. His entire posture shifted from warm to lethal in a heartbeat.
“I have to take this,” he said quietly.
“Who is it?”
He didn’t look at me.
“Someone I can’t ignore.”
And just like that, he stepped away — leaving me standing under the coconut trees, heart racing, lips inches from a kiss that didn’t happen.
A kiss that suddenly felt very, very far away.
- Writer
