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I grin and hand them to him. “Have at it. Homemade cookies.”

“Never say no to free food.” He takes them and smiles.

He does have a nice smile.

But not as nice as someone you aren’t supposed to think about.

As if I conjured the infuriating devil himself, I hear the teasing rasp of his laughter. I inwardly groan, unable to stop myself from searching for him.

It isn’t hard to locate him. Rex stands out the way celebrities draw your attention when they walk down the red carpet. He’s with Bree and idling in the distance, dressed in khaki shorts and a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular, tanned arms. His dark hair is windswept, with an errant lock falling over his forehead, begging me to brush it off his face.

He pops something into his mouth—a pill? I frown, thinking back to the headlines I showed him on the jet, the allegations of illicit drugs.

He crouches down, beaming at a robust older lady with graying hair who’s shoving a loaf of bread at him. The woman flushes when hemurmurs something to her. Bree throws her head back in laughter and clasps his shoulder like he’s the most hilarious person on the planet.

My stomach sours. The regular heart-stealing comedian.

A stocky man snaps photos of them and my mind makes the connection. The paparazzi are here as well. This is a show.

“The playboy prince conquers the hearts of women—young and old.”I can practically see the headlines.

It’s all fake. Don’t they see it? This lighthearted, devil-may-care attitude is as fake as the gorgeous Bree’s tan.

Olivia, that isn’t nice at all!I cringe, wanting to bang my head against the bright blue shutters affixed to the pebbly walls nearby. Bree is perfectly nice—shy even, but then, so am I. We haven’t exchanged anything more than hellos, but she’s nothing like the women I’d expect to capture Rex’s attention—socialites and models giving off snobby airs.

Like they told me before, I don’t sense romantic or intimate vibes between them when there’s no one else around.

But then they act lovey-dovey in public.

It’s strange.

“You know what this is, Olive,”Mia taunts in my head.“You’re jealous.”

“Shut up. You only get to say that if you were here,” I mutter under my breath.

“Sorry, were you talking to me?” Rhys asks as we close in on the bakery stand where Rex is still speaking with the owner in Greek, no less.

Why does he have to know a sexy foreign language too?

God isn’t playing fair.

He’s pointing at the various loaves, then the jars of olives and spices, his hands waving in the air. He’s clearly interested in the topic. The old woman responds, motioning to her ingredients, like she’s showing him how to cook. Then, he does something I don’t expect. He takes out a small notebook and pen from his pocket and jots down notes.

His lips curve into a wide smile, his eyes crinklingat the corners.

He’s happy. It’s genuine. Whatever the topic is, it’s something he’s passionate about.

What is he writing down?

I’m only interested because he’s my patient, that’s all.Detached observation with zero emotions, all for the sake of treating him.

“Keep telling yourself that.”Mia snickers.

I shove her imaginary comments away. Before this trip, I kept myself busy with work, filling my schedule with patients and conferences, so much I’d barely hear her voice in my head. And when she showed up occasionally, I knew it was because I missed her.

Being an identical twin was a unique bond few could understand.

Among the seven billion-plus people on earth, there was someone who looked and sounded exactly like me, someone who shared my DNA and sometimes, even my thoughts. The world may be a loud place favoring extroverts, and introverts like me slunk into the background. But I never had totryto be understood by my twin.