Page 57 of Spotlight Hearts

I want ten more days like this. A hundred. A lifetime.

The thought should scare me. It doesn’t. It feels right.

When the soft knock comes at the door, I meet the staff outside and quietly bring the trays in myself. I arrange everything on the deck table first—fruit, pastries, coffee—then carry a smaller tray with coffee and a plate of fresh mango slices back to the bedroom.

Kai is still asleep, turned onto his side now, one hand reaching out to the empty space where I was.

I set the tray down gently on the nightstand and sit on the edge of the bed. I can’t resist anymore—I reach out and brush a strand of dark hair off his forehead, then let my fingers trail down his cheek.

He stirs. His eyes flutter open, hazy with sleep, and when they focus on me, the smallest, softest smile curves his lips.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

My heart does that ridiculous flip again.

“Morning,” I whisper back, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I brought you coffee. And mango. Thought you might be hungry.”

His smile widens, sleepy and genuine, and he reaches up to tug me down for a proper kiss—slow, warm, tasting like sleep and new beginnings.

I kiss him back, hand cupping his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek.

And in that moment, with the ocean singing beneath us and Kai smiling against my mouth, I know I’m completely gone for him.

NINETEEN

KAI

Breakfast is long gone, but the remnants still sit on the deck table—half-eaten mango slices, empty coffee cups, a few scattered pastry crumbs. The sun is higher now, turning the ocean into liquid sapphire, and the infinity pool sparkles like someone scattered diamonds across it.

Luca hasn’t stopped touching me since we finished eating.

It started small. His fingers brushing my wrist when he passed me the last piece of mango. Then his hand resting on my thigh while we talked about nothing important. Now he’s sitting behind me on the wide lounge chair, legs bracketing mine, chest pressed to my back, arms loosely wrapped around my waist like it’s the most natural place in the world for them to be.

His chin rests on my shoulder. Every so often, his lips brush the side of my neck—not quite a kiss, just a lazy press of warmth. His thumb traces soft, idle circles on my stomach, right above the waistband of my swim trunks. It’s constant. Gentle. Possessive in the softest way.

I lean back into him, letting my head tilt against his. The sun is warm on my skin, the ocean breeze perfect, but none of it compares to the steady heat of Luca’s body behind me.

There’s a difference in him today.

It’s subtle, but I feel it in every touch. He’s not just being affectionate because we’re “supposed” to sell the romance for the cameras. There’s no performance here. No calculated glances toward the horizon where a photographer might be hiding. He touches me like he can’t help it. Like keeping his hands off me would be physically painful.

And I like it.

God, I like it so much it scares me a little.

I used to think Luca was all surface—the charming nepo-baby fuck-boy who floated through life on his father’s name, late to everything, grinning like the rules didn’t apply to him. I resented how easy it looked for him. How he could be late and still shine. How he could flirt on stage as though it was nothing while I was fighting for every scrap of control.

But that version of him feels smaller now. Distant.

The Luca behind me right now is quieter. More intentional. He notices when I go still. He adjusts his hold without me saying anything. When I mentioned the mango was perfectly ripe, he immediately cut the last piece and fed it to me with his fingers, eyes soft as I took it.

He’s…thoughtful.

And the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention—like I’m something worth protecting, worth staying for—makes my chest feel too tight in the best way.

I turn my head slightly, brushing my nose against his jaw.

“You’re being very handsy this morning,” I murmur. It’s meant to sound teasing, but it comes out softer than I intend.