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Everly.

These will be perfect. You are now officially off duty for today.

Everett's hands slip from my thighs.

The moment breaks.

I cap the aloe and climb off the lounger, putting distance between us that feels necessary and yet not what I want at the same time.

"You should stay out of the sun for the rest of the day," I say, falling back on practicality because it's the only thing keeping me upright.

He nods once without looking at me. "I know."

I gather the bottle, my book, my dignity, and head inside.

At the door, I stop.

"For what it's worth," I say without turning around, "the photographer probably got some great shots of you looking like a boiled shrimp."

"Don’t you have some painting to do?"

I smile all the way up the stairs.

Behind me, I hear his phone buzz again.

Then his groan.

Then Everly's name muttered off his lips with a level of annoyance usually reserved for sworn enemies.

I shut the bedroom door and lean against it, still smiling.

Still feeling his hands on my thighs like a brand. His ring against my skin reminding me that in the oddest way, we’re bound to each other for the next year,

Still thinking about the way he said then stop me like he was hoping I wouldn't.

Shouldn't happen again.

Right.

Sure.

We'll see how long that lasts.

Chapter Twenty

ARIA

Flying to Paris for dinner is not a normal sentence.

I keep reminding myself of this as the jet lifts off from the private airstrip outside Cannes and banks northwest. As Everett sits across from me in a charcoal suit that fits him like it was sewn directly onto his body. As I smooth the skirt of the black dress Everly packed—floor-length, backless, simple enough to look expensive and devastating enough to look intentional.

We are flying to Paris for dinner.

Like people do.

Like this is our life now.

Everett's sunburn is still visible at the collar of his shirt—the angry pink edge creeping above the white fabric like evidence of yesterday's disaster. He hasn't mentioned it. I haven't mentioned it. We are both pretending that yesterday didn't happen, just like we're pretending the night before didn't happen, just like we're pretending this entire week hasn't slowly dismantled every boundary we set.